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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a0743b1 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #60329 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/60329) diff --git a/old/60329-8.txt b/old/60329-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index e70cdc5..0000000 --- a/old/60329-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,16858 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Land at Last, by Edmund Yates - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Land at Last - A Novel - -Author: Edmund Yates - -Release Date: September 24, 2019 [EBook #60329] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LAND AT LAST *** - - - - -Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans produced by Google Books - - - - - - - - - - -Transcriber's Note: - 1. Page scan source: Google Books - https://books.google.com/books?id=NzZWAAAAcAAJ - - - - - - -LAND AT LAST. - -A Novel. - - - -BY -EDMUND YATES, -AUTHOR OF "FORLORN HOPE," "BLACK SHEEP," "RUNNING THE GAUNTLET," -ETC., ETC. - - - -"Post tenebras lux." - - - -THIRD EDITION. - - - - -LONDON: -CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, PICCADILLY. -1868. - - - - - - -CONTENTS. - - -BOOK I. - - I. IN THE STREETS. - II. THE BRETHREN OF THE BRUSH. - III. BLOTTED OUT. - IV. ON THE DOORSTEP. - V. THE LETTER. - VI. THE FIRST VISIT. - VII. CHEZ POTTS. - VIII. THROWING THE FLY. - IX. SUNSHINE IN THE SHADE. - X. YOUR WILLIAM. - XI. PLAYING THE FISH. - XII. UNDER THE HARROW. - XIII. AT THE PRIVATE VIEW. - XIV. THOSE TWAIN ONE FLESH. - - -BOOK II. - - I. NEW RELATIONS. - II. MARGARET. - III. ANNIE. - IV. ALGY BARFORD'S NEWS. - V. SETTLING DOWN. - VI. AT HOME. - VII. WHAT THEIR FRIENDS THOUGHT. - VIII. MARGARET AND ANNIE. - IX. MR. AMPTHILL'S WILL. - X. LADY BEAUPORT'S PLOT. - XI. CONJECTURES. - XII. GATHERING CLOUDS. - XIII. MR. STOMPFF'S DOUBTS. - XIV. THREATENING. - XV. LADY BEAUFORT'S PLOT COLLAPSES. - - -BOOK III. - - I. THE WHOLE TRUTH. - II. THE REVERSE OF THE MEDAL. - III. GONE TO HIS REST. - IV. THE PROTRACTED SEARCH. - V. DISMAY. - VI. A CLUE. - VII. TRACKED. - VIII. IN THE DEEP SHADOW. - IX. CLOSING IN. - X. AFTER THE WRECK. - XI. LAND AT LAST. - - - - - - -LAND AT LAST. - - - - - -Book the First. - - - - -CHAPTER I. -IN THE STREETS. - - -It was between nine and ten oclock on a January night, and the London -streets were in a state of slush. During the previous night snow had -fallen heavily, and the respectable portion of the community, which, -according to regular custom, had retired to bed at eleven oclock, -had been astonished, on peering out from behind a corner of the -window-curtain when they arose, to find the roads and the neighbouring -housetops covered with a thick white incrustation. The pavements -were already showing dank dabs of footmarks, which even the snow -then falling failed to fill up; and the roadway speedily lost its -winter-garment and became sticky with congealed mud. Then the snow -ceased, and a sickly straggling bit of winter-sunlight, a mere parody -on the real thing, half light and half warmth, came lurking out between -the dun clouds; and under its influence the black-specked covering of -the roofs melted, and the water-pipes ran with cold black liquid filth. -The pavement had given it up long ago, and resumed its normal winter -state of sticky slippery grease--grease which clung to the boots and -roused the wildest rage of foot-passengers by causing them to slip -backward when they wanted to make progress, and which accumulated -in the direst manner on the landing-places and street corners,--the -first bits of refuge after the perils of the crossing,--where it -heaped itself in aggravating lumps and shiny rings under the heels of -foot passengers just arrived, having been shaken and stamped off the -soles of passengers who had just preceded them. So it had continued -all day; but towards the afternoon the air had grown colder, and a -whisper had run round that it froze again. Cutlers who had been gazing -with a melancholy air on the placards "Skates" in their window, and -had determined on removing them, as a bad joke against themselves, -decided on letting them remain. Boys who had been delighted in the -morning at the sight of the snow, and proportionately chopfallen -towards middle-day at the sight of the thaw, had plucked up again and -seen visions of snowballing matches, slides on the gutters, and, most -delicious of all, omnibus-horses both down at once on the slippery -road. Homeward-bound City-clerks, their day's work over, shivered in -the omnibuses, and told each other how they were afraid it had come at -last, and reminded each other of what the newspapers had said about -the flocks of wild-geese and other signs of a hard winter, and moaned -lugubriously about the advanced price of coals and the difficulties of -locomotion certain to be consequent on the frost. - -But when the cruel black night had set regularly in, a dim sleek soft -drizzle began to fall, and all hopes or fears of frost were at an end. -Slowly and gently it came down, wrapping the streets as with a damp -pall; stealing quietly in under umbrellas; eating its way through the -thickest broadcloth, matting the hair and hanging in dank, unwholesome -beads on the beards of all unlucky enough to be exposed to it. It -meant mischief, this drizzle, and it carried out its intention. -Omnibus-drivers and cabmen knew it at once from long experience, donned -their heavy tarpaulin-capes, and made up their minds for the worst. -The professional beggars knew it too. The pavement-chalking tramp, who -had selected a tolerably dry spot under the lee of a wall, no sooner -felt its first damp breath than he blew out his paper-lantern, put the -candle into his pocket, stamped out as much of the mackerel and the -ship at sea as he had already stencilled, and made off. The man in -the exemplary shirt-collar and apron, who had planted himself before -the chemist's window to procure an extra death-tinge from the light -reflected from the blue bottle, packed up his linen and decamped, -fearing lest his stock-in-trade--his virtue and his lucifers--might be -injured by damp. The brass bands which had been playing outside the -public-houses shouldered their instruments and went inside; the vendors -of secondhand books covered their openly-displayed stock with strips of -baize and dismissed their watchful boys, conscious that no petty thief -would risk the weather for so small a prey. The hot-potato men blew -fiercer jets of steam out of their tin kitchens, as though calling on -the public to defy dull care and comfort themselves with an antidote to -the general wretchedness; and the policemen stamped solemnly and slowly -round their beats, as men impressed with the full knowledge that, as -there was not the remotest chance of their being relieved from their -miserable fate until the morning, they might as well bear themselves -with as much dignity as possible under the circumstances. - -It was bad everywhere; but in no place at the West-end of London was -it so bad as at the Regent Circus. There the great tide of humanity -had been ebbing and flowing all day; there hapless females in shoals -had struggled across the roaring sea of Oxford Street, some conveyed -by the crossing-sweeper, some drifting helplessly under the poles of -omnibuses and the wheels of hansom cabs. There the umbrellas of the -expectant omnibus-seekers jostled each other with extra virulence; -and there the edges of the pavements were thick with dark alluvial -deposits kicked hither and thither by the feet of thousands. All day -there had been a bustle and a roar round this spot; and at ten o'clock -at night it had but little diminished. Omnibus-conductors, like kites -and vultures, clawed and wrangled over the bodies of their victims, who -in a miserable little flock huddled together in a corner, and dashed -out helplessly and without purpose as each lumbering vehicle drew -up. Intermingled with these were several vagabond boys, whose animal -spirits no amount of wet or misery could quell, and who constituted -themselves a kind of vedette or outpost-guard, giving warning of the -approach of the different omnibuses in much pleasantly familiar speech, -"Now, guv'nor, for Bayswater! Hatlas comin' up! Ready now for Nottin' -'Ill!" - -At the back of the little crowd, sheltering herself under the lee of -the houses, stood a slight female figure, a mere slight slip of a -girl, dressed only in a clinging gown and a miserable tightly-drawn -shawl. Her worn bonnet was pulled over her face, her arms were -clasped before her, and she stood in a doorway almost motionless. The -policeman tramping leisurely by had at first imagined her to be an -omnibus-passenger waiting for a vehicle; but some twenty minutes after -he had first noticed her, finding her still in the same position, -he took advantage of a pretended trial of the security of various -street-doors to scrutinise her appearance. To the man versed in such -matters the miserable garb told its own tale--its wearer was a pauper; -and a beggar the man in office surmised, although the girl had made no -plaint, had uttered no word, had remained immovable and statue-like, -gazing blankly before her. The policeman had been long enough in the -force to know that the girl's presence in the doorway was an offence -in the eyes of the law; but he was a kindly-hearted Somersetshire man, -and he performed his duty in as pleasant a way as he could, by gently -pulling a corner of the drabbled shawl, and saying, "You musn't stand -here, lass; you must move on, please." The shawl-wearer never looked up -or spoke but shivering slightly, stepped out into the dank mist, and -floated, phantom-like, across the road. - -Gliding up the upper part of Regent Street, keeping close to the -houses, and walking with her head bent down and her arms always folded -tightly across her breast, she struck off into a bystreet to the right, -and, crossing Oxford Market, seemed hesitating which way to turn. For -an instant she stopped before the window of an eating-house, where -thick columns of steam were yet playing round the attenuated remains -of joints, or casting a greasy halo round slabs of pudding. As the -girl gazed at these wretched remnants of a wretched feast, she raised -her head, her eyes glistened, her pinched nostrils dilated, and for an -instant her breath came thick and fast; then, drawing her shawl more -tightly round her, and bending her head to avoid as much as possible -the rain, which came thickly scudding on the rising wind, she hurried -on, and only stopped for shelter under the outstretched blind of a -little chandler's shop--a wretched shelter, for the blind was soaked -through, and the rain dripped from it in little pools, and the wind -shook it in its frame, and eddied underneath it with a wet and gusty -whirl; but there was something of comfort to the girl in the warm look -of the gaslit shop, in the smug rotund appearance of the chandler, -in the distant glimmer of the fire on the glazed door of the parlour -at the back. Staring vacantly before him while mechanically patting -a conical lump of lard, not unlike the bald cranium of an elderly -gentleman, the chandler became aware of the girl's face at the window; -and seeing Want legibly inscribed by Nature's never-erring hand on -every feature of that face, and being a humane man, he was groping in -the till for some small coin to bestow in charity, when from the back -room came a sharp shrill voice, "Jim, time to shut up!" and at the -sound of the voice the chandler hastily retreated, and, a small boy -suddenly appearing, pulled up the overhanging blind, and having lost -its shelter, the girl set forth again. - -But her course was nearly at an end. To avoid a troop of boys who, -arm-in-arm, came breasting up the street singing the burden of a -negro-song, she turned off again into the main thoroughfare, and had -barely gained the broad shadow of the sharp-steepled church in Langham -Place, when she felt her legs sinking under her, her brain reeling, -her heart throbbing in her breast like a ball of fire. She tottered -and clung to the church-railing for support. In the next instant she -was surrounded by a little crowd, in which she had a vision of painted -faces and glistening silks, a dream of faint words of commiseration -overborne by mocking laughter and ribald oaths, oaths made more fearful -still by being uttered in foreign accents, of bitter jests and broad -hints of drunkenness and shame; finally, of the strident voice of -the policeman telling her again to "move on!" The dead faintness, -consequent on cold and wet and weariness and starvation, passed away -for the time, and she obeyed the mandate. Passively she crept away a -few steps up a deserted bystreet until her tormentors had left her -quite alone; then she sunk down, shivering, on a doorstep, and burying -her face in her tattered shawl, felt that her end was come. - -There she remained, the dead damp cold striking through her lower -limbs and chilling them to stone, while her head was one blazing -fire. Gradually her limbs became numbed and lost to all sensation, a -sickening empty pain was round her heart, a dead apathy settling down -over her mind and brain. The tramping of feet was close upon her, the -noise of loud voices, the ringing shouts of loud laughter, were in her -ears; but she never raised her head from the tattered shawl, nor by -speech or motion did she give the smallest sign of life. Men passed her -constantly, all making for one goal, the portico next to that in which -she had sunk down helpless--men with kindly hearts attuned to charity, -who, had they known the state of the wretched wayfarer, would have -exerted themselves bravely in her succour, but whom a London life had -so inured to spectacles of casual misery and vice, that a few only cast -a passing glance on the stricken woman and passed on. They came singly -and in twos and threes; but none spoke to her, none noticed her save by -a glance and a shoulder shrug. - -Then, as the icy hands of Cold and Want gradually stealing over her -seemed to settle round the region of her heart, the girl gave one low -faint cry, "God help me! it's come at last--God help me!" and fell back -in a dead swoon. - - - - -CHAPTER II. -THE BRETHREN OF THE BRUSH. - - -The house to which all the jovial fellows who passed the girl on the -doorstep with such carelessness were wending their way was almost -unique in the metropolis. The rumour ran that it had originally -been designed for stables, and indeed there was a certain mews-ish -appearance about its architectural elevation; it had the squat, -squabby, square look of those buildings from whose upper-floors -clothes-lines stretch diagonally across stable-yards; and you were at -first surprised at finding an imposing portico with an imposing bell -in a position where you looked for the folding-doors of a coach-house. -Whether there had been any truth in the report or not, it is certain -that the owner of the property speedily saw his way to more money -than he could have gained by the ignoble pursuit of stabling horses, -and made alterations in his building, which converted it into several -sets of spacious, roomy, and comfortable, if not elegant chambers. The -upper rooms were duly let, and speedily became famous--thus-wise. When -Parmegiano Wilkins made his first great success with his picture of -"Boadicea at Breakfast,"--connoisseurs and art-critics will recollect -the marvellous manner in which the chip in the porridge of the Queen -of the Iceni was rendered,--Mr. Caniche, the great picture-dealer, to -whom Wilkins had mortgaged himself body and soul for three years, felt -it necessary that his next works should be submitted to the private -inspection of the newspaper-writers and the _cognoscenti_ previous -to their going into the Academy Exhibition. On receiving a letter -to this effect from Caniche, Wilkins was at his wits' end. He was -living, for privacy's sake, in a little cottage on the outskirts of -Epping Forest, and having made a success, had naturally alienated all -his friends whose rooms in town would otherwise have been available -for the display of his pictures; he thought--and there the astute -picture-dealer agreed with him--that it would be unwise to send them -to Caniche's shop (it was before such places were called "galleries"), -as tending to make public the connection between them; and Wilkins did -not know what to do. Then Caniche came to his rescue. Little Jimmy -Dabb, who had been Gold-Medallist and Travelling-Student at the Academy -three years beforehand, and who, for sheer sake of bread-winning, had -settled down as one of Caniche's Labourers, had a big studio in the -stable-like edifice near Langham Church. In it he painted those bits -of domestic life,--dying children on beds, weeping mothers, small -table with cut-orange, Bible and physic by bedside, and pitying angel -dimly hovering between mantelpiece and ceiling,--which, originally -in oil, and subsequently in engravings, had such a vast sale, and -brought so much ready money to Caniche's exchequer. The situation was -central; why not utilise it? No sooner thought of than done: a red -cotton-velvet coverlet was spread over Jimmy Dabb's bed in the corner; -a Dutch carpet, red with black flecks, was, at Caniche's expense, -spread over the floor, paint-smeared and burnt with tobacco-ash; two -gorgeous easels, on which were displayed Wilkins's two pictures, "The -Bird in the Hand"--every feather in the bird and the dirt in the -nails of the ploughboy's hand marvellously delineated--and "Crumbs of -Comfort," each crumb separate, and the loaf in the background so real, -that the Dowager-Countess of Rundall, a celebrated household manager, -declared it at once to be a "slack-baked quartern." Invitation-cards, -wonderfully illuminated in Old-English characters, and utterly -illegible, were sent forth to rank, fashion, and talent, who duly -attended. Crowds of gay carriages choked up the little street: Dabb -in his Sunday-clothes did the honours; Caniche, bland, smiling, and -polyglot, flitted here and there, his clerk took down orders for -proof copies, and the fortune of the chambers was made. They were so -original, so artistic, so convenient, they were just the place for a -painter. Smudge, R.A., who painted portraits of the aristocracy, who -wore a velvet-coat, and whose name was seen in the tail-end of the list -of fashionables at evening-parties, took a vacant set at once; and -Clement Walkinshaw of the Foreign Office, who passed such spare time -as his country could afford him in illuminating missals, in preparing -designs for stained glass, and in hanging about art-circles generally, -secured the remainder of the upper-floor, and converted it into a -Wardour-Street Paradise, with hanging velvet _portières_, old oak -cabinets, Venetian-glass, marqueterie tables, Sèvres china, escutcheons -of armour, and Viennese porcelain pipes. - -Meanwhile, utterly uncaring for and utterly independent of what went -on upstairs, the denizens of the lower story kept quietly on. Who -were the denizens of the lower story? who but the well-known Titian -Sketching-Club! How many men who, after struggling through Suffolk -Street and the Portland Gallery, have won their way to fame and -fortune, have made their _coup d'essai_ on the walls of the chambers -rented by the Titian Sketching-Club! Outsiders, who professed great -love for art, but who only knew the two or three exhibitions of the -season and only recognised the score of names in each vouchsafed for -by the newspaper-critics, would have been astonished to learn the -amount of canvas covered, pains taken, and skill brought to bear upon -the work of the Members of the Titian. There are guilds, and companies -of Freemasons, and brotherhoods by the score in London; but I know -of none where the grand spirit of Camaraderie is so carried out as -in this. It is the nearest thing to the _Vie de Bohème_ of Paris of -Henri Murger that we can show; there is more liberty of speech and -thought and action, less reticence, more friendship,--when friendship -is understood by purse-sharing, by sick-bedside-watching, by absence of -envy, jealousy, hatred, and all uncharitableness,--more singleness of -purpose, more contempt for shams and impostures and the dismal fetters -of conventionality, than in any other circle of English Society with -which I am acquainted. - -It was a grand night with the Titians; no model was carefully posed -on the "throne" that evening; no intelligent class was grouped round -on the rising benches, copying from the "draped" or the "nude;" -none of the wardrobe or properties of the club (and it is rich in -both),--none of the coats of mail or suits of armour, hauberks and -broadswords, buff boots, dinted breastplates, carved ebony crucifixes, -ivory-hafted daggers, Louis-Onze caps, friars' gowns and rosaries, nor -other portions of the stock-in-trade, were on view. The "sending-in" -day for the approaching Exhibition of the British Institution was at -hand; and the discoloured smoky old walls of the Titians, the rickety -easels piled round the room, all available ledges and nooks, were -covered with the works of the members of the club, which they fully -intended to submit for exhibition. A very Babel, in a thick fog of -tobacco-smoke, through which loomed the red face of Flexor the famous -model, like the sun in November, greeted you on your entrance. Flexor -pretended to take the hats, but the visitors seemed to know him too -well, and contented themselves with nodding at him in a friendly -manner, and retaining their property. Then you passed into the rooms, -where you found yourself wedged up amongst a crowd of perhaps the most -extraordinary-looking beings you ever encountered. Little men with big -heads and long beards, big men with bald heads and shaved cheeks, and -enormous moustaches and glowering spectacles; tall thin straggling men, -who seemed all profile, and whose full face you could never catch; -dirty shaggy little men, with heads of hair like red mops, and no -apparent faces underneath, whose eyes flashed through their elf-locks, -and who were explaining their pictures with singular pantomimic power -of their sinewy hands, and notably of their ever-flashing thumbs; -moon-faced solemn didactic men prosing away on their views of art to -dreary discontented listeners; and foppish, smart little fellows, -standing a-tiptoe to get particular lights, shading their eyes with -their hands, and backing against the company generally. Moving here -and there among the guests was the Titians' president, honest old Tom -Wrigley, who had been "at it," as he used to say, for thirty years; -without making any great mark in his profession, but who was cordially -beloved for his kind-heartedness and _bonhomie_, and who had a word and -a joke for all. As he elbowed his way through the room he spoke right -and left. - -"Hallo, Tom Rogers!--hallo, Tom! That's an improvement, Tom, my boy! -Got rid of the heavy browns, eh? weren't good, those heavy browns; -specially for a Venetian atmosphere, eh, Tom? Much better, this.--How -are you, Jukes? Old story, Jukes?--hen and chickens, ducks in the pond, -horse looking over the gate? Quite right, Jukes; stick to that, if it -pays. Much better than the death of J. Caesar on a twenty-foot canvas, -which nobody would be fool enough to buy. Stick to the ducks, Jukes, -old fellow.--What's the matter, George? Why so savage, my son?" - -"Here's Scumble!" said the young man addressed, in an undertone. - -"And what of that, George? Mr. Scumble is a Royal Academician, it -is true; and consequently a mark for your scorn and hatred, George. -But it's not _his_ fault; he never did anything to aspire to such a -dignity. It's your British public, George, which is such an insensate -jackass as to buy Scumble's pictures, and to tell him he's a genius." - -"He was on the Hanging-Committee last year, and--" - -"Ah, so he was; and your 'Aristides' was kicked out, and so was my -'Hope Deferred,' which was a deuced sight better than your big picture, -Master George; but see how I shall treat him.--How do you do, Mr. -Scumble? You're very welcome here, sir." - -Mr. Scumble, R.A., who had a head like a tin-loaf, and a face without -any earthly expression, bowed his acknowledgments and threw as much -warmth into his manner as he possibly could, apparently labouring -under a notion that he was marked out for speedy assassination. "This -is indeed a char-ming collection! Great talent among the ri-sing men, -Mr.--pardon me--President! This now, for instance, a most charming -landscape!" - -"Yes, old boy; you may say that," said a square-built man smoking -a clay-pipe, and leaning with his elbows on the easel on which the -picture was placed. "I mean the real thing,--not this; which ain't bad -though, is it? Not that I should say so; 'cause for why; which I did -it!" and here the square-built man removed one of his elbows from the -easel, and dug it into the sacred ribs of Scumble, R.A. - -"Bad, sir!" said Scumble, recoiling from the thrust, and still with -the notion of a secret dagger hidden behind the square-built man's -waistcoat; "it's magnificent, superb, Mr.----!" - -"Meaning me? Potts!" said the square-built man "Charley Potts, artist, -U.E., or unsuccessful exhibitor at every daub-show in London. That's -the Via Mala, that is. I was there last autumn with Geoffrey Ludlow -and Tom Bleistift. 'Show me a finer view than that,' I said to those -fellows, when it burst upon us. 'If you'd a Scotchman with you,' said -Tom, 'he'd say it wasn't so fine as the approach to Edinburgh.' 'Would -he?'said I. 'If he said anything of that sort, I'd show him that view, -and--and rub his nose in it!'" - -Mr. Scumble, R.A., smiled in a sickly manner, bowed feebly, and passed -on. Old Tom Wrigley laughed a great boisterous "Ha, ha!" and went -on his way. Charley Potts remained before his picture, turning his -back on it, and puffing out great volumes of smoke. He seemed to know -everybody in the room, and to be known to and greeted by most of them. -Some slapped him on the back, some poked him in the ribs, others laid -their forefingers alongside their noses and winked; but all called him -"Charley," and all had some pleasant word for him; and to all he had -something to say in return. - -"Hallo, Fred Snitterfield!" he called out to a fat man in a suit of -shepherd's-plaid dittoes. "Halloa, Fred! how's your brother Bill? -What's he been doing? Not here to-night, of course?" - -"No; he wasn't very well," said the man addressed. "He's got--" - -"Yes, yes; I know, Fred!" said Charley Potts. "Wife won't let him! -That's it, isn't it, old boy? He only dined out once in his life -without leave, and then he sent home a telegram to say he was engaged; -and when his wife received the telegram she would not believe it, -because she said it wasn't his handwriting! Poor old Bill! Did he sell -that 'Revenge' to what's-his-name--that Manchester man--Prebble?" - -"Lord, no! Haven't you heard? Prebble's smashed up,--all his property -gone to the devil!" - -"Ah, then Prebble will find it again some day, no doubt. Look out! -here's Bowie!" - -Mr. Bowie was the art-critic of a great daily journal. In early life -he had courted art himself; but lacking executive power, he had mixed -up a few theories and quaint conceits which he had learned with a -great deal of acrid bile, with which he had been gifted by nature, and -wrote the most pungent and malevolent art-notices of the day. A tall, -light-haired, vacant-looking man, like a light-house without any light -in it, peering uncomfortably over his stiff white cravat, and fumbling -nervously at his watch-chain. Clinging close to him, and pointing out -to him various pictures as they passed them by, was quite another style -of man,--Caniche, the great picture dealer,--an under-sized lively -Gascon, black-bearded from his chin, round which it was closely cut, to -his beady black eyes, faultlessly dressed, sparkling in speech, affable -in manner, at home with all. - -"Ah, ah!" said he, stopping before the easel, "the Via Mala! Not -bad--not at all bad!" he continued, with scarcely a trace of a foreign -accent. "Yours, Charley Potts? yours, _mon brave?_ De-caidedly an -improvement, Charley! You go on that way, mai boy, and some day--" - -"Some day you'll give me twenty pound, and sell me for a hundred! won't -you, Caniche?--generous buffalo!" growled Charley, over his pipe. - -The men round laughed, but Caniche was not a bit offended. "Of course," -he said, simply, "I will, indeed; that is my trade! And if you could -find a man who would give you thirty, you would throw me over in what -you call a brace of shakes! _N'est-ce pas?_ Meanwhile, find the man to -give you thirty. He is not here; I mean coming now.--How do you do, -Herr Stompff?" - -Mr. Caniche (popularly known as Cannish among the artists) winced as he -said this, for Herr Stompff was his great rival and bitterest enemy. - -A short, bald-headed, gray-bearded man was Mr. Stompff,--a -Hamburger,--who, on his first arrival in England, had been an importer -of piping bullfinches at Hull; then a tobacconist in St Mary Axe; and -who finally had taken up picture-selling, and did an enormous business. -No one could tell that he was not an Englishman from his talk, and an -Englishman with a marvellous fluency in the vernacular. He had every -slang saying as soon as it was out, and by this used to triumph over -his rival Caniche, who never could follow his phraseology. - -"Hallo, Caniche!" he said; "how are you? What's up?--running the rig -on the boys here! telling Charley Potts his daubs are first-rate? -Pickles!--We know all that game, don't we, Charley? What do you want -for it, Charley?--How are you, Mr. Bowie? what's fresh with you, -sir? Too proud to come and have a cut of mutton with me and Mrs. S. -a-Sunday, I suppose? Some good fellows coming, too; Mugger from the -Cracksideum, and Talboys and Sir Paul Potter--leastways I've asked him. -Well, Charley, what's the figure for this lot, eh?" - -"I'll trouble you not to 'Charley' me, Mr. Stump, or whatever your -infernal name is!" said Potts, folding his arms and puffing out -his smoke savagely. "I don't want any Havannah cigars, nor silk -handkerchiefs, nor painted canaries, nor anything else in your line, -sir; and I want your confounded patronage least of all!" - -"Good boy, Charley! very good boy!" said Stompff, calmly pulling his -whisker through his teeth--"shouldn't lose his temper, though. Come and -dine a-Sunday, Charley." Mr. Potts said something, which the historian -is not bound to repeat, turned on his heel, and walked away. - -Mr. Stompff was not a bit disconcerted at this treatment. He merely -stuck his tongue in his cheek, and looking at the men standing round, -said, "He's on the high ropes, is Master Charley! Some of you fellows -have been lending him half-a-crown, or that fool Caniche has bought one -of his pictures for seven-and-six! Now, has anybody anything new to -show, eh?" Of course everybody had something new to show to the great -Stompff, the enterprising Stompff, the liberal Stompff, whose cheques -were as good as notes of the Bank of England. How they watched his -progress, and how their hearts beat as he loitered before their works! -Jupp, who had a bed-ridden wife, a dear pretty little woman recovering -from rheumatic fever at, Adalbert Villa, Elgiva Road, St. John's -Wood; Smethurst, who had a 25_l_. bill coming due in a fortnight, -and had three-and-sevenpence wherewith to: Vogelstadt, who had been -beguiled into leaving Dusseldorf for London on the rumours of English -riches and English patronage, and whose capital studies of birds -in the snow, and _treibe-jagd's_, and boar-hunts, had called forth -universal laudation, but had not as yet entrapped a single purchaser, -so that Vogelstadt, who had come down not discontentedly to living on -bread-and-milk, had notions of mortgaging his ancestral thumb-ring -to procure even those trifling necessaries,--how they al glared with -expectation as the ex-singing-bird-importer passed their pictures in -review! That worthy took matters very easily, strolling along with -his hands in his pockets, glancing at the easels and along the walls, -occasionally nodding his head in approval, or shrugging his shoulders -in depreciation, but never saying a word until he stopped opposite a -well-placed figure-subject to which he devoted a two-minutes' close -scrutiny, and then uttered this frank though _argot_-tinged criticism -"That'll hit 'em up! that'll open their eyelids, by Jove! Whose is it?" - -The picture represented a modern ballroom, in a corner of which a man -of middle age, his arms tightly folded across his breast, was intently -watching the movements of a young girl, just starting off in a _valse_ -with a handsome dashing young partner. The expressions in the two faces -were admirably defined: in the man's was a deep earnest devotion not -unmingled with passion and with jealousy, his tightly-clenched mouth, -his deep-set earnest eyes, settled in rapt adoration on the girl, -showed the earnestness of his feeling, SO did the rigidly-fixed arms, -and the _pose_ of the figure, which, originally careless, had become -hardened and angular through intensity of feeling. The contrast was -well marked; in the girl's face which was turned toward the man while -her eyes were fixed on him, was a bright saucy triumph, brightening -her eyes, inflating her little nostrils, curving the corners of her -mouth, while her figure was light and airy, just obedient to the first -notes of the _valse_, balancing itself as it were on the arm of her -partner before starting off down the dance. All the accessories were -admirable: the dreary wallflowers ranged round the room, the chaperons -nidnodding together on the rout-seats, paterfamilias despondingly -consulting his watch, the wearied hostess, and the somnolently-inclined -musicians,--all were there, portrayed not merely by a facile hand but -by a man conversant with society. The title of the picture, "Sic vos -non vobis," was written on a bit of paper stuck into the frame, on -the other corner of which was a card bearing the words "Mr. Geoffrey -Ludlow." - -"Ah!" said Stompff, who, after carefully scanning the picture close and -then from a distance, had read the card--"at last! Geoffrey Ludlow's -going to fulfil the promise which he's been showing this ten years! A -late birth, but a fine babby now it's born! That's the real thing and -no flies! That's about as near a good thing as I've seen this long -time--that; come, you'll say the same! That's a good picture, Mr. -Wrigley!" - -"Ah!" said old Tom, coming up at the moment, "you've made another -lucky hit if you've bought that, Mr. Stompff! Geoff is so confoundedly -undecided, so horribly weak in all things, that he's been all this time -making up his mind whether he really would paint a good picture or not. -But he's decided at last, and he has painted a clipper." - -"Ye-es!" said Stompff, whose first enthusiasm had by no means died -away--on the contrary, he thought so well of the picture that he had -within himself determined to purchase it; but his business caution was -coming over him strongly. "Yes! it's a clipper, as you say, Wrigley; -but it's a picture which would take all a fellow knew to work it. Throw -that into the market--where are you! Pouf! gone I no one thinking of -it. Judicious advertisement, judicious squaring of those confounded -fellows of the press; a little dinner at the Albion or the Star and -Garter to two or three whom we know; and then the wonderful grasp of -modern life, the singular manner in which the great natural feelings -are rendered, the microscopic observation, and the power of detail--" - -"Yes, yes," said Tom Wrigley; "for which, see _Catalogue of Stompff's -Gallery of Modern Painters_, price 6_d_. Spare yourself, you unselfish -encourager of talent, and spare Geoff's blushes; for here he is.--Did -you hear what Stompff was saying on, Geoff?" - -As he spoke, there came slouching up, shouldering his way through the -crowd, a big, heavily-built man of about forty years of age, standing -over six feet, and striking in appearance if not prepossessing. -Striking in appearance from his height, which was even increased -by his great shock head of dark-brown hair standing upright on his -forehead, but curling in tight crisp waves round the back and poll of -his head; from his great prominent brown eyes, which, firmly set in -their large thickly-carved lids, flashed from under an overhanging -pair of brows; from his large heavy nose, thick and fleshy, yet with -lithe sensitive nostrils; from his short upper and protruding thick -under lip; from the length of his chin and the massive heaviness of -his jaw, though the heavy beard greatly concealed the formation of -the lower portion of his face. A face which at once evoked attention, -which no one passed by without noticing, which people at first called -"odd," and "singular," and "queer," according to their vocabulary; -then, following the same rule, pronounced "ugly," or "hideous," or -"grotesque,"--allowing all the time that there "was something very -curious in it." But a face which, when seen in animation or excitement, -in reflex of the soul within, whose every thought was legibly portrayed -in its every expression, in light or shade, with earnest watchful -eyes, and knit brows and quivering nostrils and working lips; or, on -the other hand, with its mouth full of sound big white teeth gleaming -between its ruddy lips, and its eyes sparkling with pure merriment -or mischief;--then a face to be preferred to all the dolly inanities -of the Household Brigade, or even the matchless toga-draped dummies -in Mr. Truefitt's window. This was Geoffrey Ludlow, whom everybody -liked, but who was esteemed to be so weak and vacillating, so infirm -of purpose, so incapable of succeeding in his art or in his life, as -to have been always regarded as an object of pity rather than envy; as -a man who was his own worst enemy, and of whom nothing could be said. -He had apparently caught some words of the conversation, for when he -arrived at the group a smile lit up his homely features, and his teeth -glistened again in the gaslight. - -"What are you fellows joking about?" he asked, while he roared with -laughter, as if with an anticipatory relish of the fun. "Some chaff at -my expense, eh? Something about my not having made up my mind to do -something or not; the usual nonsense, I suppose?" - -"Not at all Geoff," said Tom Wrigley. "The question asked by Mr. -Stompff here was--whether you wished to sell this picture, and what you -asked for it." - -"Ah!" said Geoffrey Ludlow, his lips closing and the fun dying out -of his eyes. "Well, you see it's of course a compliment for you, -Mr. Stompff, to ask the question; but I've scarcely made up my -mind--whether--and indeed as to the price--" - -"Stuff, Geoff! What rubbish you talk!" said Charley Potts, who had -rejoined the group. "You know well enough that you painted the picture -for sale. You know equally well that the price is two hundred guineas. -Are you answered, Mr. Stump?" - -Ludlow started forward with a look of annoyance, but Stompff merely -grinned, and said quietly, "I take it at the price, and as many more as -Mr. Ludlow will paint of the same sort; stock, lock, and barrel, I'll -have the whole bilin'. Must change the title though, Ludlow, my boy. -None of your Sic wos non thingummy; none of your Hebrew classics for -the British public. 'The Vow,' or 'the Last Farewell,' or something in -that line.--Very neatly done of you, Charley, my boy; very neat bit -of dealing, I call it. I ought to deduct four-and-nine from the next -fifteen shillin' commission you get; but I'll make it up to you this -way,--you've evidently all the qualities of a salesman; come and be my -clerk, and I'll stand thirty shillings a-week and a commission on the -catalogues." - -Charley Potts was too delighted at his friend's success to feel -annoyance at these remarks; he merely shook his fist laughingly, and -was passing on, with his arm through Ludlow's; but the vivacious -dealer, who had rapidly calculated where he could plant his -newly-acquired purchase, and what percentage he could make on it, was -not to be thus balked. - -"Look here!" said he; "a bargain's a bargain, ain't it? People say your -word's as good as your bond, and all that. Pickles! You drop down to -my office to-morrow, Ludlow, and there'll be an agreement for you to -sign--all straight and reg'lar, you know. And come and cut your mutton -with me and Mrs. S. at Velasquez Villa, Nottin' 'Ill, on Sunday, at -six. No sayin' no, because I won't hear it. We'll wet our connection in -a glass of Sham. And bring Charley with you, if his dress-coat ain't -up! You know, Charley! Tar, Tar!" And highly delighted with himself, -and with the full conviction that he had rendered himself thoroughly -delightful to his hearers, the great man waddled off his brougham. - -Meanwhile the news of the purchase had spread through the rooms, -and men were hurrying up on all sides to congratulate Ludlow on his -success. The fortunate man seemed, however, a little dazed with his -triumph; he shook all the outstretched hands cordially, and said a few -commonplaces of thanks, intermingled with doubts as to whether he had -not been too well treated; but on the first convenient opportunity he -slipped away, and sliding a shilling into the palm of Flexor the model, -who, being by this time very drunk, had arranged his hair in a curl -on his forehead, and was sitting on the bench in the hall after his -famous rendering of George the Fourth of blessed memory, Geoff seized -his hat and coat and let himself out. The fresh night-air revived him -wonderfully, and he was about starting off at his usual headstrong -pace, when he heard a low dismal moan, and looking round, he saw a -female figure cowering in a doorway. The next instant he was kneeling -by her side. - - - - -CHAPTER III. -BLOTTED OUT. - - -THE strange caprices of Fashion were never more strangely illustrated -than by her fixing upon St. Barnabas Square as one of her favourite -localities. There are men yet living among us whose mothers had -been robbed on their way from Ranelagh in crossing the spot, then a -dreary swampy marsh, on which now stands the city of palaces known as -Cubittopolis. For years on years it remained in its dismal condition, -until an enterprising builder, seeing the army of civilisation -advancing with grand strides south-westward, and perceiving at a glance -the immediate realisation of an enormous profit on his outlay, bought -up the entire estate, had it thoroughly cleansed and drained, and -proceeded to erect thereon a series of terraces, places, and squares, -each vying with the other in size, perfection of finish, and, let it be -said, general ghastliness. The houses in St. Barnabas Square resemble -those in Chasuble Crescent, and scarcely differ in any particular -from the eligible residences in Reredos Road: they are all very -tall, and rather thin; they have all enormous porticoes, over which -are little conservatories, railed in with ecclesiastical ironwork; -dismal little back-rooms no bigger than warm-baths, but described as -"libraries" by the house-agents; gaunt drawing-rooms connected by an -arch; vast landings, leading on to other little conservatories, where -"blacks," old flower-pots, and a few geranium stumps, are principally -conserved; and a series of gaunt towny bedrooms. In front they have -Mr. Swiveller's prospect,--a delightful view of over-the-way; across -the bit of square enclosure like a green pocket-handkerchief; while -at the back they look immediately on to the back-premises of other -eligible residences. The enterprising builder has done his best for his -neighbourhood, but he has been unable to neutralise the effects of the -neighbouring Thames; and the consequence is, that during the winter -months a chronic fog drifts up from the pleasant Kentish marshes, -and finding ample room and verge enough, settles permanently down in -the St. Barnabas district; while in the summer, the new roads which -intersect the locality, being mostly composed of a chalky foundation, -peel off under every passing wheel, and emit enormous clouds of dust, -which are generally drifting on the summer wind into the eyes and -mouths of stray passengers, and in at the doors and windows of regular -residents. Yet this is one of Fashion's chosen spots here in this -stronghold of stucco reside scores of those whose names and doings the -courtly journalist delighteth to chronicle; hither do county magnates -bring, to furnished houses, their wives and daughters, leaving them -to entertain those of the proper set during the three summer months, -while they, the county magnates themselves, are sleeping the sleep of -the just on the benches of the House of Commons, or nobly discharging -their duty to their country by smoking cigars on the terrace; here -reside men high up in the great West-end public offices, commissioners -and secretaries, anxious to imbue themselves with the scent of the -rose, and _vivre près d'elle_, City magnates, judges of the land, and -counsel learned in the law. The situation is near to Westminster for -the lawyers and politicians; and the address has quite enough of the -true ring about it to make it much sought after by all those who go-in -for a fashionable neighbourhood. - -A few hours before the events described in the preceding chapters -took place, a brougham, perfectly appointed, and drawn by a splendid -horse, came dashing through the fog and driving mist, and pulled up -before one of the largest houses in St. Barnabas Square. The footman -jumped from the box, and was running to the door, when, in obedience -to a sharp voice, he stopped, and the occupant of the vehicle, who had -descended, crossed the pavement with rapid strides, and opened the door -with a pass-key. He strode quickly through the hall, up the staircase, -and into the drawing-room, round which he took a rapid glance. The -room was empty; the gas was lit, and a fire burned brightly on the -hearth; while an open piano, covered with music, on the one side of the -fireplace, and a book turned down with open leaves, showed that the -occupants had but recently left. The newcomer, finding himself alone, -walked to the mantelpiece, and leaning his back against it, passed his -hands rapidly across his forehead; then plunging both of them into his -pockets, seemed lost in thought. The gaslight showed him to be a man -of about sixty years of age, tall, wiry, well-proportioned; his head -was bald, with a fringe of grayish hair, his forehead broad, his eyes -deep-set, his mouth thin-lipped, and ascetic; he wore two little strips -of whisker, but his chin was closely shaved. He was dressed in high -stiff shirt-collars, a blue-silk neckerchief with white dots, in which -gleamed a carbuncle pin; a gray overcoat, under which was a cutaway -riding-coat, high waistcoat with onyx buttons, and tight-fitting -cord-trousers. This was George Brakespere, third Earl Beauport, of whom -and of whose family it behoves one to speak in detail. - -They were _novi homines_, the Brakesperes, though they always claimed -to be sprung from ancient Norman blood. Only seventy years ago old -Martin Brakespere was a wool-stapler in Uttoxeter; and though highly -respected for the wealth he was reported to have amassed, was very much -jeered at privately, and with bated breath, for keeping an apocryphal -genealogical tree hanging up in his back-shop, and for invariably -boasting, after his second glass of grog at the Greyhound, about his -lineage. But when, after old Martin had been some score years quietly -resting in Uttoxeter churchyard, his son Sir Richard Brakespere, who -had been successively solicitor and attorney general, was raised to -the peerage, and took his seat on the woolsack as Baron Beauport, Lord -High Chancellor of England, the Herald's College, and all the rest of -the genealogical authorities, said that the line was thoroughly made -out and received the revival of the ancient title with the greatest -laudation. A wiry, fox-headed, thin chip of a lawyer, the first Baron -Beauport, as knowing as a ferret, and not unlike one in the face. He -administered the laws of his country very well, and he lent some of the -money he had inherited from his father to the sovereign of his country -and the first gentleman in Europe at a very high rate of interest, it -is said. Rumour reports that he did not get all his money back again, -taking instead thereof an increase in rank, and dying, at an advanced -age, as Earl Beauport, succeeded in his title and estates by his only -son, Theodore Brakespere, by courtesy Viscount Caterham. - -When his father died, Lord Caterham, the second Earl Beauport, was -nearly fifty years old, a prim little gentleman who loved music and -wore a wig; a dried-up chip of a little man, who lived in a little -house in Hans Place with an old servant, a big violoncello, and a -special and peculiar breed of pug-dogs. To walk out with the pug-dogs -in the morning, to be carefully dressed and tittivated and buckled and -curled by the old servant in the afternoon, and either to play the -violoncello in a Beethoven or Mozart selection with some other old -amateur fogies, or to be present at a performance of chamber-music, or -philharmonics, or oratorio-rehearsals in the evening, constituted the -sole pleasure of the second Earl Beauport's life. He never married; and -at his death, some fifteen years after his father's, the title and, -with the exception of a few legacies to musical charities, the estates -passed to his cousin George Brakespere, Fellow of Lincoln College, -Oxon, and then of Little Milman Street, Bedford Row, and the Northern -Circuit, briefless barrister. - -Just in the very nick of time came the peerage and the estates to -George Brakespere, for he was surrounded by duns, and over head and -ears in love. With all his hard work at Oxford, and he had worked hard, -he had the reputation of being the best bowler at Bullingdon, and the -hardest rider after hounds; of having the best old port and the finest -cigars (it was before the days of claret and short pipes), and the best -old oak furniture, library of books, and before-letter proofs in the -University. All these could not be paid for out of an undergraduate's -income; and the large remainder of unpaid bills hung round him and -plagued him heavily long after he had left Oxford and been called to -the bar. It was horribly up-hill work getting a connection among the -attorneys; he tried writing for reviews, and succeeded, but earned -very little money. And then, on circuit, at an assize-ball, he fell in -love with Gertrude Carrington, a haughty county beauty, only daughter -of Sir Joshua Carrington, Chairman of Quarter Sessions; and that -nearly finished him. Gertrude Carrington was very haughty and very -wilful; she admired the clever face and the bold bearing of the young -barrister; but in all probability she would have thought no more of -him, had not the eminent Sir Joshua, who kept his eyes very sharply -about him, marked the flirtation, and immediately expressed his total -disapproval of it. That was enough for Gertrude, and she at once went -in for George Brakespere, heart and soul. She made no objection to -a clandestine correspondence, and responded regularly and warmly to -George's passionate letters. She gave him two or three secret meetings -under an old oak in a secluded part of her father's park,--Homershams -was a five-hours' journey from town,--and these assignations always -involved George's sleeping at an inn, and put him to large expense; and -when she came up to stay with her cousins in town, she let him know -all the parties to which they were going, and rendered him a mendicant -for invitations. When the change of fortune came, and George succeeded -to the title, Sir Joshua succumbed at once, and became anxious for -the match. Had George inherited money only, it is probable that from -sheer wilfulness Gertrude would have thrown him over; but the notion of -being a countess, of taking precedence and pas of all the neighbouring -gentry, had its influence, and they were married. Two sons were born -to them,--Viscount Caterham and the Hon. Lionel Brakespere,--and a -daughter, who only survived her birth a few weeks. As Earl Beauport, -George Brakespere retained the energy and activity of mind and body, -the love of exercise and field-sports, the clear brain and singleness -of purpose, which had distinguished him as a commoner: but there was -a skeleton in his house, whose bony fingers touched his heart in his -gayest moments, numbed his energies, and warped his usefulness; whose -dread presence he could not escape from, whose chilling influence nor -wine, nor work, nor medicine, nor gaiety, could palliate. It was ever -present in a tangible shape; he knew his weakness and wickedness in -permitting it to conquer him,--he strove against it, but vainly; and -in the dead watches of the night often he lay broad awake railing -against the fate which had mingled so bitter an ingredient in his cup -of happiness. - -The door swung open and the Countess entered, a woman nearly fifty -now, but not looking her age by at least eight years. A tall handsome -woman, with the charms of her former beauty mellowed but not impaired; -the face was more full, but the firm chiselling of the nose and lips, -the brightness of the eyes, the luxurious dark gloss of the hair, were -there still. As she entered, her husband advanced to meet her; and as -he touched her forehead with his lips, she laid her hand on his, and -asked "What news?" - -He shook his head sadly, and said, "The worst." - -"The worst!" she repeated, faintly; "he's not dead? Beauport, you--you -would not say it in that way--he's not dead?" - -"I wish to God he were!" said Lord Beauport through his teeth. "I wish -it had pleased God to take him years and years ago! No! he's not dead." -Then throwing himself into a chair, and staring vacantly at the fire, -he repeated, "I wish to God he were!" - -"Anything but that!" said the Countess, with a sense of immense relief; -"anything but that! whatever he has done may be atoned for, and -repented, and--But what has he done? where is he? have you seen Mr. -Farquhar?" - -"I have--and I know all. Gertrude, Lionel is a scoundrel and a -criminal--no, don't interrupt me! I myself have prosecuted and -transported men for less crimes than he has committed; years ago he -would have been hanged. He is a forger!" - -"A forger!" - -"He has forged the names of two of his friends--old brother officers; -Lord Hinchenbrook is one, and young Latham the other--to bills for five -thousand pounds. I've had the bills in my hands, and seen letters from -the men denying their signatures to-night, and--" - -"But Lionel--where is he? in prison?" - -"No; he saw the crash coming, and fled from it. Farquhar showed me a -blotted letter from him, written from Liverpool, saying in a few lines -that he had disgraced us all, that he was on the point of sailing under -a feigned name for Australia, and that we should never see him again." - -"Never see him again! my boy, my own darling boy!" and Lady Beauport -burst into an agony of tears. - -"Gertrude," said her husband, when the first wild storm of grief had -subsided, "calm yourself for one instant." - -He rang the bell, and to the servant answering it, said: - -"Tell Lord Caterham I wish to speak to him, and beg Miss Maurice to be -good enough to step here." - -Lady Beauport was about to speak, but the Earl said coldly: - -"I wish it, if you please;" and reiterated his commands to the servant, -who left the room. "I have fully decided, Gertrude, on the step I am -about to take. To-morrow those forged bills will be mine. I saw young -Latham at Farquhar's, and he said--" Lord Beauport's voice shook -here--"said everything that was kind and noble; and Hinchenbrook has -said the same to Farquhar. It--it cannot be kept quiet, of course. -Every club is probably ringing with it now; but they will let me have -the bills. And from this moment, Gertrude, that boy's name must never -be uttered, save in our prayers--in our prayers for his forgiveness -and--and repentance--by you, his mother; by me his father,--nor by any -one in this house. He is dead to us for ever!" - -"Beauport, for Heaven's sake--" - -"I swear it, Gertrude, I swear it! and most solemnly will keep the -oath. I have sent for Caterham, who must know, of course; his good -sense will approve what I have done; and for Annie, she is part of our -household now, and must be told. Dead to us all henceforth; dead to us -all!" - -He sank into a chair opposite the fire and buried his face in his -hands, but roused himself at advancing footsteps. The door opened, and -a servant entered, pushing before him a library-chair fitted on large -wheels, in which sat a man of about thirty, of slight spare frame, with -long arms and thin womanly hands--a delicately-handsome man, with a -small head, soft grey eyes, and an almost feminine mouth; a man whom -Nature had intended for an Apollo, whom fortune had marked for her -sport, blighting his childhood with some mysterious disease for which -the doctors could find neither name nor cure, sapping his marrow and -causing his legs to wither into the shrunken and useless members which -now hung loosely before him utterly without strength, almost without -shape, incapable of bearing his weight, and rendering him maimed, -crippled, blasted for life. This was Viscount Caterham, Earl Beauport's -eldest son, and heir to his title and estates. His father cast one -short, rapid glance at him as he entered, and then turned to the person -who immediately followed him. - -This was a tall girl of two-and-twenty, of rounded form and winning -expression. Her features were by no means regular; her eyes were brown -and sleepy; she had a pert inquisitive nose; and when she smiled, in -her decidedly large mouth gleamed two rows of strong white teeth. Her -dark-brown hair was simply and precisely arranged; for she had but a -humble opinion of her own charms, and objected to any appearance of -coquetry. She was dressed in a tight-fitting black silk, with linen -collar and cuffs, and her hands and feet were small and perfectly -shaped. Darling Annie Maurice, orphan daughter of a second cousin of -my lord's, transplanted from a suburban curacy to be companion and -humble friend of my lady, the one bright bit of sunshine and reality in -that palace of ghastly stucco and sham. Even now, as she came in, Lord -Beauport seemed to feel the cheering influence of her presence, and his -brow relaxed for an instant as he stepped forward and offered his hand; -after taking which, she, with a bow to the Countess, glided round and -stood by Lord Caterham's chair. - -Lord Caterham was the first to speak. - -"You sent for us--for Annie and me, sir," he said in a low tremulous -voice; "I trust you have no bad news of Lionel." - -Lady Beauport hid her face in her hands; but the Earl, who had resumed -his position against the mantelpiece, spoke firmly. - -"I sent for you, Caterham, and for you, Annie, as members of my family, -to tell you that Lionel Brakespere's name must never more be mentioned -in this house. He has disgraced himself, and us through him; and though -we cannot wipe away that disgrace, we must strive as far as possible to -blot him out from our memories and our lives. You know, both of you--at -least you, Caterham, know well enough,--what he has been to me--the -love I had for him--the--yes, my God, the pride I had in him!" - -His voice broke here, and he passed his hand across his eyes. In the -momentary pause Annie Maurice glanced up at Lord Caterham, and marked -his face distorted as with pain, and his head reclining on his chest. -Then, gulping down the knot rising in his throat, the Earl continued: - -"All that is over now; he has left the country, and the chances are -that we shall never see nor even hear from him again." A moan from -the Countess shook his voice for a second, but he proceeded: "It was -to tell you this that I sent for you. You and I, Caterham, will have -to enter upon this subject once more to-morrow, when some business -arrangements have to be made. On all other occasions, recollect, it is -tabooed. Let his name be blotted out from our memories, and let him be -as if he had never lived." - -As Earl Beauport ceased speaking he gathered himself together and -walked towards the door, never trusting himself to look for an instant -towards where his wife sat cowering in grief, lest his firmness should -desert him. Down the stairs he went, until entering his library he shut -the door behind him, locked it, and throwing himself into his chair, -leant his head on the desk, and covering it with his hands gave way -to a passion of sobs which shook his strong frame as though he were -convulsed. Then rising, he went to the book-case, and taking out a -large volume, opened it, and turned to the page immediately succeeding -the cover. It was a big old-fashioned Bible, bound in calf, with a -hideous ancient woodcut as a frontispiece representing the Adoration -of the Wise Men; but the page to which Lord Beauport turned, yellow -with age, was inscribed in various-coloured inks, many dim and faded, -with the names of the old Brakespere family, and the dates of their -births, marriages, and deaths. Old Martin Brakespere's headed the list; -then came his son's, with "created Baron Beauport" in the lawyer's -own skimpy little hand, in which also was entered the name of the -musical-amateur peer, his son; then came George Brakespere's bold entry -of his own name and his wife's, and of the names of their two sons. -Over the last entry Lord Beauport paused for a few minutes, glaring at -it with eyes which did not see it, but which had before them a chubby -child, a bright handsome Eton boy, a dashing guardsman, a "swell" -loved and petted by all, a fugitive skulking in an assumed name in the -cabin of a sea-tossed ship; then he took up a pen and ran it through -the entry backwards and forwards until the name was completely blotted -out; and then he fell again into his train of thought. The family -dinner-hour was long since passed; the table was laid, all was ready, -and the French cook and the grave butler were in despair: but Lord -Beauport still sat alone in his library with old Martin Brakespere's -Bible open before him. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. -ON THE DOORSTEP. - - -It is cheap philosophy to moralise on the importance of events led up -to by the merest trifles; but the subject comes so frequently before -us as to furnish innumerable pegs whereon the week-day preacher may -hang up his little garland of reflections, his little wreath of homely -truisms. If Ned Waldron had not been crossing into the Park at the -exact moment when the shortsighted Godalming banker was knocked down -by the hansom at the Corner, he would have still been enjoying eighty -pounds a-year as a temporary extra-clerk at Whitehall, instead of -groaning over the villanous extortion of the malt-tax, as a landed -proprietor of some thousands of inherited acres. If Dr. Weston's -red-lamp over the surgery-door had been blown out when the servant -rushed off for medical advice for Master Percy Buckmaster's ear-ache, -the eminent apothecary would never have had the chance of which he -so skilfully availed himself--of paying dutiful attention to Mrs. -Buckmaster, and finally stepping into the shoes of her late husband, -the wealthy Indian indigo-planter. - -If Geoffrey Ludlow, dashing impetuously onward in his career, had not -heard that long low heart-breaking moan, he might have gone on leading -his easy, shiftless, drifting life, with no break greater than the -excitement consequent on the sale of a picture or the accomplishment -of a resolution. But he _did_ hear it, and, rare thing in him, acting -at once on his first impulse, he dropped on his knees just in time to -catch the fainting form in his outstretched arms. That same instant -he would have shrunk back if he could; but it was too late; that same -instant there came across him a horrible feeling of the ludicrousness -of his position: there at midnight in a London thoroughfare holding -in his arms--what! a drunken tramp, perhaps; a vagrant well known to -the Mendicity Society; a gin-sodden streetwalker, who might requite -his good Samaritanism with a leer and a laugh, or an oath and a -blow. And yet the groan seemed to come from the lowest depths of a -wrung and suffering heart; and the appearance--no, there could be no -mistake about that. That thin, almost emaciated, figure; those pinched -features; drawn, haggard, colourless cheeks; that brow, half hidden by -the thick, damp, matted hair, yet in its deep lines and indentations -revealing the bitter workings of the mind; the small thin bony hands -now hanging flaccid and motionless--all these, if there were anything -real in this life, were outward semblances such as mere imposters could -not have brought forward in the way of trade. - -Not one of them was lost on Geoffrey Ludlow, who, leaning over the -prostrate figure, narrowly scanned its every feature, bent his face -towards the mouth, placed his hands on the heart, and then, thoroughly -alarmed, looked round and called for aid. Perhaps his excitement had -something to do with it, but Geoff's voice fell flat and limp on the -thick damp air, and there was no response, though he shouted again and -again. But presently the door whence he had issued opened widely, and -in the midst of a gush of tobacco smoke a man came out, humming a song, -twirling a stick, and striding down the street. Again Geoffrey Ludlow -shouted, and this time with success, for the newcomer stopped suddenly, -took his pipe from his mouth, and turning hist-doo head towards the -spot whence the voice proceeded, he called out, simply but earnestly, -"Hallo there! what's the row?" - -Ludlow recognised the speaker at once. It was Charley Potts, and -Geoffrey hailed him by name. - -"All right!" said Charley in return. "You've picked up my name fast -enough, my pippin; but that don't go far. Better known than trusted is -your obedient servant, C. P. Hallo, Geoff, old man, is it you? Why, -what the deuce have you got there? an 'omeless poor, that won't move -on, or a----- By George, Geoff, this is a bad case!" He had leant over -the girl's prostrate body, and had rapidly felt her pulse and listened -at her heart. "This woman's dying of inanition and prostration. I know -it, for I was in the red-bottle and Plaster-of-Paris-horse line before -I went in for Art. She must be looked to at once, or she'll slip off -the hooks while we're standing by her. You hold on here, old man, while -I run back and fetch the brandy out of Dabb's room; I know where he -keeps it. Chafe her hands, will you, Geoff? I shan't be a second." - -Charley Potts rushed off, and left Geoffrey still kneeling by the -girl's side. In obedience to his friend's instructions, he began -mechanically to chafe her thin worn hands; but as he rubbed his own -over them to and fro, to and fro, he peered into her face, and wondered -dreamily what kind of eyes were hidden behind the drooped lids, and -what was the colour of the hair hanging in dank thick masses over the -pallid brow. Even now there began to spring in his mind a feeling of -wonder not unmixed with alarm, as to what would be thought of him, -were he discovered in his then position; whether his motives would be -rightly construed; whether he were not acting somewhat indiscreetly -in so far committing himself: for Geoffrey Ludlow had been brought up -in the strict school of dire respectability, where a lively terror -of rendering yourself liable to Mrs. Grundy's remarks is amongst the -doctrines most religiously inculcated. But a glance at the form before -him gave him fresh assurance; and when Charley Potts returned he found -his friend rubbing away with all his energy. - -"Here it is," said Charley; "Dabb's particular. I know it's first-rate, -for Dabb only keeps it medicinally, taking Sir Felix Booth Bart. as his -ordinary tipple. I know this water-of-life-of-cognac of old, sir, and -always have internal qualms of conscience when I go to see Dabb, which -will not be allayed until I have had what Caniche calls a suspicion. -Hold her head for a second, Geoff, while I put the flask to her mouth. -There! Once more, Geoff. Ah! I thought so. Her pulse is moving now, old -fellow, and she'll rouse in a bit; but it was very nearly a case of -Walker." - -"Look at her eyes--they're unclosing." - -"Not much wonder in that, is there, my boy? though it is odd, perhaps. -A glass of brandy has made many people shut their eyes before now; but -as to opening them--Hallo! steady there!" - -He said this as the girl, her eyes glaring straight before her, -attempted to raise herself into an erect position, but after a faint -struggle dropped back, exclaiming feebly: - -"I cannot, I cannot." - -"Of course you can't, my dear," said Charley Potts, not unkindly; "of -course you can't. You musn't think of attempting it either. I say, -Geoff,"--(this was said in a lower tone)--"look out for the policeman -when he comes round, and give him a hail. Our young friend here must -be looked after at once, and he'd better take her in a cab to the -workhouse." - -As he said the last words, Geoffrey Ludlow felt the girl's hand which -he held thrill between his, and, bending down, thought he saw her lips -move. - -"What's the matter?" said Charley Potts. - -"It's very strange," replied Geoffrey; "I could swear I heard her say -'Not there!' and yet--" - -"Likely enough been there before, and knows the treatment. However, we -must get her off at once, or she'll go to grief; so let us--" - -"Look here, Charley: I don't like the notion of this woman's going to -a workhouse, specially as she seems to--object, eh? Couldn't we--isn't -there any one where we could--where she could lodge for a night or two, -until--the doctor, you know--one might see? Confound it all, Charley, -you know I never can explain exactly; can't you help me, eh?" - -"What a stammering old idiot it is!" said Charley Potts, laughing. -"Yes, I see what you mean--there's Flexor's wife lives close by, in -Little Flotsam Street--keeps a lodging-house. If she's not full, this -young party can go in there. She's all right now so far as stepping -it is concerned, but she'll want a deal of looking after yet. O, by -Jove! I left Rollit in at the Titians, the army-doctor, you know, who -sketches so well. Let's get her into Flexor's, and I'll fetch Rollit to -look at her. Easy now! Up!" - -They raised her to her feet, and half-supported, half-carried her round -the church and across the broad road, and down a little bystreet on -the other side. There Charley Potts stopped at a door, and knocking at -it, was soon confronted by a buxom middle-aged woman, who started with -surprise at seeing the group. - -"Lor, Mr. Potts! what can have brought you 'ere, sir? Flexor's not come -in, sir, yet--at them nasty Titiums, he is, and joy go with him. If -you're wanting him, sir, you'd better--" - -"No, Mrs. Flexor, we don't want your husband just now. Here's Mr. -Ludlow, who--" - -"Lord, and so it is! but seeing nothing but the nape of your neck, sir, -I did not recognise--" - -"All right, Mrs. Flexor," said Geoffrey; "we want to know if your -house is full. If not, here is a poor woman for whom we--at least Mr. -Potts--and I myself, for the matter of that--" - -"Stuttering again, Geoff! What stuff! Here, Mrs. Flexor, we want a room -for this young woman to sleep in; and just help us in with her at once -into your parlour, will you? and let us put her down there while I run -round for the doctor." - -It is probable that Mrs. Flexor might have raised objections to this -proposition; but Charley Potts was a favourite with her, and Geoffrey -Ludlow was a certain source of income to her husband; so she stepped -back while the men caught up their burden, who all this time had been -resting, half-fainting, on Geoffrey's shoulder, and carried her into -the parlour. Here they placed her in a big, frayed, ragged easy-chair, -with all its cushion-stuffing gone, and palpable bits of shaggy wool -peering through its arms and back; and after dragging this in front of -the expiring fire, and bidding Mrs. Flexor at once prepare some hot -gruel, Charley Potts rushed away to catch Dr. Rollit. - -And now Geoffrey Ludlow, left to himself once more (for the girl was -lying back in the chair, still with unclosing eyes, and had apparently -relapsed into a state of stupor), began to turn the events of the -past hour in his mind, and to wonder very much at the position in -which he found himself. Here he was in a room in a house which he had -never before entered, shut up with a girl of whose name or condition -he was as yet entirely ignorant, of whose very existence he had only -just known; he, who had always shirked anything which afforded the -smallest chance of adventure, was actually taking part in a romance. -And yet--nonsense! here was a starving wanderer, whom he and his friend -had rescued from the street; an ordinary every-day case, familiar in a -thousand phases to the relieving-officers and the poor-law guardians, -who, after her certain allowance of warmth, and food, and physic, would -start off to go--no matter where, and do--no matter what. And yet he -certainly had not been deceived in thinking of her faint protest when -Charley proposed to send her to the workhouse. She had spoken then; and -though the words were so few and the tone so low, there was something -in the latter which suggested education and refinement. Her hands too, -her poor thin hands, were long and well-shaped, with tapering fingers -and filbert-nails, and bore no traces of hard work: and her face--ah, -he should be better able to see her face now. - -He turned, and taking the flaring candle from the table, held it above -her head. Her eyes were still closed; but as he moved, they opened -wide, and fixed themselves on him. Such large, deep-violet eyes, with -long sweeping lashes! such a long, solemn, stedfast gaze, in which his -own eyes were caught fast, and remained motionless. Then on to his -hand, leaning on the arm of the chair, came the cold clammy pressure -of feeble fingers; and in his ear, bent and listening, as he saw a -fluttering motion of her lips, murmured very feebly the words, "Bless -you!--saved me!" twice repeated. As her breath fanned his cheek, -Geoffrey Ludlow's heart beat fast and audibly, his hand shook beneath -the light touch of the lithe fingers; but the next instant the eyelids -dropped, the touch relaxed, and a tremulousness seized on the ashy -lips. Geoffrey glanced at her for an instant, and was rushing in alarm -to the door, when it opened, and Charley Potts entered, followed by a -tall grave man, in a long black beard, whom Potts introduced as Dr. -Rollit. - -"You're just in time," said Geoffrey; "I was just going to call for -help. She--" - -"Pardon me, please," said the doctor, calmly pushing him on one side. -"Permit me to--ah!" he continued, after a glance--"I must trouble you -to leave the room, Potts, please, and take your friend with you. And -just send the woman of the house to me, will you? There is a woman, I -suppose?" - -"O yes, there is a woman, of course.--Here, Mrs. Flexor, just step up, -will you?--Now, Geoff, what are you staring at, man? Do you think the -doctor's going to eat the girl? Come on old fellow; we'll sit on the -kitchen-stairs, and catch blackbeetles to pass the time. Come on!" - -Geoff roused himself at his friend's touch, and went with him, but in -a dreamy sullen manner. When they got into the passage, he remained -with outstretched ear, listening eagerly; and when Charley spoke, he -savagely bade him hold his tongue. Mr. Potts was so utterly astonished -at this conduct, that he continued staring and motionless, and merely -gave vent to his feelings in one short low whistle. When the door -was opened, Geoffrey Ludlow strode down the passage at once, and -confronting the doctor, asked him what news. Dr. Rollit looked his -questioner steadily in the eyes for a moment; and when he spoke his -tone was softer, his manner less abrupt than before. "There is no -special danger, Mr. Ludlow," said he; "though the girl has had a narrow -escape. She has been fighting with cold and want of proper nourishment -for days, so far as I can tell." - -"Did she say so?" - -"She said nothing; she has not spoken a word." Dr. Rollit did not fail -to notice that here Geoffrey Ludlow gave a sigh of relief. "I but judge -from her appearance and symptoms. I have told this good person what to -do; and I will look round early in the morning. I live close by. Now, -goodnight." - -"You are sure as to the absence of danger?" - -"Certain." - -"Goodnight; a thousand thanks!--Mrs. Flexor, mind that your patient has -every thing wanted, and that I settle with you.--Now, Charley, come; -what are you waiting for?" - -"Eh?" said Charley. "Well, I thought that, after this little -excitement, perhaps a glass out of that black bottle which I know Mrs. -Flexor keeps on the second shelf in the right-hand cupboard--" - -"Get along with you, Mr. Potts!" said Mrs. Flexor, grinning. - -"You know you do Mrs. F.--a glass of that might cheer and not -inebriate.--What do you say, Geoff?" - -"I say no! You've had quite enough; and all Mrs. Flexor's attention is -required elsewhere.--Goodnight, Mrs. Flexor; and"--by this time they -were in the street--"goodnight, Charley." - -Mr. Potts, engaged in extracting a short-pipe from the breast-pocket of -his pea-jacket, looked up with an abstracted air, and said, "I beg your -pardon." - -"Goodnight, Charley." - -"Oh, certainly, if you wish it. Goodnight, Geoffrey Ludlow, Esquire; -and permit me to add, Hey no nonny! Not a very lucid remark, perhaps, -but one which exactly illustrates my state of mind." And Charley Potts -filled his pipe, lit it, and remained leaning against the wall, and -smoking with much deliberation until his friend was out of sight. - -Geoffrey Ludlow strode down the street, the pavement ringing -under his firm tread, his head erect, his step elastic, his whole -bearing sensibly different even to himself. As he swung along he -tried to examine himself as to what was the cause of his sudden -light-heartedness; and at first he ascribed it to the sale of his -picture, and to the warm promises of support he had received at -the hands of Mr. Stompff. But these, though a few hours since they -had really afforded him the greatest delight, now paled before the -transient glance of two deep-violet eyes, and the scarcely-heard murmur -of a feeble voice. "'Bless you!--saved me!' that's what she said!" -exclaimed Geoff, halting for a second and reflecting. "And then the -touch of her hand, and the--ah! Charley was right! Hey no nonny is the -only language for such an ass as I'm making of myself." So home through -the quiet streets, and into his studio, thinking he would smoke one -quiet pipe before turning in. There, restlessness, inability to settle -to any thing, mad desire to sketch a certain face with large eyes, a -certain fragile helpless figure, now prostrate, now half-reclining on -a bit of manly shoulder; a carrying-out of this desire with a bit of -crayon on the studio-wall, several attempts, constant failure, and -consequent disgust. A feeling that ought to have been pleasure, and -yet had a strong tinge of pain at his heart, and a constant ringing of -one phrase, "'Bless you!--saved me!" in his ears. So to bed; where he -dreamt he saw his name, Geoffrey Ludlow, in big black letters at the -bottom of a gold frame, the picture in which was Keat's "Lamia;" and -lo! the Lamia had the deep-violet eyes of the wanderer in the streets. - - - - -CHAPTER V. -THE LETTER. - - -The houses in St. Barnabas Square have an advantage over most -other London residences in the possession of a "third room" on the -ground-floor. Most people who, purposing to change their domicile, -have gone in for a study of the _Times_ Supplement or the mendacious -catalogues of house-agents, have read of the "noble dining-room, snug -breakfast-room, and library," and have found the said breakfast-room -to be about the size and depth of a warm-bath, and the "library" a -soul-depressing hole just beyond the glazed top of the kitchen-stairs, -to which are eventually relegated your old boots, the bust of the -friend with whom since he presented it you have had a deadly quarrel, -some odd numbers of magazines, and the framework of a shower-bath -which, in a moment of madness, you bought at a sale and never have been -able to fit together. - -But the houses in St. Barnabas Square have each, built over what in -other neighbourhoods is called "leads,"--a ghastly space where the -cats creep stealthily about in the daytime, and whence at night they -yowl with preternatural pertinacity,--a fine large room, devoted in -most instances to the purposes of billiards, but at Lord Beauport's -given up entirely to Lord Caterham. It had been selected originally -from its situation on the ground-floor giving the poor crippled lad -easy means of exit and entrance, and preventing any necessity for his -being carried--for walking was utterly impossible to him--up and down -stairs. It was _his_ room; and there, and there alone, he was absolute -master; there he was allowed to carry out what his mother spoke of -as his "fads," what his father called "poor Caterham's odd ways." -His brother, Lionel Brakespere, had been in the habit of dropping in -there twice or three times a-week, smoking his cigar, turning over -the "rum things" on the table, asking advice which he never took, and -lounging round the room, reading the backs of the books which he did -not understand, and criticising the pictures which he knew nothing -about. It would have been impossible to tell to what manner of man the -room belonged from a cursory survey of its contents. Three-fourths of -the walls were covered with large bookcases filled with a heterogeneous -assemblage of books. Here a row of poets, a big quarto Shakespeare in -six volumes, followed by _Youatt on the Horse, Philip Van Artevelde_, -and Stanhope's _Christian Martyr_. In the next shelf Voltaire, all -the Tennysons, _Mr. Sponge's Sporting-Tour_, a work on Farriery, -and _Blunt on the Pentateuch_. So the _mélange_ ran throughout the -bookshelves; and on the fourth wall, where hung the pictures, it was -not much better. For in the centre were Landseer's "Midsummer-Night's -Dream," where that lovely Titania, unfairy-like if you please, but -one of the most glorious specimens of pictured womanhood, pillows her -fair face under the shadow of that magnificent ass's head; and Frith's -"Coming of Age," and Delaroche's "Execution of Lady Jane Grey," and -three or four splendid proof-engravings of untouchable Sir Joshua; -and among them, dotted here and there, hunting-sketches by Alken, and -coaching bits from Fores. Scattered about on tables were pieces of lava -from Vesuvius, photographs from Pompeii, a collection of weeds and -grasses from the Arctic regions (all duly labelled in the most precise -handwriting), a horse's shoe specially adapted for ice-travelling, -specimens of egg-shell china, a box of gleaming carpenter's tools, -boxes of Tunbridge ware, furs of Indian manufacture, caricature -statuettes by Danton, a case of shells, and another of geological -specimens. Here stood an easel bearing a half-finished picture, in one -corner was a sheaf of walking-sticks, against the wall a rack of whips. -Before the fire was a carved-oak writing-desk, and on it, beside the -ordinary blotting and writing materials, wee an aneroid barometer, a -small skeleton clock, and a silver handbell. And at it sat Viscount -Caterham, his head drooping, his face pale, his hands idly clasped -before him. - -Not an unusual position this with him, not unusual by any means when -he was alone. In such society as he forced himself to keep--for with -him it was more than effort to determine occasionally to shake off -his love of solitude, to be present amongst his father's guests, and -to receive some few special favourites in his own rooms--he was more -than pleasant, he was brilliant and amusing. Big, heavy, good-natured -guardsmen, who had contributed nothing to the "go" of the evening, -and had nearly tugged off their tawny beards in the vain endeavour to -extract something to say, would go away, and growl in deep bas voices -over their cigars about "that strordinary fler Caterham. Knows a lot, -you know, that f'ler, 'bout all sorts things. Can't 'ceive where picks -it all up; and as jolly as old boots, by Jove!" - -Old friends of Lord Beauport's, now gradually dropping into fogiedom, -and clutching year by 672 year more tightly the conventional prejudices -instilled into them in early life, listened with elevated eyebrows -and dropping jaws to Lord Caterham's outspoken opinions, now clothed -in brilliant tropes, now crackling with smart antithesis, but always -fresh, earnest, liberal, and vigorous; and when they talked him over -in club-windows, these old boys would say that "there was something in -that deformed fellow of Beauport's, but that he was all wrong; his mind -as warped as his body, by George!" And women,--ah, that was the worst -of all,--women would sit and listen to him on such rare occasions as he -spoke before them, sit many of them steadfast-eyed and ear-attentive, -and would give him smiles and encouraging glances, and then would float -away and talk to their next dancing-partner of the strange little man -who had such odd ideas, and spoke so--so unlike most people, you know. - -He knew it all, this fragile, colourless, delicate cripple, bound for -life to his wheelchair, dependent for mere motion on the assistance -of others; a something apart and almost without parallel, helpless -as a little child, and yet with the brain, the heart, the passions -of a man. No keener observer of outward show, no clearer reader of -character than he. From out his deep-set melancholy eyes he saw the -stare of astonishment, sometimes the look of disgust, which usually -marked a first introduction to him; his quick ear caught the would-be -compassionate inflection of the voice addressing him on the simplest -matters; he knew what the old fogies were thinking of as they shifted -uneasily in their chairs as he spoke; and he interpreted clearly enough -the straying glances and occasional interjections of the women. He knew -it all, and bore it--bore it as the cross is rarely borne. - -Only three times in his life had there gone up from his lips a wail -to the Father of mercies, a passionate outpouring of his heart, a -wild inquiry as to why such affliction had been cast upon him. But -three times, and the first of these was when he was a lad of eighteen. -Lord Beauport had been educated at Charterhouse, where, as every one -knows, Founder's Day is kept with annual rejoicings. To one of these -celebrations Lord Beauport had gone, taking Lord Caterham with him. The -speeches and recitations were over, and the crowd of spectators were -filing out into the quadrangle, when Lord Caterham, whose chair was -being wheeled by a servant close by his father's side, heard a cheery -voice say, "What, Brakespere! Gad, Lord Beauport, I mean! I forgot. -Well, how are you, my dear fellow? I haven't seen you since we sat on -the same form in that old place." Lord Caterham looked up and saw his -father shaking hands with a jolly-looking middle-aged man, who rattled -on--"Well, and you've been in luck and are a great gun! I'm delighted -to hear it. You're just the fellow to bear your honours bravely. O -yes, I'm wonderfully well, thank God. And I've got my boy here at the -old shop, doing just as we used to do, Brakespere--Beauport, I mean. -I'll introduce you. Here, Charley!" calling to him a fine handsome -lad; "this is Lord Beauport, an old schoolfellow of mine. And you, -Beauport,--you've got children, eh?" - -"O yes," said Lord Beauport--"two boys." - -"Ah! that's right. I wish they'd been here; I should have liked to have -seen them." The man rattled on, but Lord Caterham heard no more. He had -heard enough. He knew that his father was ashamed to acknowledge his -maimed and crippled child--ashamed of a comparison between the stalwart -son of his old schoolfellow and his own blighted lad; and that night -Lord Caterham's pillow was wet with tears, and he prayed to God that -his life might be taken from him. - -Twice since then the same feelings had been violently excited; but -the sense of his position, the knowledge that he was a perpetual -grief and affliction to his parents, was ever present, and pervaded -his very being. To tell truth, neither his father nor his mother ever -outwardly manifested their disappointment or their sorrow at the -hopeless physical state of their firstborn son; but Lord Caterham read -his father's trouble in thousands of covert glances thrown towards the -occupant of the wheeled chair, which the elder man thought were all -unmarked, in short self-suppressed sighs, in sudden shiftings of the -conversation when any subject involving a question of physical activity -or muscular force happened to be touched upon, in the persistent way -in which his father excluded him from those regular solemn festivities -of the season, held at certain special times, and at which he by right -should certainly have been present. - -No man knew better than Lord Beauport the horrible injustice he was -committing; he felt that he was mutely rebelling against the decrees of -Providence, and adding to the affliction already mysteriously dispensed -to his unfortunate son by his treatment. He fought against it, but -without avail; he could not bow his head and kiss the rod by which he -had been smitten. Had his heir been brainless, dissipated, even bad, -he could have forgiven him. He did in his heart forgive his second son -when he became all three; but that he, George Brakespere, handsome -Brakespere, one of the best athletes of the day, should have to own -that poor misshapen man as his son and heir!--it was too much. He tried -to persuade himself that he loved his son; but he never looked at him -without a shudder, never spoke of him with unflushed cheeks. - -As for Lady Beauport, from the time that the child's malady first was -proclaimed incurable, she never took the smallest interest in him, but -devoted herself, as much as devotion was compatible with perpetual -attendance at ball, concert, and theatre, to her second son. As a -child, Lord Caterham had, by her express commands, been studiously kept -out of her sight; and now that he was a man, she saw very much less of -him than of many strangers. A dozen times in the year she would enter -his room and remain a few minutes, asking for his taste in a matter of -fancy-costume, or something of the kind; and then she would brush his -forehead with her lips, and rustle away perfectly satisfied with her -manner of discharging the duties of maternity. - -And Lord Caterham knew all this; read it as in a book; and suffered, -and was strong. Who know most of life, discern character most readily, -and read it most deeply? We who what we call "mix in the world," hurry -hither and thither, buffeting our way through friends and foes, taking -the rough and the smooth, smiling here, frowning there, but ever -pushing onward? Or the quiet ones, who lie by in the nooks and lanes, -and look on at the strife, and mark the quality and effect of the blows -struck; who see not merely how, but why the battle has been undertaken; -who can trace the strong and weak points of the attack and defence, see -the skirmishers thrown out here, the feigned retreat there, the mine -ready prepared in the far distance? How many years had that crippled -man looked on at life, standing as it were at the gates and peering -in at the antics and dalliances, the bowings and scrapings, the mad -moppings and idiotic mowings of the puppets performing? And had he not -arrived during this period at a perfect knowledge of how the wires were -pulled, and what was the result? - -Among them but not of them, in the midst of the whirl of London but -as isolated as a hermit, with keen analytical powers, and leisure and -opportunity to give them full swing, Lord Caterham passed his life -in studying the lives of other people, in taking off the padding and -the drapery, the paint and the tinsel, in looking behind the grins, -and studying the motives for the sneers. Ah, what a life for a man to -pass! situated as Lord Caterham was, he must under such circumstances -have become either a Quilp or an angel. The natural tendency is to the -former: but Providence had been kind in one instance to Lord Caterham, -and he, like Mr. Disraeli, went in for the angel. - -His flow of spirits was generally, to say the least of it, equable. -When the dark hour was on him he suffered dreadfully; but this morning -he was more than usually low, for he had been pondering over his -brother's insane downfall, and it was with something like real pleasure -that he heard his servant announce "Mr. Barford," and gave orders for -that gentleman's admittance. - -The Honourable Algernon Barford by prescriptive right, but "Algy -Barford" to any one after two days' acquaintance with him, was one of -those men whom it is impossible not to call by their Christian names; -whom it is impossible not to like as an acquaintance; whom it is -difficult to take into intimate friendship; but with whom no one ever -quarrelled. A big, broad-chested, broad-faced, light-whiskered man, -perfectly dressed, with an easy rolling walk, a pleasant presence, a -way of enarming and "old boy-ing" you, without the least appearance of -undue familiarity; on the contrary, with a sense of real delight in -your society; with a voice which, without being in the least affected, -or in the remotest degree resembling the tone of the stage-nobleman, -had the real swell ring and roll in it; a kindly, sunny, chirpy, -world-citizen, who, with what was supposed to be a very small income, -lived in the best society, never borrowed or owed a sovereign, and -was nearly always in good temper. Algy Barford was the very man to -visit you when you were out of spirits. A glance at him was cheering; -it revived one at once to look at his shiny bald forehead fringed -with thin golden hair, at his saucy blue eyes, his big grinning mouth -furnished with sparkling teeth; and when he spoke, his voice came -ringing out with a cheery music of its own. - -"Hallo, Caterham!" said he, coming up to the chair and placing one of -his big hands on the occupant's small shoulder; "how goes it, my boy? -Wanted to see you, and have a chat. How are you, old fellow, eh? Where -does one put one's hat, by the way, dear old boy? Can't put it under my -seat, you know, or I should think I was in church; and there's no place -in this den of yours; and--ah, that'll do, on that lady's head. Who is -it? O, Pallas Athené; ah, very well then, _non invitâ Minervâ_, she'll -support my castor for me. Fancy my recollecting Latin, eh? but I think -I must have seen it on somebody's crest. Well, and now, old boy, how -are you?" - -"Well, not very brilliant this morning, Algy. I--" - -"Ah, like me, got rats, haven't you?" - -"Rats?" - -"Yes; whenever I'm out of spirits I think I've got rats--sometimes -boiled rats. Oh, it's all very well for you to laugh, Caterham; but you -know, though I'm generally pretty jolly, sometimes I have a regular -file-gnawing time of it. I think I'll take a peg, dear old boy--a -sherry peg--just to keep me up." - -"To be sure. Just ring for Stevens, will you? he'll--" - -"Not at all; I recollect where the sherry is and where the glasses -live. _Nourri dans le sérail, j'en connais les detours_. Here they are. -Have a peg, Caterham?" - -"No, thanks, Algy; the doctor forbids me that sort of thing. I take no -exercise to carry it off, you know; but I thought some one told me you -had turned teetotaller." - -"Gad, how extraordinarily things get wind, don't you know! So I did, -honour!--kept to it all strictly, give you my word, for--ay, for a -fortnight; but then I thought I might as well die a natural death, -so I took to it again. This is the second peg I've had to-day--took -number one at the Foreign Office, with my cousin Jack Lambert. You know -Jack?--little fellow, short and dirty, like a winter's day." - -"I know him," said Caterham, smiling; "a sharp fellow." - -"O yes, deuced cute little dog--knows every thing. I wanted him to -recommend me a new servant--obliged to send my man away--couldn't stand -him any longer--always worrying me." - -"I thought he was a capital servant?" - -"Ye-es; knew too much though, and went to too many -evening-parties--never would give me a chance of wearing my own black -bags and dress-boots--kept 'em in constant requisition, by Jove! A -greedy fellow too. I used to let him get just outside the door with -the breakfast-things, and then suddenly call him back; and he never -showed up without his mouth full of kidney, or whatever it was. And -he always would read my letters--before I'd done with them, I mean. -I'm shortsighted, you know, and obliged to get close to the light: he -was in such a hurry to find out what they were about, that he used to -peep in through the window, and read them over my shoulder. I found -this out; and this morning I was ready for him with my fist neatly -doubled-up in a thick towel. I saw his shadow come stealing across the -paper, and then I turned round and let out at him slap through the -glass. It was a gentle hint that I had spotted his game; and so he -came in when he had got his face right, and begged me to suit myself -in a month, as he had heard of a place which he thought he should like -better. Now, can you tell me of any handy fellow, Caterham?" - -"Not I; I'm all unlikely to know of such people. Stay, there was a man -that--" - -"Yes; and then you stop. Gad, you are like the rest of the world, old -fellow: you have an _arrière pensée_ which prevents your telling a -fellow a good thing." - -"No, not that, Algy. I was going to say that there was a man who was -Lionel's servant. I don't know whether he has got another place; but -Lionel, you know--" and Lord Caterham stopped with a knot in his throat -and burning cheeks. - -"I know, dear old boy," said Algy Barford, rising from his seat and -again placing his hand on Caterham's shoulder; "of course I know. -You're too much a man of the world"--(Heaven help us! Caterham a man -of the world! But this was Algy Barford's pleasant way of putting -it)--"not to know that the clubs rang with the whole story last night. -Don't shrink, old boy. It's a bad business; but I never heard such -tremendous sympathy expressed for a--for a buffer--as for Lionel. Every -body says he must have been no end cornered before he--before he--well, -there's no use talking of it. But what I wanted to say to you is -this,--and I'm deuced glad you mentioned Lionel's name, old fellow, for -I've been thinking all the time I've been here how I could bring it in. -Look here! he and I were no end chums, you know; I was much older than -he; but we took to each other like any thing, and--and I got a letter -from him from Liverpool with--with an enclosure for you, old boy." - -Algy Barford unbuttoned his coat as he said these last words, took a -long breath, and seemed immensely relieved, though he still looked -anxiously towards his friend. - -"An enclosure for me?" said Lord Caterham, turning deadly white; "no -further trouble--no further misery for--" - -"On my honour, Caterham, I don't know what it is," said Algy Barford; -"he doesn't hint it in his letter to me. He simply says, 'Let the -enclosed be given to Caterham, and given by your own hand.' He -underlines that last sentence; and so I brought it on. I'm a bungling -jackass, or I should have found means to explain it myself, by Jove! -But as you have helped me, so much the better." - -"Have you it with you?" - -"O yes; brought it on purpose," said Algy, rising and taking his coat -from a chair, and his hat from the head of Pallas Athené; "here it is. -I don't suppose anything from poor Lionel can be very brilliant just -now; but still, I know nothing. Goodby, Caterham, old fellow; can't -help me to a servant-man, eh? See you next week; meantime,--and this -earnest, old boy,--if there's anything I can do to help Lionel in any -shape, you'll let me know, won't you, old fellow?" - -And Algy Barford handed Lord Caterham the letter, kissed his hand, and -departed in his usual airy, cheery fashion. - -That night Lord Caterham did not appear at the dinner-table; and his -servant, on being asked, said that his master "had been more than usual -queer-like," and had gone to bed very early. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. -THE FIRST VISIT. - - -Geoffrey Ludlow was in his way a recognisant and a grateful man, -grateful for such mercies as he knew he enjoyed; but from never -having experienced its loss, he was not sufficiently appreciative -of one of the greatest of life's blessings, the faculty of sleep at -will. He could have slept, had he so willed it, under the tremendous -cannonading, the _feu-d'enfer_, before Sebastopol, or while Mr. -Gladstone was speaking his best speech, or Mr. Tennyson was reading -aloud his own poetry; whenever and wherever he chose he could sleep -the calm peaceful sleep of an infant. Some people tell you they are -too tired to sleep--that was never the case with Geoffrey; others that -their minds are too full, that they are too excited, that the weather -is too hot or too cold, that there is too much noise, or that the very -silence is too oppressive. But, excited or comatose, hot or cold, in -the rumble of London streets or the dead silence of--well, he had never -tried the Desert, but let us say Walton-on-the-Naze, Geoffrey Ludlow -no sooner laid his head on the pillow than he went off into a sound, -glorious, healthy sleep--steady, calm, and peaceful; not one of your -stertorous, heavy, growling slumbers, nor your starting, fly-catching, -open-mouthed, moaning states, but a placid, regular sleep, so quiet and -undisturbed that he scarcely seemed to breathe; and often as a child -had caused his mother to examine with anxiety whether the motionless -figure stretched upon the little bed was only sleeping naturally, or -whether the last long sleep had not fallen on it. - -Dreams he had, no doubt; but they by no means disturbed the refreshing, -invigorating character of his repose. On the night of his adventure -in the streets, he dreamt the Lamia dream without its in the least -affecting his slumber; and when he opened his eyes the next morning, -with the recollection of where he was, and what day it was, and what he -had to do--those post-waking thoughts which come to all of us--there -came upon him an indefinable sensation of something pleasurable and -happy, of something bright and sunshiny, of something which made his -heart feel light within him, and caused him to open his eyes and -grapple with the day at once. - -Some one surely must long ere this have remarked how our manner of -waking from slumber is affected by our state of mind. The instant that -consciousness comes upon us, the dominant object of our thoughts, -be it pleasant or horrible, is before us: the absurd quarrel with -the man in the black beard last night, about--what _was_ it about? -the acceptance which Smith holds, which must be met, and can't be -renewed; the proposal in the conservatory to Emily Fairbairn, while -she was flushed with the first _valse_ after supper, and we with Mrs. -Tresillian's champagne;--or, _per contra_, as they say in the City, the -thrilling pressure of Flora Maitland's hand, and the low whisper in -which she gave us rendezvous at the Botanical Fête this afternoon the -lawyer's letter informing us of our godfather's handsome legacy;--all -these, whether for good or ill, come before us with the first unclosing -of our eyelids. If agreeable we rouse ourselves at once, and lie -simultaneously chewing the cud of pleasant thoughts and enjoying the -calm haven of our bed; if objectionable, we try and shut them out yet -for a little while, and turning round court sleep once more. - -What was the first thought that flashed across Geoffrey Ludlow's brain -immediately on his waking, and filled him with hope and joy? Not the -remembrance of the purchase of his picture by Mr. Stompff, though -that certainly occurred to him, with Stompff's promises of future -employment, and the kind words of his old friends at the Titians, all -floating simultaneously across his mind. But with these thoughts came -the recollection of a fragile form, and a thin hand with long lithe -fingers wound round his own, and a low feeble voice whispering the -words "Bless you!--saved me!" in his listening ear. - -Beneath the flickering gas-lamps, or in the dim half-light of Mrs. -Flexor's room, he had been unable to make out the colour of the eyes, -or of the thick hair which hung in heavy masses over her cheeks; it -was a spiritual recollection of her at the best; but he would soon -change that into a material inspection. So, after settling in his own -mind--that mind which coincides so readily with our wishes--that it was -benevolence which prompted his every action, and which roused in him -the desire to know how the patient of the previous night was getting -on, he sprang from his bed, and pulled the string of his shower-bath -with an energy which not even the knowledge of the water's probable -temperature could mitigate. But he had not proceeded half-way through -his toilet, when the old spirit of irresolution began to exercise its -dominion over him. Was it not somewhat of a Quixotic adventure in which -he was engaging? To succour a starving frozen girl on a wet night was -merely charitable and humane; there was no man of anything like decent -feeling but would have acted as he had done, and--by George!--here the -hair-brushes were suspended in mid-air, just threatening a descent one -on either side of his bushy head--wouldn't it have been better to have -accepted Charley Pott's suggestion, and let the policeman take her to -the workhouse? There she would have had every attention and--bah! every -attention! the truckle-bed in a gaunt bare room, surrounded by disease -in every shape; the perfunctory visits of the parish-doctor; the--O no! -and, moreover, had he not heard, or at all events imagined he heard, -the pallid lips mutter "Not there!" No! there was something in her -which--which--at all events--well, _ruat caelum_, it was done, and he -must take the consequences; and down came the two hair-brushes like two -avalanches, and worried his unresisting scalp like two steam-harrows. -The recollection of the fragile frame, and the thin hands, and the -broken voice, supported by the benevolent theory, had it all their own -way from that time out, until he had finished dressing, and sent him -downstairs in a happy mood, pleased with what he had done, more pleased -still with the notion of what he was about to do. He entered the room -briskly, and striding up to an old lady sitting at the head of the -breakfast-table, gave her a sounding kiss. - -"Goodmorning, dearest mother.--How do, Til, dear?" turning to a young -woman who was engaged in pouring out the tea. "I'm late again, I see." - -"Always on sausage mornings, I notice, Geoffrey," said Mrs. Ludlow, -with a little asperity. "It does not so much matter with haddock, -though it becomes leathery; or eggs, for you like them hard; but -sausages should be eaten hot, or not at all; and to-day, when -I'd sent specially for these, knowing that nasty herb-stuffing -is indigestible--let them deny it if they can--it does seem hard -that--well, never mind--" - -Mrs. Ludlow was a very good old lady, with one great failing: she was -under the notion that she had to bear what she called "a cross," a most -uncomfortable typical object, which caused all her friends the greatest -annoyance, but in which, though outwardly mournful, she secretly -rejoiced, as giving her a peculiar status in her circle. This cross -intruded itself into all the social and domestic details of her life, -and was lugged out metaphorically on all possible occasions. - -"Don't mind me, mother," said Geoff; "the sausages will do splendidly. -I overslept myself; I was a little late last night." - -"O, at those everlasting Titians.--I declare I forgot," said the young -woman who had been addressed as "Til," and who was Geoffrey's only -sister. "Ah, poor fellow! studying his art till two this morning, -wasn't he?" And Miss Til made a comic sympathetic _moue_, which made -Geoff laugh. - -"Two!" said Mrs. Ludlow; "nearer three, Matilda. I ought to know, for I -had water running down my back all night, and my feet as cold as stone; -and I had a perfect recollection of having left the key of the linen -closet in the door, owing to my having been hurried down to luncheon -yesterday when I was giving Martha out the clean pillowcases. However, -if burglars do break into that linen-closet, it won't be for my not -having mentioned it, as I call you to witness, Matilda." - -"All right, mother," said Geoffrey; "we'll run the risk of that. I'm -very sorry I disturbed the house, but I _was_ late, I confess; but I -did some good, though." - -"O yes, Geoffrey, we know," said Matilda. "Got some new notions for a -subject, or heard some aesthetic criticism; or met some wonderful lion, -who's going to astonish the world, and of whom no one ever hears again! -You always have done something extraordinary when you're out very late, -I find." - -"Well, I did something really extraordinary last night. I sold my -picture the 'Ballroom,' you know; and for what do you think?--two -hundred pounds." - -"O, Geoff, you dear, darling old Geoff! I am so glad! Two hundred -pounds! O, Geoff, Geoff! You dear, lucky old fellow!" and Miss Till -flung her arms round her brother's neck and hugged him with delight. -Mrs. Ludlow said never a word; but her cross melted away momentarily, -her eyes filled with tears, and her lips quivered. Geoffrey noticed -this, and so soon as he had returned his sister's hearty embrace, he -went up to his mother, and kneeling by her side, put up his face for -her kiss. - -"God bless you, my son!" said the old lady reverently, as she gave it; -"God bless you! This is brave news, indeed. I knew it would come in -time; but--" - -"Yes; but tell us all about it, Geoff. How did it come about? and -however did you pluck up courage, you dear, bashful, nervous old thing, -to ask such a price?" - -"I--why, Til, you know that I--and you, dear mother, you know too -that--not that I am bashful, as Til says; but still there's something. -O, I should never have sold the picture, I believe, if I'd been let -alone. It was Charley Potts sold it for me." - -"Charles Potts! That ridiculous young man! Well, I should never have -thought it," said Mrs. Ludlow. - -Miss Matilda said nothing, but a faint flush rose on her neck and -cheeks, and died away again as quickly as it came. - -"O, he's a capital man of business--for anybody else, that's to say. -He don't do much good for himself. He sold the picture for me, and -prevented my saying a word in the whole affair. And who do you think -has bought it? Mr. Stompff, the great dealer, who tells me he'll take -as many more of the same style as I like to paint." - -"This is great news, indeed, my boy," said the old lady. "You've only -to persevere, and your fortune's made. Only one thing, Geoffrey,--never -paint on Sunday, or you'll never become a great man." - -"Well but, mother," said Geoff, smiling, "Sir Joshua Reynolds painted -always on Sundays until Johnson's death and he was a great man." - -"Ah, well, my dear," replied his mother forcibly, if not logically, -"that's nothing to do with it." - -Then Geoffrey, who had been hurrying through his sausage, and towards -the last began to grow nervous and fidgety--accounted for by his -mother and sister from his anxiety to go and see Mr. Stompff, and at -once fling himself on to fresh canvases--finished his breakfast, and -went out to get his hat. Mrs. Ludlow, with her "cross" rapidly coming -upon her, sat down to "do the books,"--an inspection of the household -brigade of tradesmen's accounts which she carried on weekly with the -sternest rigour; and Matilda, who was by no means either a romantic -or a strong-minded woman commenced to darn a basketful of Geoffrey's -socks. Then the sock-destroyer put his head in at the door, his mouth -ornamented with a large cigar, and calling out "Goodbye," departed on -his way. - -The fragile form, the thin hands, and the soft low voice had it all -their own way with Geoffrey Ludlow now. He was going to see their -owner; in less than an hour he should know the colour of the eyes and -the hair; and figuratively Geoffrey walked upon air; literally, he -strode along with bright eyes and flushed cheeks, swinging his stick, -and, but for the necessity of clenching his cigar between his teeth, -inclined to hum a tune aloud. He scarcely noticed any of the people he -met; but such as he did casually glance at he pitied from the bottom -of his soul: there were no thin hands or soft voices waiting for them. -And it must be owned that the passers-by who noticed him returned his -pity. The clerks on the omnibuses, sucking solemnly at their briar-root -pipes, or immersed in their newspapers, solemn staid men going in "to -business," on their regular daily routine, looked up with wonder on -this buoyant figure, with its black wideawake hat and long floating -beard, its jerky walk, its swinging stick, and its general air of -light-hearted happiness. The cynical clerks, men with large families, -whom nothing but an increase of salary could rouse, interchanged -shoulder-shrugs of contempt, and the omnibus-conductor, likewise a -cynic, after taking a long stare at Geoffrey, called out to his driver, -"'Appy cove that! looks as if he'd found a fourpennypiece, don't he?" - -Entirely ignorant of the attention he was attracting, Geoff blithely -pursued his way. He lived at Brompton, and he was bound for the -neighbourhood of Portland Place; so he turned in at the Albert Gate, -and crossing the enclosure and the Row, made for Grosvenor Gate. In the -Park he was equally the object of remark: the nurse-girls called their -charges to come "to heel" out of the way of that "nasty ugly big man;" -the valetudinarians taking their constitutional in the Row loathed -him for swinging his stick and making their horses shy as he passed; -the park-keepers watched him narrowly, as one probably with felonious -intent to the plants or the ducks. - -Still, utterly unconscious, Geoffrey went swinging along across -Grosvenor Square, down Brook Street; and not until he turned into Bond -Street did he begin to realise entirely the step he was about to take. -Then he wavered, in mind and in gait; he thought he would turn back: -he did turn back, irresolute, doubtful. Better have nothing more to -do with it; nip it in the bud; send Charley Potts with a couple of -sovereigns to Mrs. Flexor's, and tell her to set the girl on her way -again, and wish her God-speed. But what if she were still ill, unable -to move? people didn't gain sufficient strength in twelve hours; and -Charley, though kind-hearted, was rather _brusque_; and then the low -voice, with the "Bless you!--saved me!" came murmuring in his ear; and -Geoffrey, like Whittington, turned again, and strode on towards Little -Flotsam Street. - -When he got near Flexor's door, he faltered again, and very nearly -gave in: but looking up, saw Mrs. Flexor standing on the pavement; and -perceiving by her manner that his advent had been noticed, proceeded, -and was soon alongside that matron. - -"Good morning, Mrs. Flexor." - -"Good momin', sir; thought you'd be over early, though not lookin' -for you now, but for Reg'las, my youngest plague, so called after Mr. -Scumble's Wictory of the Carthageniums, who has gone for milk for -some posset for our dear; who is much better this momin', the Lord a -mussy! Dr. Rollix have been, and says we may sit up a little, if taking -nourishment prescribed; and pleased to see you we shall be. A pretty -creetur, Mr. Ludlow, though thin as thin and low as low: but what can -we expect?" - -"She is better, then?" - -"A deal better, more herself like; though not knowing what she was -before, I can't exactly say. Flexor was fine and buffy when he came -home last night, after you was gone, sir. Them nasty Titiums, he always -gets upset there. And now he's gone to sit to Mr. Potts for--ah, well, -some Roman party whose name I never can remember." - -"Is your patient up, Mrs. Flexor?" - -"Gettin'. We shall be ready to see you in five minutes, sir. I'll go -and see to her at once." - -Mrs. Flexor retired, and Geoffrey was left to himself for a quarter of -an hour standing in the street, during which time he amused himself -as most people would under similar circumstances. That is to say, he -stared at the houses opposite and at the people who passed; and then -he beat his stick against his leg, and then he whistled a tune, and -then, having looked at his watch five times, he looked at it for the -sixth. Then he walked up the street, taking care to place his foot on -the round iron of every coal-shoot; and then he walked down the street, -carrying out a determination to step in the exact centre of every -flagstone; and then, after he had pulled his beard a dozen times, and -lifted his wideawake hat as many, that the air might blow upon his hot -forehead, he saw Mrs. Flexor's head protrude from the doorway, and he -felt very much inclined to run away. But he checked himself in time, -and entered the house, and, after a ghostly admonition from Mrs. Flexor -"not to hagitate her," he opened the parlour-door, which Mrs. Flexor -duly shut behind him, and entered the room. - -Little light ever groped its way between the closely-packed rows of -houses in Little Flotsam Street, even on the brightest summer day; -and on a dark and dreary winter's morning Mrs. Flexor's little front -parlour was horribly dark. The worthy landlady had some wild notion, -whence derived no one knew, that an immense amount of gentility was -derived from keeping the light out; and consequently the bottom parts -of her windows were fitted with dwarf wire-blinds, and the top parts -with long linen-blinds, and across both were drawn curtains made -of a kind of white fishing-net; so that even so little daylight as -Little Flotsam Street enjoyed was greatly diluted in the Flexorian -establishment. - -But Geoffrey Ludlow saw stretched out on a miserable black horsehair -sofa before him there this fragile form which had been haunting his -brain for the last twelve hours. Ah, how thin and fragile it was; -how small it looked, even in, its worn draggled black-merino dress! -As he advanced noiselessly, he saw that the patient slept; her head -was thrown back, her delicate white hands (and almost involuntarily -Geoffrey remarked that she wore no wedding-ring) were clasped across -her breast, and her hair, put off her dead-white face, fell in thick -clusters over her shoulders. - -With a professional eye Geoffrey saw at once that whatever trouble she -might have taken, she could not have been more artistically posed than -in this natural attitude. The expression of her eyes was wanting; and, -as he sunk into a chair at her feet, her eyes opened upon him. Then he -saw her face in its entirety; saw large deep-violet eyes, with dark -lashes and eyebrows; a thin, slightly aquiline nose; small thin close -lips, and a little chin; a complexion of the deadest white, without the -smallest colour and hair, long thick rich luxuriant hair, of a deep, -red-god colour--not the poetic "auburn," not the vulgar "carrots;" -a rich metallic red, unmistakable, admitting of no compromise, no -darkening by grease or confining by fixature--a great mass of deep-red -hair, strange, weird, and oddly beautiful. The deep-violet eyes, -opening slowly, fixed their regard on his face without a tremor, and -with a somewhat languid gaze; then brightening slowly, while the hands -were unclasped, and the voice--how well Geoff remembered its tones, and -how they thrilled him again!--murmured faintly, "It is you!" - -What is that wonderful something in the human voice which at once -proclaims the social status of the speaker? The proletary and the -_roturier_, Nature willing, can have as good features, grow as flowing -beards, be as good in stature, grace, and agility, as the noblest -patrician, or the man in whose veins flows the purest _sangre azul_; -but they fail generally in hands, always in voice. Geoffrey Ludlow, all -his weakness and irresolution notwithstanding, was necessarily by his -art a student of life and character; and no sooner did he hear those -three little words spoken in that tone, than all his floating ideas -of shamming tramp or hypocritical streetwalker, as connected with the -recipient of his last night's charity, died away, and he recognised at -once the soft modulations of education, if not of birth. - -But those three words, spoken in deep low quivering tones, while they -set the blood dancing in Geoffrey Ludlow's veins, made him at the same -time very uncomfortable. He had a dread of anything romantic; and there -flashed through his mind an idea that he could only answer this remark -by exclaiming, "Tis I!" or "Ay, indeed!" or something else equally -absurd and ridiculous. So he contented himself with bowing his head and -putting out his hand--into which the long lithe fingers came fluttering -instantly. Then with burning cheeks Geoffrey bent forward, and said, -"You are better to-day?" - -"Oh, so much--so much better! thanks to you, thanks to you!" - -"Your doctor has been?" She bowed her head in reply. - -"And you have everything you wish for?" She bowed again, this time -glancing up--with, O, such a light in the deep-violet eyes--into -Geoffrey's face! - -"Then--then I will leave you now," said he, awkwardly enough. The -glance fell as he said this; but flashed again full and earnest in -an instant; the lithe fingers wound round his wrist, and the voice, -even lower and more tremulously than before, whispered, "You'll come -to-morrow?" - -Geoff flushed again, stammered, "Yes, O, by all means!" made a clumsy -bow, and went out. - -Now this was a short, and not a particularly satisfactory, interview; -but the smallest detail of it remained in Geoffrey Ludlow's mind, and -was reproduced throughout the remainder of that day and the first -portion of the succeeding night, for him to ponder over. He felt the -clasp of her fingers yet on his wrist, and he heard the soft voice, -"You'll come to-morrow?" It must be a long distance, he thought, that -he would not go to gaze into those eyes, to touch that hand, to hear -that voice again! - - - - -CHAPTER VII. -CHEZ POTTS. - - -Mr. Potts lived in Berners Street, on the second floor of a rambling -big old-fashioned house, which in its palmy days had been inhabited by -people of distinction; and in which it was rumoured in the art-world -that the great Mr. Fuseli had once lived, and painted those horrors -which sprung from the nightmare consequent on heavy suppers of -pork-chops. But these were the days of its decadence, and each of its -floors had now a separate and distinct tenant. The ground-floor was -a kind of half showroom, half shop, held by Mr. Lectern, the great -church-upholsterer. Specimens of stained-glass windows, croziers, -and brass instruments like exaggerated beadles'-staves, gilt sets of -communion-service, and splendidly-worked altar-cloths, occupied the -walls; the visitor walked up to the desk at which Mr. Lectern presided -between groves of elaborately-carved pulpits and reading-desks, and -brazen eagles were extending their wings in every available corner. On -the first-floor Mdlle. Stetti gave lessons to the nobility, gentry, -and the public in general in the fashionable dances of the day, and -in the Magyar sceptre-exercises for opening the chest and improving -the figure. Mdlle. Stetti had a very large connection; and as many -of her pupils were adults who had never learned to dance while they -were supple and tender, and as, under the persevering tuition of -their little instructress, they gambolled in a cumbrous and rather -elephantine manner, they earned for themselves many hearty anathemas -from Mr. Potts, who found it impossible to work with anything like a -steady hand while the whole house was rocking under the influence of a -stout stockbroker doing the "changes," or while the walls trembled at -every bound of the fourteen-stone lady from Islington, who was being -initiated into the mysteries of the gavotte. But Charley Potts' pipe -was the only confidant of his growled anathemas, and on the whole -he got on remarkably well with his neighbours; for Mr. Lectern had -lent him bits of oak furniture to paint from; and once, when he was -ill, Mdlle. Stetti, who was the dearest, cheeriest, hardest-working, -best-tempered little creature in existence, had made him broths and -"goodies" with her own hand, and when he was well, had always a kind -word and a smile for him--and, indeed, revelled in the practical -humour and buffoonery of "_ce farceur_ Pott." For Mr. Potts was -nothing if not funny; the staircase leading to his rooms began to be -decorated immediately after you had passed Mdlle. Stetti's apartments; -an enormous hand, sketched in crayon, with an outstretched finger, -directed attention to an inscription--"To the halls of Potts!" Just -above the little landing you were confronted by a big beef-eater's -head, out of the mouth of which floated a balloon-like legend--"Walk -up, walk up, and see the great Potts!" The aperture of the letter-box -in the door formed the mouth in a capital caricatured head of Charley -himself; and instead of a bell-handle there hung a hare's-foot, beneath -which was gummed a paper label with a written inscription "Tug the -trotter." - -Three days after the gathering at the Titian Sketching-Club, Mr. -Potts sat in his studio, smoking a pipe, and glaring vacantly at a -picture on an easel in front of him. It was not a comfortable room; -its owner's warmest friend could not have asserted that. There was -no carpet, and the floor was begrimed with the dirt of ages, and -with spilt tobacco and trodden-in cigar-ash. The big window was half -stopped-up, and had no curtain. An old oak-cabinet against the wall, -surmounted by the inevitable plaster torso, and studies of hands -and arms, had lost one of its supporting feet, and looked as though -momentarily about to topple forward. A table in the middle of the room -was crowded with litter, amongst which a pewter-pot reared itself -conspicuously. Over an old sofa were thrown a big rough Inverness-cape, -a wideawake hat, and a thick stick; while on a broken, ragged, but -theatrically-tawdry arm-chair, by the easel, were a big palette already -"set," a colour-box, and a sheaf of brushes. Mr. Potts was dressed in -a shepherd's-plaid shooting coat, adorned here and there with dabs of -paint, and with semi-burnt brown patches, the result of the incautious -dropping of incandescent tobacco and vesuvians. He had on a pair of -loose rough trousers, red-morocco slippers without heels, and he wore -no neckcloth; but his big turned-down shirt-collar was open at the -throat. He wore no beard, but had a large sweeping Austrian moustache, -which curled fiercely at the ends; had thin brown hair, light blue -eyes, and the freshest and healthiest of complexions. No amount of -late hours, of drinking and smoking, could apparently have any effect -on this baby-skin; and under the influence of cold water and yellow -soap, both of which he used in large quantities, he seemed destined -to remain--so far as his complexion was concerned--"beautiful for -ever,"--or at least until long after Madame Rachel's clients had seen -the worthlessness of pigments. Looking at him as he sat there--his -back bent nearly double, his eyes fixed on his picture, his pipe fixed -stiffly between his teeth, and his big bony hands clasped in front -of him--there was no mistaking him for anything but a gentleman; -ill-dressed, slatternly, if you like; but a true gentleman, every inch -of him. - -The "trotter" outside being tugged with tremendous violence, roused -him from his reverie, and he got up and opened the door, saying, as -he did so, "Why didn't you ring? I would, if I'd been you. You're in -the bell-hanging line, I should think, by the way you jerked my wire. -Hollo, Bowker, my boy! is it you? What's the matter? Are you chivied by -a dun on the staircase, or fainting for a pull at the pewter, that you -come with such a ring as that? Bring your body in, old man; there's a -wind here enough to shave you." - -Mr. Bowker preceded his friend into the room, looked into the -pewter-pot, drained it, wiped his beard with a handkerchief; which -he took out of his hat, and said, in a solemn deep voice: "Potts, my -pipkin, how goes it?" - -"Pretty well, old man, pretty well--considering the weather. And you?" - -"Your William _se porte bien_. Hallo!" glancing at the easel, while -he took a pipe from his pocket and filled it from a jar on the table; -"hallo! something new! What's the subject? Who is the Spanish party in -tights? and what's the venerable buffer in the clerical get-up of the -period putting out his hand about?" - -"Oh, it's a scene from _Gil Blas_, where the Archbishop of Grenada -discharges him, you know." - -"No, I don't, and I don't want to hear; your William, dear boy, has -discovered that life is too short to have anything explained to him: -if he don't see it at first, he let's it pass. The young party's right -leg is out of drawing, my chick; just give your William a bit of chalk. -There--not being a patient at the Orthopaedic Hospital--that's where -his foot would come to. The crimson of the reverend gent's gown is -about as bad as anything Ive seen for a long time, dear boy. Hand over -the palette and brushes for two minutes. Your William is a rum old -skittle; but if there's one thing he knows about, it is colour." And -Charley, who knew that, with all his eccentricity, Mr. Bowker, or "your -William," as he always spoke of himself; was a thorough master of his -art, handed him what he required, and sat by watching him. - -A fat bald-headed man with a grizzled beard, a large paunch and flat -splay feet, badly dressed and not too clean, Mr. Bowker did not give -one the idea of ever having been an "object of interest" to any one -save the waiter at the tavern where he dined, or the tobacconist where -he bought his Cavendish. But yet there had been a day when bright eyes -grew brighter at his approach, tiny ears latticed with chestnut-hair -had eagerly drunk in the music of his voice, gentle hands had thrilled -beneath his touch. He had bright blue eyes himself then, and long -hair, and a slim figure. He was young Mr. Bowker, whose first pictures -exhibited at Somerset House had made such a sensation, and who was so -much noticed by Sir David Wilkie, and for whom Mr. Northcote prophesied -such a future, and whom Mr. Fuseli called a "coot prave poy!" He was -the young Mr. Bowker who was recommended by Sir Thomas Lawrence as -drawing-master to the lovely young wife of old Mr. Van Den Bosch, -the Dutch banker and financier long resident in London. He was "that -scoundrel Bowker, sir," who, being wildly romantic, fell head-over-ears -in love with his pupil; and finding that she was cruelly ill-treated by -the old ruffian her husband, ran away with her to Spain, and by that -rash act smashed-up his career and finally settled himself for ever. -Old Van Den Bosch got a divorce, and died, leaving all his money to -his nephews; and then William Bowker and the woman he had eloped with -returned to England, to find himself universally shunned and condemned. -His art was as good, nay a thousand times better than ever; but they -would not hear of him at the Royal Academy now; would not receive his -pictures; would not allow the mention of his name. Patrons turned their -backs on him, debts accumulated, the woman for whom he had sacrificed -everything died,--penitent so far as she herself was concerned, but -adoring her lover to the last, and calling down blessings on him with -her latest breath. And then William Bowker strove no more, but accepted -his position and sunk into what he was, a kindly, jolly, graceless -vagabond, doing no harm, but very little good. He had a little private -money on which he lived; and as time progressed, some of his patrons, -who found he painted splendidly and cheaply, came back to him and gave -him commissions; but he never again attempted to regain his status; -and so long as he had enough to supply his simple daily wants, seemed -content. He was a great favourite with some half-dozen young men of -Charley Potts's set, who had a real love and regard for him, and was -never so happy as when helping them with advice and manual assistance. - -Charley watched him at his work, and saw with delight the archbishop's -robe gradually growing all a-glow beneath the master's touch; and then, -to keep him in good-humour and amused, began to talk, telling him a -score of anecdotes, and finally asking him if he'd heard anything of -Tommy Smalt. - -"Tommy Smalt, sir?" cried Bowker, in his cheery voice; "Tommy Smalt, -sir, is in clover! Your William has been able to put Tommy on to -a revenue of at least thirty shillings a-week. Tommy is now the -right-hand man of Jacobs of Newman Street; and the best judges say that -there are no Ostades, Jan Steens, or Gerard Dows like Tommy's." - -"What do you mean?--copies?" - -"Copies! no, sir: originals." - -"Originals!" - -"Certainly! original Tenierses, of boors drinking; Wouvermanns, -not forgetting the white horse; or Jan Steens, with the -never-failing episode;--all carefully painted by Tommy Smalt and his -fellow-labourers! Ah, Jacobs is a wonderful man! There never was such -a fellow; he sticks at nothing; and when he finds a man who can do his -particular work, he keeps him in constant employment." - -"Well, but is the imposition never detected? Don't the pictures look -new?" - -"Oh, most verdant of youths, of course not! The painting is clobbered -with liquorice-water; and the varnish is so prepared that it cracks at -once; and the signature in the corner is always authentic; and there's -a genuine look of cloudy vacancy and hopeless bankruptcy about the -whole that stamps it at once to the connoisseur as the real thing. -Tommy's doing a 'Youth's Head' by Rembrandt now, which ought to get him -higher pay; it ought indeed. It's for a Manchester man. They're very -hot about Rembrandts at Manchester." - -"Well, you've put me up to a new wrinkle. And Jacobs lives by this?" - -"Lives by it! ay, and lives like a prince too. Mrs. J. to fetch him -every day in an open barouche, and coachman and footman in skyblue -livery, and all the little J.'s hanging over the carriage-doors, -rendering Newman Street dark with the shadow of their noses. Lives by -it! ay, and why not? There will always be fools in the world, thank -Heaven!--or how should you and I get on, Charley, my boy?--and so -long as people will spend money on what they know nothing about, for -the sake of cutting-out their friends, gaining a spurious reputation -for taste, or cutting a swell as 'patrons of the fine-arts,'--patrons -indeed! that word nearly chokes me!--it's quite right that they should -be pillaged and done. No man can love art in the same manner that he -can love pancakes. He must know something about it, and have some -appreciation of it. Now no man with the smallest knowledge would go -to Jacobs; and so I say that the lords and railway-men and cotton-men -who go there simply as a piece of duff--to buy pictures as they would -carpets--are deuced well served out. There! your William has not talked -so much as that in one breath for many a long day. The pewter's empty. -Send for some more beer, and let's have a damp; my throat's as dry as a -lime-burner's wig." - -Charley Potts took up the pewter-measure, and going on to the -landing outside the door, threw open the staircase-window, and gave -a shrill whistle. This twice repeated had some effect! for a very -much-be-ribboned young lady in the bar of the opposite public-house -looked up, and nodded with great complaisance; and then Charley, -having made a solemn bow, waved the empty quart-pot three times -round his head. Two minutes afterwards a bare-headed youth, with his -shirt-sleeves rolled up to his shoulders, crossed the road, carefully -bearing a pasteboard hat-box, with which he entered the house, and -which he delivered into Mr. Potts' hands. - -"Good boy, Richard I never forget the hat-box; come for it this -evening, and take back both the empty pewters in it.--It would never -do, Bowker, my boy, to have beer--vulgar beer, sir--in its native -pewter come into a respectable house like this. The pious parties, who -buy their rattletraps and properties of old Lectern down below, would -be scandalised; and poor little Mossoo woman Stetti would lose her -swell connection. So Caroline and I--that's Caroline in the bar, with -the puce-coloured ribbons--arranged this little dodge; and it answers -first-rate." - -"Ha--a!" said Mr. Bowker, putting down the tankard half-empty, and -drawing a long breath; "beer is to your William what what's-his-name -is to thingummy; which, being interpreted, means that he can't get on -without it. I never take a big pull at a pewter without thinking of our -Geoff. How is our Geoff?" - -"Our Geoff is--hush! some one coming up stairs. What's to-day? Friday. -The day I told the tailor to call. Hush!" - -The footsteps came creaking up the stairs until they stopped outside -Charley Potts' door, on which three peculiar blows were struck,--one -very loud, then two in rapid succession. - -"A friend!" said Charley, going to the door and opening it. "Pass, -friend, and give the countersign! Hallo, Flexor! is it you? I forgot -our appointment for this morning. Come in." - -It was, indeed, the great model, who, fresh-shaved, and with his hair -neatly poodled under his curly-brimmed hat, entered the room with a -swagger, which, when he perceived a stranger, he allowed to subside -into an elaborate bow. - -"Now then, Flexor, get to work! we won't mind my friend here; he knows -all this sort of game of old," said Charley; while Flexor began to -arrange himself into the position of the expelled secretary of the -archbishop. - -"Ay, and I know M. Flexor of old, that's another thing!" said Bowker, -with a deep chuckle, expelling a huge puff of smoke. - -"Do you, sir?" said Flexor, still rigid in the Gil-Bias position, and -never turning his head; "maybe, sir; many gents knows Flexor." - -"Yes; but many gents didn't know Flexor five-and-twenty years ago, when -he stood for Mercutio discoursing of Queen Mab." - -"Lor' a mussy!" cried Flexor, forgetting all about his duty, parting -the smoke with his hand and bending down to look into William's face. -"It's Mr. Bowker, and I ought to have knowed him by the voice. And how -are you, sir? hearty you look, though you'yve got a paucity of nobthatch, -and what ''ir you 'ave is that gray, you might be your own grandfather. -Why, I haven't seen you since you was gold-medallist at the 'cademy, -'cept once when you come with Mrs.----" - -"There, that'll do, Flexor! I'm alive still, you see; and so I see are -you. And your wife, is she alive?" - -"O yes, sir; but, Lord, how different from what you know'd her! None -of your Wenuses, nor Dalilys, nor Nell Gwyns now! she's growed stout -and cumbersome, and never sits 'cept some gent wants a Mrs. Primrose -in that everlastin' Wicar, or a old woman a-scoldin' a gal because she -wants to marry a poor cove, or somethin' in that line; and then I says, -'Well, Jane, you may as well earn a shillin' an hour as any one else,' -I says." - -"And you've been a model all these years, Flexor?" - -"Well, no sir--off and on; but Ive always come back to it. I was -a actor for three years; did Grecian stators,--Ajax defyin' the -lightnin'; Slave a-listenin' to conspirators; Boy a-sharpenin' his -knife, and that game, you know, in a cirkiss. But I didn't like it; -they're a low lot, them actors, with no feelin' for art. And then Iwas -a gentleman's servant; but that wouldn't do; they do dam' and cuss -their servants so, the gentlemen do, as I couldn't stand it; and I was -a mute." - -"A mute!--what, a funeral mute?" - -"Yes, sir; black-job business; and wery good that is,--plenty of -pleasant comp'ny and agreeable talk, and nice rides in the summer time -on the 'earses to all the pleasant simmetries in the suburbs! But in -the winter it's frightful! and my last job I was nearly killed. We had -a job at 'Ampstead, in the debth of snow; and it was frightful cold on -the top of the 'Eath. It was the party's good lady as was going to be -interred, and the party himself were frightful near; in fact, a reg'lar -screw. Well, me and my mate had been standin' outside the 'ouse-door -with the banners in our 'ands for an hour, until we was so froze we -could scarcely hold the banners. So I says, I won't stand no longer, I -says; and I gev a soft rap, and told the servant we must have a drop -of somethin' short, or we should be killed with cold. The servant goes -and tells her master, and what do you think he says? 'Drink!' he says. -'Nonsense!' he says; '_if they're cold, let 'em jump about and warm -'emselves_,' he says. Fancy a couple of mutes with their banners in -their 'ands a-jumpin' about outside the door just before the party was -brought out. So that disgusted me, and I gev it up, and come back to -the old game agen." - -"Now, Flexor," said Charley, "if you've finished your biography, get -back again." - -"All right, sir!" and again Flexor became rigid, as the student of -Santillane. - -"What were we talking of when Flexor arrived? O, I remember; I was -asking you about Geoff Ludlow. What of him?" - -"Well, sir, Geoff Ludlow has made a thundering _coup_ at last. The -other night at the Titians he sold a picture to Stompff for two hundred -pounds; more than that, Stompff promised him no end of commissions." - -"That's first-rate! Your William pledges him!" and Mr. Bowker finished -the stout. - -"He'll want all he can make, gentlemen," said Flexor, who, seeing the -pewter emptied, became cynical; "he'll want all he can make, if he goes -on as he's doin' now." - -"What do you mean?" asked Bowker. - -"He's in love, Mr. Ludlow is; that's wot I mean. That party--you know, -Mr. Potts--as you brought to our place that night--he's been to see -her every day, he has; and my missis says, from what she 'ave seen and -'eard--well, that's neither 'ere nor there," said Flexor, checking -himself abruptly as he remembered that the keyhole was the place whence -Mrs. Flexor's information had been derived. - -Charley Potts gave a loud whistle, and said, "The devil!" then turning -to Bowker, he was about to tell the story of the wet night's adventure, -but William putting up his finger warningly, grunted out "_Nachher!_" -and Charley, who understood German, ceased his chatter and went on with -his painting. - -When the sitting was over, and Flexor had departed, William Bowker -returned to the subject, saying, "Now, Charley, tell your William all -about this story of Geoff and his adventure." - -Charley Potts narrated it circumstantially, Bowker sitting grimly by -and puffing his pipe the while. When he had finished, Bowker never -spoke for full five minutes; but his brow was knit, and his teeth -clenched round his pipe. At length he said, "This is a bad business, so -far as I see; a devilish bad business! If the girl were in Geoff's own -station or if he were younger, it wouldn't so much matter; but Geoff -must be forty now, and at that age a man's deuced hard to turn from any -thing he gets into his head. Well, we must wait and see. I'd rather it -were you, Charley, by a mile; one might have some chance then. But you -never think of any thing of that sort, eh?" - -What made Charley Potts colour as he said, "Welt--not in Geoff's line, -at all events?" - -William Bowker noticed the flush, and said ruefully, "Ah, I see! Always -the way! Now let's go and get some beef or something to eat: I'm -hungry." - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. -THROWING THE FLY. - - -Mr. Flexor was by nature mendacious; indeed his employers used -pleasantly to remark, that when he did not lie, it was simply by -accident; but in what he had mentioned to Charley Potts about Geoffrey -Ludlow's visits to the nameless female then resident in his, Flexor's, -house, he had merely spoken the truth. To be sure there had been an -_arrière pensée_ in his remark; the fact being that Flexor objected -to matrimony as an institute amongst his patrons. He found that by an -artist in a celibate state beer was oftener sent for, donations of -cigars were more frequent, cupboards were more constantly unlocked, and -irregularities of attendance on his part, consequent on the frivolities -of the preceding night, were more easily overlooked, than when there -was a lady to share confidence and keys, and to regard all models, both -male and female, as "horrid creatures." But although Mr. Flexor had -spoken somewhat disparagingly of Geoffrey's frequent visits, and had -by his hints roused up a certain amount of suspicion in the breasts of -Charley Potts and that grim old cynic William Bowker, he was himself -far from knowing what real ground for apprehension existed, or how far -matters had progressed, at least with one of the parties concerned. - -For Geoffrey Ludlow was hard hit! In vain he attempted to argue with -himself that all he had done, was doing, and might do, was but prompted -by benevolence. A secret voice within him told him that his attempts at -self-deceit were of the feeblest, and that, did he but dare to confess -it, he knew that there was in this woman whom he had rescued from -starvation an attraction more potent than he had ever yet submitted to. -It was, it may be said, his duty to call and see how she was getting -on, to learn that she wanted for nothing, to hear from her own lips -that his orders for her comfort had been obeyed; but it was not his -duty to sit watching jealously every glance of her eye, every turn of -her head, every motion of her lithe fingers. It was _not_ his duty to -bear away with him recollections of how she sat when she said this or -answered that; of the manner in which, following a habit of hers, she -would push back the thick masses of her gleaming hair, and tuck them -away behind her pretty ears; or, following another habit, she would -drum petulantly on the floor with her little foot, when talking of -any thing that annoyed her--as, for instance, Mrs. Flexor's prying -curiosity. - -What was it that caused him to lie awake at night, tossing from side -to side on his hot pillow, ever before him the deep-violet eyes, the -pallid face set in masses of deep-red hair, the slight frail figure? -What was it that made his heart beat loudly, his breath come thickly, -his whole being tingle with a strange sensation--now ecstatic delight, -now dull blank misery? Not philanthropy, I trow. The superintendents -of boys' reformatories and refuges for the houseless poor may, in -thinking over what good they have achieved, enjoy a comfortable amount -of self-satisfaction and proper pride; but I doubt if the feeling -ever rises to this level of excitement. Not much wonder if Geoffrey -himself, suffering acutely under the disease, knew not, or refused to -avow to himself, any knowledge of the symptoms. Your darling child, -peacefully sleeping in his little bed, shall show here and there an -angry skin-spot, which you think heat or cold, or any thing else, -until the experienced doctor arrives, and with a glance pronounces it -scarlet-fever. Let us be thankful, in such a case, that the prostrate -patient is young. Geoffrey's was as dire a malady, and one which, -coming on at forty years of age, usually places the sufferer in a -perilous state. It was called Love; not the ordinary sober inclination -of a middle-aged man, not that thin line of fire quivering amongst a -heap of ashes which betokens the faded passion of the worn and sated -voluptuary; this was boy-love, calf-love, mad-spooniness--any thing -by which you can express the silliest, wildest, pleasantest, most -miserable phase of human existence. It never comes but once to any -one. The _caprices_ of the voluptuary are as like to each other as -peas or grains of sand; the platonic attachments or the sentimental -_liaisons_ indulged in by foolish persons of both sexes with nothing to -do may have some slight shade of distinction, but are equally wanting -in backbone and _vis_. Not to man or woman is it given to be ever -twice "in love"--a simple phrase, which means every thing, but needs -very little explanation. My readers will comprehend what I want to -convey, and will not require my feeble efforts in depicting the state. -Suffice it to say, that Geoffrey Ludlow, who had hitherto gone through -life scot-free, not because he was case-hardened, not because he was -infection-proof, or that he had run no risks, but simply from the -merest chance,--now fell a victim to the disease, and dropped powerless -before its attack. - -He did not even strive to make head against it much. A little of his -constitutional wavering and doubtfulness came into play for a short -time, suggesting that this passion--for such he must allow it--was -decidedly an unworthy one; that at present he knew nothing of the -girl's antecedents; and that her actual state did not promise much for -all she had to tell of what had gone before. At certain times too, -when things present themselves in their least roseate garb, notably on -waking in the morning, for instance, he allowed, to himself, that he -was making a fool of himself; but the confidence extended no farther. -And then, as the day grew, and the sun came out, and he touched up his -picture, and thought of the commissions Mr. Stompff had promised him, -he became brighter and more hopeful, and he allowed his thoughts to -feast on the figure then awaiting him in Little Flotsam Street, and he -put by his sheaf of brushes and his palette, and went up and examined -himself in the glass over the mantelpiece. He had caught himself doing -this very frequently within the last few days, and, half-chuckling -inwardly, had acknowledged that it was a bad sign. But though he -laughed, he tweaked out the most prominent gray hairs in his beard, -and gave his necktie a more knowing twist, and removed the dabs of -stray paint from his shooting-coat. Straws thrown up show which way the -wind blows, and even such little sacrifices to vanity as these were in -Geoffrey Ludlow very strong signs indeed. - -He had paid three visits to Little Flotsam Street; and on the -fourth morning, after a very poor pretence of work, he was at the -looking-glass settling himself preparatory to again setting out. Ever -since that midnight adventure after the Titians meeting, Geoffrey had -felt it impossible to take his usual daily spell at the easel, had not -done five-pounds' worth of real work in the whole time, had sketched-in -and taken out, and pottered, and smoked over his canvas, perfectly -conscious that he was doing no good, utterly unable to do any better. -On this fourth morning he had been even more unsuccessful than usual; -he was highly nervous; he could not even set his palette properly, and -by no manner of means could he apply his thoughts to his work. He had -had a bad night; that is, he had woke with a feeling that this kind -of penny-journal romance, wherein a man finds a starving girl in the -streets and falls desperately in love with her, could go on no longer -in London and in the nineteenth century. She was better now, probably -strong enough to get about; he would learn her history, so much of it -at least as she liked to tell; and putting her in some way of earning -an honest livelihood, take his leave of her, and dismiss her from his -thoughts. - -He arrived at this determination in his studio; he kept it as he -walked through the streets; he wavered horribly when he came within -sight of the door; and by the time he knocked he had resolved to let -matters take their chance, and to act as occasion might suggest. -It was not Mrs. Flexor who opened the door to him, but that worthy -woman's youngest plague, Reg'las, who, with a brown eruption -produced by liquorice round his lips, nodded his head, and calmly -invited the visitor, as he would have done any one else, to "go up -'tairs." Geoffrey entered, patted the boy's head, and stopped at the -parlour-door, at which he gave a low rap, and immediately turning the -handle, walked in. - -She was lying as usual on the sofa, immediately opposite the door; but, -what he had never seen before, her hair was freed from the confining -comb, and was hanging in full luxuriance over her shoulders. Great -heavens, how beautiful she looked! There had been a certain piquancy -and _chic_ in her appearance when her hair had been taken saucily off -her face and behind her ears; but they were nothing as compared to the -profound expression of calm holy resignation in that dead-white face -set in that deep dead-gold frame of hair. Geoff started when he saw -it; was it a Madonna of Raphael's, or a St. Teresa of Guido's, which -flashed across his mind? And as he looked she raised her eyes, and a -soft rosy flush spread over her face, and melted as quickly as it came. -He seated himself on a chair by her side as usual, and took her hand as -usual, the blood tingling in his fingers as he touched hers--as usual. -She was the first to speak. - -"You are very early this morning. I scarcely expected you so soon--as -you may see;" and with a renewed flush she took up the ends of her -hair, and was about to twist them up, when Geoffrey stopped her. - -"Leave it as it is," said he in a low tone; "it could not be better; -leave it as it is." - -She looked at him as he spoke; not a full straight glance, but through -half-closed lids; a prolonged gaze,--half-dreamy, half-intense; then -released her hair, and let it again fall over her shoulders in a rich -red cloud. - -"You are much better?" - -"Thanks to you, very much; thanks to you!" and her little hand came out -frankly, and was speedily swallowed up in his big palm. - -"No thanks at all; that is--well, you know. Let us change the subject. -I came to say--that--that--" - -"You hesitate because you are afraid of hurting my feelings. I think I -can understand. I have learnt the world--God knows in no easy school; -you came to say that I had been long enough a pensioner on your -charity, and now must make my own way. Isn't that it?" - -"No, indeed; not, that is not entirely what I meant. You see--our -meeting--so strange--" - -"Strange enough for London and this present day. You found me starving, -dying, and you took care of me; and you knew nothing of me--not even my -name--not even my appearance." - -There was a something harsh and bitter in her tone which Geoffrey had -never remarked before. It jarred on his ear; but he did not further -notice it. His eyes dropped a little as he said, "No, I didn't; I do -not know your name." - -She looked up at him from under her eyelids; and the harshness had all -faded out of her voice as she said, "My name is Margaret Dacre." She -stopped, and looked at him; but his face only wore its grave honest -smile. Then she suddenly raised herself on the sofa, and looking -straight into his face, said hurriedly, "You are a kind man, Mr. -Ludlow; a kind, generous, honourable man; there are many men would have -given me food and shelter--there are very few who would have done it -unquestioning, as you have." - -"You were my guest, Miss Dacre, and that was enough, though the -temptation was strong. How one evidently born and bred a lady could -have--" - -"Ah, now," said she, smiling fainting, "you are throwing off your -bonds, and all man's curiosity is at work." - -"No, on my honour; but--I don't know whether you know, but any one -acquainted with the world would see that--gad! I scarcely know how to -put it--but--fact is, that--people would scarcely understand--you must -excuse me, but--but the position, Miss Dacre!" and Geoff pushed his -hands through his hair, and knew that his cheeks were flaming. - -"I see what you mean," said she, "and you are only explaining what I -have for the last day or two felt myself; that the--the position must -be altered. But you have so far been my friend, Mr. Ludlow--for I -suppose the preserver of one's life is to be looked upon as a friend, -at all events as one actuated by friendly motives--that I must ask you -to advise me how to support it." - -"It would be impossible to advise unless--I mean, unless one knew, or -had some idea--what, in fact, one had been accustomed to." - -The girl sat up on the sofa, and this time looked him steadily in the -face for a minute or so. Then she said, in a calm unbroken voice, "You -are coming to what I knew must arise, to what is always asked, but what -I hitherto have always refused to tell. You, however, have a claim to -know--what I suppose people would call my history." Her thin lips were -tightly pressed and her nostrils curved in scorn as she said these -words. Geoffrey marked the change, and spoke out at once, all his usual -hesitation succumbing before his earnestness of purpose. - -"I have asked nothing," said he; "please to remember that; and further, -I wish to hear nothing. You are my guest for so long as it pleases -you to remain in that position. When you wish to go, you will do so, -regretted but certainly unquestioned." If Geoffrey Ludlow ever looked -handsome, it was at this moment. He was a little nettled at being -suspected of patronage, and the annoyance flushed his cheek and fired -his eyes. - -"Then I am to be a kind of heroine of a German fairytale; to appear, -to sojourn for a while--then to fade away and never to be heard of -ever after, save by the good fortune which I leave behind me to him -who had entertained an angel unawares. Not the last part of the story, -I fear, Mr. Ludlow; nor indeed any part of it. I have accepted your -kindness; I am grateful--God knows how grateful for it--and now, being -strong again--you need not raise your eyebrows; I am strong, am I not, -compared with the feeble creature you found in the streets?--I will -fade away, leaving gratitude and blessings behind me." - -"But what do you intend to do?" - -"Ah! there you probe me beyond any possibility of reply. I shall--" - -"I--I have a notion, Miss Dacre, just come upon me. It was seeing you -with your hair down--at least, I think it was--suggested it; but I'm -sure it's a good one. To sit, you know, as a model--of course I mean -your face, you know, and hair, and all that sort of thing, so much in -vogue just now; and so many fellows would be delighted to get studies -of you--the pre-Raphaelite fellows, you know; and it isn't much--the -pay, you know: but when one gets a connexion--and I'm sure that I could -recommend--O, no end of fellows." It was not that this was rather a -longer speech than usual that made Geoffrey terminate it abruptly; it -was the expression in Margaret Dacre's gray eyes. - -"Do you think I could become a model, Mr. Ludlow--at the beck and call -of every man who chose to offer me so much per hour? Would you wish -to see me thus?" and as she said the last words she knit her brows, -leaning forward and looking straight at him under her drooping lids. - -Geoffrey's eyes fell before that peculiar glance, and he pushed his -hands through his hair in sheer doubtful desperation. - -"No!" he said, after a minute's pause "it wouldn't do. I hadn't thought -of that. You see, I--O by Jove, another idea! You play? Yes, I knew you -did by the look of your hands! and talk French and German, I daresay? -Ah, I thought so! Well, you know, I give lessons in some capital -families--drawing and water-colour sketching--and I'm constantly asked -if I know of governesses. Now what's to prevent my recommending you?" - -"What, indeed? You have known me so long! You are so thoroughly -acquainted with my capabilities--so persuaded of my respectability!" - -The curved lips, the petulant nostril, the harsh bitter voice again! -Geoff winced under them. "I think you are a little prejudiced," he -began. "A little--" - -"A little nothing! Listen, Mr. Ludlow! You have saved me from death, -and you are kind enough to wish me, under your auspices, to begin life -again. Hear, first, what was my former life. Hear it, and then see the -soundness of your well-intentioned plans. My father was an infantry -captain, who was killed in the Crimea. After the news came of his -death, my mother's friends, wealthy tradespeople, raised a subscription -to pay her an annuity of 150_l_, on condition of her never troubling -them again. She accepted this, and she and I went to live for cheapness -at Tenby in Wales. There was no break in my life until two years since, -when I was eighteen years old. Up to that time, school, constant -practice at home (for I determined to be well educated), and attendance -on my mother, an invalid, formed my life. Then came the usual -character--without which the drama of woman's life is incomplete--a -man!" - -She hesitated for a moment, and looked up as Geoffrey Ludlow leaned -forward, breathing thickly through his nostrils; then she continued-- - -"This one was a soldier, and claimed acquaintance with a dead comrade's -widow; had his claim allowed, and came to us morning, noon, and night. -A man of the world, they called him; could sit and talk with my mother -of her husband's virtues and still-remembered name, and press my hand, -and gaze into my eyes, and whisper in my ear whenever her head was -turned." - -"And you?" - -"And I! What would a girl do, brought up at a sleepy watering-place, -and seeing nobody but the curate or the doctor? I listened to his every -word, I believed his every look; and when he said to me, 'On such a -night fly with me,' I fled with him without remorse." - -Geoffrey Ludlow must have anticipated something of this kind, and yet -when he heard it, he dropped his head and shook it, as though under the -effect of a staggering blow. The action was not unnoticed by Margaret. - -"Ah," said she, in low tones and with a sad smile, "I saw how your -schemes would melt away before my story." - -This time it was his hand that came out and caught hers in its grip. - -"Ah, wait until you have heard the end, now very close at hand. The -old, old story: a coming marriage, which never came, protracted and -deferred now for one excuse, now for another--the fear of friends, the -waiting for promotion, the--ah, every note in the whole gamut of lies! -And then--" - -"Spare yourself and me--I know enough!" - -"No; hear it out! It is due to you, it is due to me. A sojourn in -Italy, a sojourn in England--gradual coolness, final flight. But such -flight! One line to say that he was ruined, and would not drag me -down in his degradation--no hope of a future meeting--no provision -for present want. I lived for a time by the sale of what he had given -me,--first jewels, then luxuries, then--clothes. And then, just as I -dropped into death's jaws, you found me." - -"Thank God!" said Geoffrey earnestly, still retaining the little hand -within his own; "thank God! I can hear no more to-day--yes; one thing, -his name?" - -"His name," said she, with fixed eyes, "I have never mentioned to -mortal; but to you I will tell it. His name was Leonard Brookfield." - -"Leonard Brookfield," repeated Geoffrey. "I shall not forget it. Now -adieu! We shall meet to-morrow." - -He bowed over her hand and pressed it to his lips, then was gone; but -as his figure passed the window, she raised herself upright, and ere -he vanished from her sight, from between her compressed lips came the -words, "At last! at last!" - - - - -CHAPTER IX. -SUNSHINE IN THE SHADE. - - -What is a dull life? In what does the enjoyment of existence consist? -It is a comparative matter, after all, I fancy. A Londoner, cantering -homeward down the Row, will lift his hat as he passes three horsemen -abreast, the middle one of whom, comely, stout, and pleasant-looking, -bows in return; or, looking after an olive-coloured brougham with a -white horse, out of the window of which looms a lined leery-looking -face, will say, "How well Pam holds out!" and will go home to dinner -without bestowing another thought on the subject; whereas the mere fact -of having seen the Prince of Wales or Lord Palmerston would give a -countryman matter for reflection and conversation for a couple of days. -There are even Londoners who look upon a performance of chamber-music, -or a visit to the Polytechnic Institute as an excitement; while in a -provincial town to attend a lecture on "Mnemonics," or the dinner of -the farmers' club, is the acme of dissipation. Some lives are passed -in such a whirl that even the occasional advent among their kindred -of the great date-marker, Death, is scarcely noticed; others dwindle -away with such unvarying pulsations that the purchase of a new bonnet, -the lameness of an old horse, the doctor's visit, the curate's cough, -are all duly set down as notabilia worthy to be recorded. Who does not -recollect the awe and reverence with which one regarded the Bishop -of Bosphorus, when, a benevolent seraph in a wig (they wore wigs in -those days) and lawn sleeves, he arrived at the parish church for the -confirmation-service? It was exciting to see him; it was almost too -much to hear his voice; but now, if you are a member of the Athenaeum -Club, you may see him, and two or three other prelates, reading the -evening papers, or drinking their pint of sherry with the joint, and -speaking to the waiters in voices akin to those of ordinary mortals; -may even see him sitting next to Belmont the poet, whose _Twilight -Musings_ so delighted your youth, but whom you now find to be a fat man -with a red face and a tendency to growl if there be not enough schalot -sent up with his steak. - -If there were ever a man who should have felt the influence of a dull -life, it was Lord Caterham, who never repined. And yet it would be -difficult to imagine any thing more terribly lonely than was that man's -existence. Dressed by his servant, his breakfast over, and he wheeled -up to his library-table, there was the long day before him; how was -he to get through it? Who would come to see him? His father, perhaps, -for five minutes, with a talk about the leading topic treated of in -the _Times_, a remark about the change in the weather, a hope that his -son would "get out into the sunshine," and as speedy a departure as -could be decently managed. His mother, very rarely, and then only for a -frosty peck at his cheek, and a tittered hope that he was better. His -brother Lionel, when in town, when not else engaged, when not too seedy -after "a night of it,"--his brother Lionel, who would throw himself -into an easy-chair, and, kicking out his slippered feet, tell Caterham -what a "rum fellow" he, Lionel, thought him; what a "close file;" what -a "reserved, oyster-like kind of a cove!" Other visitors occasionally. -Algy Barford, genial, jolly, and quaint; always welcome for his bright -sunshiny face, his equable temper, his odd salted remarks on men and -things. A bustling apothecary, with telescopic shoulders and twinkling -eyelids, who peered down Lord Caterham's throat like a magpie looking -into a bone, and who listened to the wheezings of Lord Caterham's chest -with as much intentness as a foreigner in the Opera-pit to the prayer -in _Der Freischütz_. Two or three lounging youths, fresh from school -or college, who were pleased to go away afterwards and talk of their -having been with him, partly because he was a lord, partly because -he was a man whose name was known in town, and one with whom it was -rather _kudos_ to be thought intimate. There are people who, under such -circumstances, would have taken their servants into their confidence; -but Lord Caterham was not one of these. Kindly and courteous to all, -he yet kept his servant at the greatest distance; and the man knew -that to take the slightest liberty was more than his place was worth. -There were no women to talk with this exile from his species; there -were none on sufficiently intimate footing to call on him and sit with -him, to talk frankly and unreservedly that pleasant chatter which -gives us the keynote to their characters; and for this at least Lord -and Lady Beauport were unfeignedly thankful. Lord Beauport's knowledge -of the world told him that there were women against whom his son's -deformity and isolated state would be no defence, to whom his rank and -position would be indefinable attractions, by whom he would probably -be assailed, and with whom he had no chance of coping. Not bad women, -not _intrigantes_,--such would have set forth their charms and wasted -their dalliances in vain,--but clever heartless girls, brought up by -matchmaking mothers, graduates in the great school of life, skilled -in the deft and dexterous use of all aggressive weapons, unscrupulous -as to the mode of warfare so long as victory was to be the result. -In preventing Lord Caterham from making the acquaintance of any such -persons, Lord Beauport took greater pains than he had ever bestowed on -anything in connection with his eldest son; and, aided by the astute -generalship of his wife, he had succeeded wonderfully. - -Only once did there seem a chance of an enemy's scaling the walls -and entering the citadel, and then the case was really serious. It -was at an Eton and Harrow match at Lord's that Lord Caterham first -saw Carry Chesterton. She came up hanging on the arm of her brother, -Con Chesterton, the gentleman farmer, who had the ground outside -Homershams, Lady Beauport's family place, and who begged to present his -sister to Lord Caterham, of whom she had heard so much. A sallow-faced -girl, with deep black eyes, arched brows, and raven hair in broad -bands, with a high forehead and a chiselled nose and tight thin lips, -was Carry Chesterton; and as she bent over Lord Caterham's chair and -expressed her delight at the introduction, she shot a glance that went -through Caterham's eyes, and into his very soul. - -"She was a poetess, was Carry, and all that sort of thing," said -honest Con; "and had come up to town to try and get some of her -writings printed, you know, and that sort of thing; and your lordship's -reputation as a man of taste, you know, and that sort of thing,--if -you'd only look at the stuff and give your opinion, and that sort of -thing." - -"That sort of thing," _i.e_. the compulsory conversion into a -Mecaenas, Lord Caterham had had tried-on before; but only in the case -of moon-struck men, never from such a pair of eyes. Never had he had -the request indorsed in such a deep-toned thrilling voice; and so he -acquiesced, and a meeting was arranged for the morrow, when Con was to -bring Carry to St. Barnabas Square; and that night Lord Caterham lay -in a pleasant state of fevered excitement, thinking of his expected -visitor. Carry came next day, but not Con. Con had some arrangements to -make about that dreadful yeomanry which took up so much of his time, to -see Major Latchford or Lord Spurrier, the colonel, and arrange about -their horrid evolutions; but Carry came, and brought her manuscript -book of poems. Would she read them? she could, and did, in a deep low -_traînante_ voice, with wonderful art and pathos, illustrating them -with elevations of her thick brows and with fervid glances from her -black eyes. They were above the average of women's verse, had nothing -namby-pamby in them, and were not merely flowing and musical, but -strong and fervid; they were full of passion, which was not merely -a Byronic _refrain_, but had a warmth and novelty of its own. Lord -Caterham was charmed with the verses, was charmed with the writer; he -might suggest certain improvements in them, none in her. He pointed out -certain lines which might be altered; and as he pointed them out, their -hands met, touched but for an instant, and on looking up, his eyes lost -themselves in hers. - -Ah, those hand-touches and eye-glances! The oldest worldling has some -pleasure in them yet, and can recall the wild ecstatic thrill which -ran through him when he first experienced them in his salad-days. -But we can conceive nothing of their effect on a man who, under -peculiar circumstances, had lived a reserved self-contained life until -five-and-twenty years of age,--a man with keen imagination and warm -passions, who had "never felt the kiss of love, nor maiden's hand in -his," until his whole being glowed and tingled under the fluttering -touch of Carry Chesterton's lithe fingers, and in the fiery gaze of -her black eyes. She came again and again; and after every visit Lord -Caterham's passion increased. She was a clever woman with a purpose, -to the fulfilment of which her every word, her every action, tended. -Softly, delicately, and with the greatest _finesse_, she held up to -him the blank dreariness of his life, and showed him how it might be -cheered and consoled. In a pitying rather than an accusing spirit, she -pointed out the shortcomings of his own relatives, and indicated how, -to a person in his position, there could be but one who should be all -in all. This was all done with the utmost tact and refinement; a sharp -word, an appearance of eagerness, the slightest showing of the cards, -and the game would have been spoilt; but Carry Chesterton knew her -work, and did it well. She had been duly presented by Lord Caterham to -his father and mother, and had duly evoked first their suspicion, then -their rage. At first it was thought that by short resolute measures -the evil might be got rid of. So Lord Beauport spoke seriously to -his son, and Lady Beauport spoke warningly; but all in vain. For the -first time in his life Lord Caterham rebelled, and in his rebellion -spoke his mind; and in speaking his mind he poured forth all that -bitterness of spirit which had been collecting and fermenting so long. -To the crippled man's heartwrung wail of contempt and neglect, to his -passionate appeal for some one to love and to be loved by, the parents -had no reply. They knew that he had bitter cause for complaint; but -they also knew that he was now in pursuit of a shadow; that he was -about to assuage his thirst for love with Dead-Sea apples; that the -"set gray life and apathetic end" were better than the wild fierce -conflict and the warming of a viper in the fires of one's heart. Lady -Beauport read Carry Chesterton like a book, saw her ends and aims, and -told Lord Caterham plainly what they were. "This girl is attracted by -your title and position, Caterham,--nothing else," she said, in her -hard dry voice; "and the natural result has ensued." But that voice had -never been softened by any infusion of maternal love. Her opinions had -no weight with her son. He made no answer, and the subject dropped. - -Lionel Brakespere, duly apprised by his mother of what was going on, -and urged to put a stop to it, took his turn at his brother, and spoke -with his usual mess-room frankness, and in his usual engaging language. -"Every body knew Carry Chesterton," he said, "all the fellows at the -Rag knew her; at least all who'd been quartered in the neighbourhood -of Flockborough, where she was a regular garrison hack, and had been -engaged to Spoonbill of the 18th Hussars, and jilted by Slummer of the -160th Rifles, and was as well known as the town-clock, by Jove; and -Caterham was a fiat and a spoon, and he'd be dashed if he'd see the -fam'ly degraded; and I say, why the doose didn't Caterham listen to -reason!" So far Captain the Honourable Lionel Brakespere; who, utterly -failing in his purpose and intent, and having any further access to -Lord Caterham's rooms strictly denied him by Lord Caterham's orders, -sought out Algy Barford and confided to him the whole story, and "put -him on" to save the fam'ly credit, and stop Caterham's rediklous -'fatuation. - -Now if the infatuation in question had been legitimate, and likely to -lead to good results, Algy Barford would have been the very last man on -earth to attempt to put a stop to it, or to interfere in any way save -for its advancement. But this airy, laughing philosopher, with all his -apparent carelessness, was a man of the world and a shrewd reader of -human character; and he had made certain inquiries, the result of which -proved that Carry Chesterton was, if not all that Lionel Brakespere had -made her out, at all events a heartless coquette and fortune-huntress, -always rising at the largest fly. Quite recently jilted by that -charming creature Captain Slummer of the Rifles, she had been heard to -declare she would not merely retrieve the position hereby lost, but -achieve a much greater one; and she had been weak enough to boast of -her influence over Lord Caterham, and her determination to marry him -in spite of all his family's opposition. Then Algy Barford joined the -ranks of the conspirators, and brought his thoroughly practical worldly -knowledge to their camp. It was at a council held in Lady Beauport's -boudoir that he first spoke on the subject, his face radiant with good -humour, his teeth gleaming in the light, and his attention impartially -divided between the matter under discussion and the vagaries of a big -rough terrier which accompanied him every where. - -"You must pardon me, dear Lady Beauport," said he; "but you've all -been harking forward on the wrong scent.--Down, Tinker! Don't let him -jump on your mother, Lionel; his fleas, give you my honour, big as -lobsters!--on the wrong scent! Dear old Caterham, best fellow in the -world; but frets at the curb, don't you know? Put him a couple of links -higher up than usual, and he rides rusty and jibs--jibs, by Jove! And -that's what you've been doing now. Dear old Caterham! not much to amuse -him in life, don't you know? goes on like a blessed old martyr; but at -last finds something which he likes, and you don't. Quite right, dear -Lady Beauport; _I_ see it fast enough, because I'm an old lad, and have -seen men and cities; but dear Caterham, who is all milk and rusks and -green peas, and every thing that is innocent, don't you know, don't -see it at all. And then you try to shake him by the shoulder and rouse -him out of his dream, and tell him that he's not in fairyland, not in -Aladdin's palace, not in a two-pair back in Craven Street, Strand. -Great mistake that, Lionel, dear boy. Dear Lady Beauport, surely your -experience teaches you that it is a great mistake to cross a person -when they're in that state?" - -"But, Mr. Barford, what is to be done?" - -"Put the helm about, Lady Beauport, and--Tinker! you atrocious -desperado, you shameless caitiff! will you get down?--put the helm -about, and try the other tack. Weve failed with dear old Caterham: now -let's try the lady. Caterham is the biggest fish she's seen yet; but -my notion is that if a perch came in her way, and seemed likely to -bite, she'd forget she'd ever seen a gudgeon. Now my brother Windermere -came to town last week, and he's an earl, you know, and just the sort -of fellow who likes nothing so much as a flirtation, and is all the -time thunderingly well able to take care of himself. I think if Miss -Chesterton were introduced to Windermere, she'd soon drop poor dear -Caterham." - -Both Lionel and his mother agreed in this notion, and an early -opportunity was taken for the presentation of Lord Windermere to Miss -Chesterton. An acknowledged _parti_; a man of thews and sinews; frank, -generous, and affable: apparently candid and unsuspecting in the -highest degree, he seemed the very prize for which that accomplished -fortune-huntress had long been waiting; and forgetting the old fable of -the shadow and the substance she at once turned a decided cold shoulder -upon poor Lord Caterham, ceased visiting him, showed him no more -poetry, and within a week of her making Lord Windermere's acquaintance, -cut her old friend dead in Kensington Gardens, whither he had been -wheeled in the hope of seeing her. Ah, in how few weeks, having -discovered the sandy foundation on which she had been building, did -she come back, crouching and fawning and trying all the old devices, -to find the fire faded out of Caterham's eyes and the hope out of his -breast, and the prospect of any love or companionship as distant from -him as ever! - -Yes, that was Lord Caterham's one experience of love; and after its -lame and impotent conclusion he determined he would never have another. -We have all of us determined that in our time; but few of us have kept -to our resolution so rigidly as did Lord Caterham, possibly because -opportunities have not been so wanting to us as to him. It is all that -horrible opportunity which saps our strongest resolutions; it is the -close proximity of the magnum of "something special" in claret which -leads to the big drink; it is the shaded walk, and the setting sun -behind the deep bank of purple clouds, and the solemn stillness, and -the upturned eyes and the provoking mouth, which lead to all sorts -of horrible mistakes. Opportunity after the Chesterton _escapade_ -was denied to Lord Caterham both by himself and his parents. He shut -himself up in solitude: he would see no one save the apothecary and -Algy Barford, who indeed came constantly, feeling all the while -horribly treacherous and shamefaced. And then by degrees--by that -blessed process of Time against which we rail so much, but which is so -beneficial, of Time the anodyne and comforter, he fell back into his -old ways of life; and all that little storm and commotion was as though -it had never been. It left no marks of its fury on Caterham; he kept -no relics of its bright burning days: all letters had been destroyed. -There was not a glove nor a flower in his drawers--nothing for him -to muse and shake his head over. So soon as his passion had spent -itself--so soon as he could look calmly upon the doings of the few -previous months, he saw how unworthy they had been, and blotted them -from his memory for ever. - -So until Annie Maurice had come to take up her position as his mother's -companion, Lord Caterham had been entirely without female society, and -since her advent he had first learned the advantages of associating -with a pure, genuine healthy woman. Like Carry Chesterton, she seemed -to take to the crippled man from her first introduction to him; but ah, -how unlike that siren did sweet Annie Maurice show her regard! There -was no more romance in her composition, so she would have told you -herself, than in the statue at Charing Cross; no eyebrow elevations, no -glances, no palpable demonstrations of interest. In quite a household -and domestic manner did this good fairy discharge her duties. She was -not the Elf, the Wili, the Giselle; in book-muslin and star-sprent -hair; she was the ordinary "Brownie," the honest Troll, which shows -its presence in help rather than ornament. Ever since Miss Maurice had -been an inmate of the house in Barnabas Square, Caterham's books had -been dusted, his books and papers arranged, his diurnal calendar set, -his desk freshened with a glass of newly-gathered flowers. Never before -had his personal wants been so readily understood, so deftly attended -to. No one smoothed his pillows so softly, wheeled his chair so easily, -his every look so quickly comprehended. To all that dreary household -Annie Maurice was a sunbeam; but on no one did she shine so brightly -as on that darkened spirit. The Earl felt the beaming influence of -her bright nature; the Countess could not deny her meed of respect to -one who was always "in her place;" the servants, horribly tenacious -of interference, could find no fault with Miss Maurice; but to none -appeared she in so bright a light as to Lord Caterham. - -It was the morning after the receipt of the letter which Algy Barford -had left with him, and which had seemingly so much upset him, that -Caterham was sitting in his room, his hands clasped idly before him, -his looks bent, not on the book lying open on the desk, but on the -vacant space beyond it. So delicately constituted was his frame, that -any mental jar was immediately succeeded by acute bodily suffering; he -was hurt, not merely in spirit but in body; the machinery of his being -was shaken and put out of gear, and it took comparatively some length -of time for all to get into working order again. The strain on this -occasion had evidently been great, his head throbbed, his eyes were -surrounded with bistre rings, and the nervous tension of his clasped -fingers showed the unrest of his mind. Then came a gentle tap on the -door, a sound apparently instantly recognisable, for Lord Caterham -raised his head, and bade the visitor "Come in." It was Annie Maurice. -No one else opened the door so quickly and closed it so quietly behind -her, no one came with so light and yet so firm a step, no one else -would have seen that the sun was pouring in through the window on to -the desk, and would have crossed the room and arranged the blind before -coming up to the chair. Caterham knew her without raising his eyes, and -had said, "Ah, Annie dear!" before she reached him. - -"I feared you were ill, my lord," she commenced; but a deep growl -from Caterham stopped her. "I feared you were ill, Arthur," she then -said; "you did not show at dinner last night, nor in the evening; but -I thought you might be disinclined for society--the Gervises were -here, you know, and the Scrimgeours, and I know you don't care for -our classical music, which is invariable on such occasions; but I met -Stephens on the staircase, and he gave me such a desponding account, -that I really feared you were ill." - -"Only a passing dull fit, Annie; only a passing dull fit of extra -heaviness, and consequently extra duration! Stephens is a croaker, you -know; and having, I believe, an odd sort of Newfoundland-dog attachment -to me, is frightened if I have a finger-ache. But I'm very glad you've -come in, Annie, for I'm not really very bright even now, and you always -help to set me straight. Well, and how goes it with you, young lady?" - -"Oh, very well, Arthur, very well." - -"You feel happier than you did on your first coming among us? You feel -as though you were settling down into your home?" - -"I should be worse than foolish if I did not, for every one tries to be -kind to me." - -"I did not ask you for moral sentiments, Annie, I asked you for facts. -Do you feel settling down into your home?" And as Caterham said this, -he shot a keen scrutinising glance at the girl. - -She paused for a moment ere she answered, and when she spoke she looked -at him straight out of her big brown eyes. - -"Do I feel as if I were settling down into my home, Arthur? No; in all -honesty, no. I have no home, as you know well enough; but I feel that--" - -"Why no home?" he interrupted; "isn't--No, I understand." - -"No, you do not understand; and it is for that reason I speak. You -do not understand me, Lord--Arthur. You have notions which I want to -combat, and set right at once, please. I know you have, for Ive heard -hints of them in something you've said before. It all rises out of your -gentlemanly and chivalrous feeling, I know; but, believe me, you're -wrong. I fill the position of your mother's companion here, and you -have fallen into the conventional notion that I'm not well treated, put -upon, and all that kind of thing. On my honour, that is utterly wrong. -No two people could be kinder, after their lights, than Lord and Lady -Beauport are to me. Of your own conduct I need say no word. From the -servants I have perfect respect; and yet--" - -"And yet?" - -"Well, simply you choose the wrong word; there's no homey feeling about -it, and I should be false were I to pretend there were." - -"But pardon me for thus pursuing the subject into detail,--my interest -in you must be my excuse,--what 'homey feeling,' as you call it, had -you at Ricksborough Vicarage, whence you came to us? The people there -are no closer blood-relations than we are; nor did they, as far as I -know--" - -"Nor did they try more to make me happy. No, indeed, they could not -have tried more in that way than you do. But I was much younger -when I first went there, Arthur--quite a little child--and had all -sorts of childish reminiscences of cow-milking, and haymaking, -and harvest-homes, and all kinds of ruralities, with that great -balloon-shaped shadow of St. Paul's ever present on the horizon keeping -watch over the City, where dear old uncle Frank told me I should have -to get my living after he was gone. Its home-influence gained on me -even from the sorrow which I saw and partook of in it; from the sight -of my aunt's deathbed and my uncle's meek resignation overcoming his -desperate grief; from the holy comfort inspired in him by the discharge -of his holy calling; by the respect and esteem in which he was held by -all around, and which was never so much shown as when he wanted it most -acutely. These things, among many others, made that place home to me." - -"Yes," said Lord Caterham, in a harsh dry voice; "I understand easily -enough. After such innocence and goodness I can fully comprehend what -it must be to you to read blue-books to my father, to listen to my -mother's _fade_ nonsense about balls, operas, and dresses, or to attend -to the hypochondriacal fancies of a valetudinarian like myself--" - -"Lord Caterham! I don't think that even you have a right to insult me -in this way!" - -"_Even_ I! thank you for the compliment, which implies--Bah! what a -brute I am! You'll forgive me, Annie, won't you? I'm horribly hipped -and low. Ive not been out for two days; and the mere fact of being a -prisoner to the house always fills my veins with bile instead of blood. -Ah, you won't keep that knit brow and those tightened lips any longer, -will you? No one sees more plainly than I do that your life here wants -certain--" - -"Pray say no more, I--" - -"Ah, Annie, for Heaven's sake don't pursue this miserable growl of -mine. Have some pity for my ill-health. But I want to see you with -as many surroundings natural to your age and taste as we can find in -this--hospital. There's music: you play and sing very sweetly; but you -can't--I know you can't--sit down with any ease or comfort to that -great furniture-van of a grand-piano in that gaunt drawing-room; that's -only fit for those long-haired foreigners who let off their fireworks -on Lady Beauport's reception-nights. You must have a good piano of your -own, in your own room or here, or somewhere where you can practise -quietly. I'll see about that. And drawing--for you have a great natural -talent for that; but you should have some lessons: you must keep it up; -you must have a master. There's a man goes to Lady Lilford's, a capital -fellow, whom I know; you must have him. What's his name? Ludlow--" - -"What, Geoffrey Ludlow! dear old Geoff! He used to be papa's greatest -friend when we were at Willesden, you know,--and before that dreadful -bankruptcy, you know, Mr. Ludlow was always there. Ive sat on his knee -a thousand times; and he used to sketch me, and call me his little elf. -Oh yes, dear Arthur, I should like that,--I should like to have lessons -from Mr. Ludlow! I should so like to see him again!" - -"Well, Annie, you shall. I'll get his address from the Lilfords and -write to him, and settle about his coming. And now, Annie, leave me, -dear; I'm a little tired, and want rest." - -He was tired, and wanted rest; but he did not get it just then. Long -after Annie left the room he sat pondering, pondering, with a strange -feeling for which he himself could not account, but which had its -keynote in this: How strongly she spoke of the man Ludlow; how he -disliked her earnestness on the subject; and what would he not have -given, could he have thought she would have spoken so strongly of him. - - - - -CHAPTER X. -YOUR WILLIAM. - - -When you feel yourself gradually becoming enthralled, falling a -victim to a fascination all-potent, but scarcely all-satisfactory, -be it melancholy, or gambling, or drink, or love, there is nothing -so counteracting to the horrible influence as to brace your nerves -together, and go in for a grand spell of work. That remedy is always -efficacious, of course. It never fails, as Geoffrey Ludlow knew -very well; and that was the reason why, on the morning after his -last-described interview with Margaret Dacre, he dragged out from -behind a screen, where it had been turned with its face to the wall, -his half-finished picture intended for the Academy, and commenced -working on it with wonderful earnestness. It was a large canvas with -three principal figures: a young man, a "swell" of modern days, turning -away from the bold and eager glances of a somewhat brazen coquette, -and suddenly struck by the modest bashful beauty of a girl of the -governess-order seated at a piano. "Scylla and Charybdis" Geoff had -intended calling it, with the usual _Incidit in &c_. motto; and when -the idea first struck him he had taken pains with his composition, -had sketched his figures carefully, and had painted-in the flirt and -the man very successfully. The governess had as yet been a failure; -he had had no ideal to work from; the model who had sat to him was a -little coarse and clumsy, and irritated at not being able to carry -out his notion, he had put the picture by. But he now felt that work -was required of him, not merely as a distraction from thought, but as -an absolute duty which he owed to himself; and as this was a subject -likely to be appreciated by Mr. Stompff, he determined to work at it -again, and to have it ready for submission to the Hanging Committee of -the Academy. He boggled over it a little at first; he smoked two pipes, -staring at the canvas, occasionally shading his eyes with one hand, and -waving the other in a dreamy possessed manner in front of him. Then he -took up a brush and began to lay on a bit of colour, stepping back from -time to time to note the effect; and then the spirit came upon him, and -he went to work with all his soul. - -What a gift is that of the painter, whose whole story can be read at -one glance, who puts what we require three thick volumes to narrate -into a few feet of canvas, who with one touch of his brush gives an -expression which we pen-and-ink workers should take pages to convey, -and even then could never hope to do it half so happily!--who sees his -work grow beneath his hand, and can himself judge of its effect on -others;--who can sit with his pipe in his mouth, and chirp away merrily -to his friend, the while his right hand is gaining him wealth and -honour and fame! - -The spirit was on Geoffrey Ludlow, and the result came out splendidly. -He hoped to gain a good place on the Academy walls, he hoped to do -justice to the commissions which Mr. Stompff had given him; but there -was something beyond these two incentives which spurred his industry -and nerved his touch. After all his previous failures, it seemed -as though Scylla the governess would have the best of it at last. -Charybdis was a splendid creature, a bold, black-eyed, raven-haired -charmer, with her hair falling in thick masses over her shoulders, and -with a gorgeous passion-flower hanging voluptuously among her tresses; -a goddess amongst big Guardsmen, who would sit and suck their yellow -moustaches and express their admiration in fragmentary ejaculations, -or amongst youths from the Universities, with fluff instead of hair, -and blushes in place of _aplomb_. But in his later work the artist's -heart seemed to have gone with Scylla, who was to her rival as is a -proof after Sir Joshua to a French print, as a glass of Amontillado -to a _petit verre_ of Chartreuse,--a slight delicate creature, with -violet eyes and pallid complexion, and deep-red hair brought down in -thick braids, and tucked away behind such dainty little ears; her -modest gray dress contrasting, in its quaker-like simplicity, with the -brilliant-hued robe and rich laces of her rival. His morning's work -must have been successful, for--rare thing with him--Geoff himself was -pleased with it; no doubt of the inspiration now, he tried to deny it -to himself, but could not--the likeness came out so wonderfully. So he -gave way to the charm, and as he sat before the canvas, thoughtfully -gazing at it, he let his imagination run riot, and gave his pleasant -memories full play. - -He had worked well and manfully, and had tolerably satisfied himself, -and was sitting resting, looking at what he had done, and thinking over -what had prompted his work, when there came a tap at the door, and his -sister Til crept noiselessly in. She entered softly, as was her wont -when her brother was engaged, and took up her position behind him. But -Miss Til was demonstrative by nature, and after a minute's glance could -not contain herself. - -"Oh, you dear old Geoff; that is charming! oh, Geoff, how you have got -on! But I say, Geoff; the governess--what do you call her? I never can -recollect those Latin names, or Greek is it?--you know, and it does -not matter; but she is--you know, Geoff, I know you don't like me to -say so, but I can't find any other word--she is stunning! Not that -I think--I don't know, you know, of course, because we don't mix in -that sort of society--not that--that I think that people who--well, I -declare, I don't know any other word for them I--I mean swells--would -allow their governess to have her hair done in that style; but she -is de-licious! you've got a new model, Geoff; at least you've never -attempted any thing in that style before and I declare you've made a -regular hit. You don't speak, Geoff; don't you like what I'm saying?" - -"My dear child, you don't give me the chance of saying any thing. You -rattle on with 'I know' and 'you know' and 'don't you know,' till I -can scarcely tell where I am. One thing I do manage to glean, however, -and that is that you are pleased with the picture, which is the very -best news that I could have. For though you're a most horrible little -rattletrap, and talk nineteen to the dozen, there is some sense in what -you say and always a great deal of truth." - -"Specially when what I say is complimentary, eh, Geoff? Not that I -think I have ever said much in any other strain to you. But you haven't -told me about your new model, Geoff. Where did she come from?" - -"My new model?" - -"Yes, yes, for the governess, you know. That's new--I mean that hair -and eyes, and all that. You've never painted any thing like that before. -Where did she come from?" - -There were few things that Geoffrey Ludlow would have kept from his -sister, but this was one of them; so he merely said: - -"O, a model, Til dear--one of the usual shilling-an-hour victims." - -"Sent you by Mr. Charles Potts, I suppose," said Miss Til, with unusual -asperity; "sent you for--" But here a knock at the door cut short the -young lady's remarks. "O, but if that is Mr. Potts," she resumed, -"don't say a word about what I said just now; don't, Geoff, there's a -dear." - -It was not Mr. Potts who responded to Geoffrey Ludlow's "Come in." It -was Mr. Bowkees head which was thrust through the small space made -by the opening of the door; and it was Mr. Bowker's deep voice which -exclaimed: - -"Engaged, eh? Your William will look in again." - -But Til, with whom Mr. Bowker was a special favourite, from his strange -unconventional manners and rough _bonhomie_, called out at once: "Mr. -Bowker, it's only I--Geoff's sister Til;" and Geoff himself roaring out -that "Bowker was growing modest in his old age," that gentleman was -persuaded to come in; and closing the door lightly behind him, he went -up to the young lady, and bending over her hand, made her a bow such as -any _preux chevalier_ might have envied. A meeting with a lady was a -rare oasis in the desert of William Bowkees wasted life; but whenever -he had the chance he showed that he had been something more than the -mere pot-walloping boon-companion which most men thought him. - -"Geoff's sister Til!" he repeated, looking at the tall handsome girl -before him,--"Geoff's sister Til! Ah, then it's perfectly right that -I should have lost all my hair, and that my beard should be grizzled, -and that I have a general notion of the omnipresence of old age. I -was inclined to grumble; but if 'Geoff's sister Til,' who I thought -was still a little child, is to come up and greet me in this guise, I -recant: Time is right; and your William is the only old fool in the -matter." - -"It is your own fault, Mr. Bowker, that you don't know the changes that -take place in us. You know we are always glad to see you, and that -mamma is always sending you messages by Geoff." - -"You are all very good, and--well, I suppose it is my fault; let's -say it is, at all events. What! going? There, you see the effect my -presence has when I come up on a chance visit." - -"Not at all," said Til; "I should have gone five minutes ago if you -had not come in. I'll make a confidant of you, Mr. Bowker, and let you -into a secret. Those perpetual irritable pulls at the bell are the -tradespeople waiting for orders; and I must go and settle about dinner -and all sorts of things. Now goodbye." She shook hands with him, nodded -brightly at her brother, and was gone. - -"That's a nice girl," said William Bowker, as the door closed after -her; "a regular nice girl--modest, ladylike, and true; none of your -infernal fal-lal affectations--honest as the day; you can see that in -her eyes and in every word she says. Where do you keep your tobacco? -All right. Your pipes want looking after, Geoff. Ive tried three, and -each is as foul as a chimney. Ah, this will do at last; now I'm all -right, and can look at your work. H--m! that seems good stuff. You must -tone-down that background a little, and put a touch of light here and -there on the dress, which is infernally heavy and Hamlet-like. Hallo, -Geoff, are you going in for the P.-R.-B. business?" - -"Not I. What do you mean?" - -"What do _you_ mean by this red-haired party, my boy? This is a new -style for you, Geoff, and one which no one would have thought of your -taking up. You weren't brought up to consider this the right style of -thing in old Sassoon's academy, Geoff. If the old boy could rise from -his grave, and see his favourite pupil painting a frizzy, red-haired, -sallow-faced woman as the realisation of beauty, I think he'd be glad -he'd been called away before such awful times." - -There was a hesitation in Geoff's voice, and a hollowness in his smile, -as he answered: - -"P.-R.-B. nonsense! Old Sassoon couldn't teach everything; and as for -his ideas of beauty, look how often he made us paint Mrs. S. and the -Miss S.'s, who, Heaven knows, were anything but reproductions of the -Venus Calipyge. The simple question, as I take it, is this--is the -thing a good thing or a bad one? Tell me that." - -"As a work of art?" - -"Of course; as you see it. What else could I mean?" - -"As a work of art, it's good--undeniably good, in tone, and treatment, -and conception; as a work of prudence, it's infernally bad." - -Geoff looked at him sharply for a minute, and William Bowker, calmly -puffing at his pipe, did not shrink from his friend's glance. Then, -with a flush, Geoff said: - -"It strikes me that it is as a work of art you have to regard it. As to -what you say about a work of prudence, you have the advantage of me. I -don't understand you." - -"Don't you?" said William. "I'm sorry for you. What model did you paint -that head from?" - -"From no model." - -"From life?" - -"N-no; from memory--from--Upon my soul, Bowker, I don't see what right -you have to cross-question me in this way." - -"Don't you?" said Bowker. "Give your William something to drink, -please; he can't talk when he's dry. What is that? B. and soda. Yes, -that'll do. Look here, Geoffrey Ludlow, when you were little more than -a boy, grinding away in the Life-School, and only too pleased if the -Visitor gave you an encouraging word, your William, who is ten years -your senior, had done work which made him be looked upon as the coming -man. He had the ball at his foot, and he had merely to kick it to send -it where he chose. He does not say this out of brag--you know it?" - -Geoffrey Ludlow inclined his head in acquiescence. - -"Your William didn't kick the bail; something interfered just as his -foot was lifted to send it flying to the goal--a woman." - -Again Geoffrey Ludlow nodded in acquiescence. - -"You have heard the story. Every body in town knew it, and each had -his peculiar version; but I will tell you the whole truth myself. You -don't know how I struggled on against that infatuation;--no, you may -think you do, but I am a much stronger man than you--am, or was--and -I saw what I was losing by giving way. I gave way. I knocked down the -whole fabric which, from the time I had had a man's thoughts, a man's -mind, a man's energy and power, I had striven to raise. I kicked it all -down, as Alnaschar did his basket of eggs, and almost as soon found how -vain had been my castle-building. I need scarcely go into detail with -you about that story: it was published in the Sunday newspapers of the -time; it echoed in every club-room; it has remained lingering about -art-circles, and in them is doubtless told with great gusto at the -present day, should ever my name be mentioned. I fell in love with a -woman who was married to a man of more than double her age,--a woman of -education, taste, and refinement; of singular beauty too--and that to a -young artist was not her least charm--tied for life to an old heartless -scoundrel. My passion for her sprung from the day of my first seeing -her; but I choked it down. I saw as plainly as I see this glass before -me now what would be the consequence of any absurd escapade on my part; -how it would crush me, how, infinitely more, it would drag _her_ down. -I knew what was working in each of us; and, so help me Heaven! I tried -to spare us both. I tried--and failed, dismally enough. It was for no -want of arguing with myself--from no want of forethought of all the -consequences that might ensue. I looked at all point-blank; for though -I was young and mad with passion, I loved that woman so that I could -even have crushed my own selfishness lest it should be harm to her. -I could have done this: I did it until--until one night I saw a blue -livid mark on her shoulder. God knows how many years that is ago, but I -have the whole scene before me at this moment. It was at some fine ball -(I went into what is called 'society' then), and we were standing in a -conservatory, when I noticed this mark. I asked her about it, and she -hesitated; I taxed her with the truth, which she first feebly denied, -then admitted. He had struck her, the hound! in a fit of jealous -rage,--had struck her with his clenched fist! Even as she told me this, -I could see him within a few yards of us, pretending to be rapt in -conversation, but obviously noting our conduct. I suppose he guessed -that she had told me of what had occurred. I suppose he guessed it -from my manner and the expression of my face, for a deadly pallor came -over his grinning cheeks; and as we passed out of the conservatory, he -whispered to her--not so low but that I caught the words--'You shall -pay for this, madam--you shall pay for this!' That determined me, and -that night we fled.--Give me some more brandy and soda, Geoff. Merely -to tell this story drags the heart out of my breast." - -Geoff pushed the bottle over to his friend, and after a gulp Bowker -proceeded: - -"We went to Spain, and remained there many months; and there it was -all very well. That slumbering country is even now but little haunted -by your infernal British tourist; but then scarcely any Englishman -came there. Such as we came across were all bachelors, your fine lad -can't stand the mule-travelling and the roughing it in the posadas; and -they either had not heard the story, or didn't see the propriety of -standing on any squeamishness, more especially when the acquaintance -was all to their advantage, and we got on capitally. Nelly had seen -nothing, poor child, having left school to be married; and all the -travel, and the picturesque old towns, and the peasantry, and the -Alhambra, and all the rest of it, made a sort of romantic dream for -her. But then old Van den Bosch got his divorce; and so soon as I had -heard of that, like a madman as I was, I determined to come back to -England. The money was running short, to be sure; but I had made no -end of sketches, and I might have sent them over and sold them; but I -wanted to get back. A man can't live on love alone; and I wanted to be -amongst my old set again, for the old gossip and the old _camaraderie_; -and so back we came. I took a little place out at Ealing, and then I -went into the old haunts, and saw the old fellows, and--for the first -time--so help me Heaven! for the first time I saw what I had done. -They cut me, sir, right and left! There were some of them--blackguards -who would have hobnobbed with Greenacre, if he'd stood the drink--who -accepted my invitations, and came Sunday after Sunday, and would have -eaten and drunk me out of house and home, if I'd have stood it; but -the best--the fellows I really cared about--pretty generally gave me -the cold shoulder. Some of them had married during my absence, and -of course they couldn't come; others were making their way in their -art, working under the patronage of big swells in the Academy, and -hoping for election there, and they daren't be mixed up with such a -notoriously black sheep as your William. I felt this, Geoff, old boy. -By George, it cut me to the heart; it took all the change out of me; it -made me low and hipped, and, I fear, sometimes savage. And I suppose I -showed it at home; for poor Nell seemed to change and wither from the -day of our return. She had her own troubles, poor darling, though she -thought she kept them to herself. In a case like that, Geoff, the women -get it much hotter than we do. There were no friends for her, no one -to whom she could tell her troubles. And then the story got known, and -people used to stare and nudge each other, and whisper as she passed. -The parson called when we first came, and was a good pleasant fellow; -but a fortnight afterwards he'd heard all about it, and grew purple -in the face as he looked straight over our heads when we met him. And -once a butcher, who had to be spoken to for cheating, cheeked her and -alluded to her story; but I think what I did to him prevented any -repetition of that kind of conduct. But I couldn't silence the whole -world by thrashing it, old fellow; and Nell drooped and withered under -all the misery--drooped and--died! And I--well, I became the graceless, -purposeless, spiritless brute you see me now!" - -Mr. Bowker stopped and rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes, and -gave a great cough before finishing his drink; and then Geoffrey patted -him on the shoulder and said, "But you know how we all love you, old -friend; how that Charley Potts, and I, and Markham, and Wallis, and all -the fellows, would do anything for you." - -Mr. Bowker gave his friend's hand a tight grip as he said, "I know, -Geoff; I know you boys are fond of your William but it wasn't to parade -my grief, or to cadge for sympathy from them, that I told you that -story. I had another motive." - -"And that was--" - -"To set myself up as an example and a warning to--any one who might -be going to take a similar step. You named yourself just now, Geoff, -amongst those who cared for me. Your William is a bit of a fogy, he -knows; but some of you do care for him, and you amongst them." - -"Of course. You know that well enough." - -"Then why not show your regard for your William, dear boy? - -"Show my regard--how shall I show it?" - -"By confiding in him, Geoff; by talking to him about yourself; telling -him your hopes and plans; asking him for some of that advice which -seeing a great many men and cities, and being a remarkably downy old -skittle, qualifies him to give. Why not confide in him, Geoff?" - -"Confide in you? About what? Why on earth not speak out plainly at -once?" - -"Well, well, I won't beat about the bush any longer. I daresay there's -nothing in it; but people talk and cackle so confoundedly, and, by -George, men--some men, at least--are quite as bad as women in that -line; and they say you're in love, Geoff; regularly hard hit--no chance -of recovery!" - -"Do they?" said Geoff, flushing very red--"do they? Who are 'they,' by -the way?--not that it matters, a pack of gabbling fools! But suppose I -am, what then?" - -"What then! Why, nothing then--only it's rather odd that you've never -told your William, whom you've known so long and so intimately, any -thing about it. Is that" (pointing to the picture) "a portrait of the -lady?" - -"There--there is a reminiscence of her--her head and general style." - -"Then your William would think that her head and general style must be -doosid good. Any sisters?" - -"I--I think not." - -"Are her people pleasant--do you get on with them?" - -"I don't know them." - -"Ah, Geoff, Geoff, why make me go on in this way? Don't you know me -well enough to be certain that I'm not asking all these questions for -impertinence and idle curiosity? Don't you see that I'm dragging bit by -bit out of you because I'm coming to the only point any of your friends -can care about? Is this girl a good girl; is she respectable; is she in -your own sphere of life; can you bring her home and tell the old lady -to throw her arms round her neck, and welcome her as a daughter? Can -you introduce her to that sweet sister of yours who was here when I -came in?" - -There came over Geoffrey Ludlow's face a dark shadow such as William -Bowker had never seen there before. He did not speak nor turn his eyes, -but sat fixed and rigid as a statue. - -"For God's sake think of all this, Geoff! Ive told you a thousand times -that you ought to be married; that there was no man more calculated to -make a woman happy, or to have his own happiness increased by a woman's -love. But then she must be of your own degree in life, and one of whom -you could be every where proud. I would not have you married to an ugly -woman or a drabby woman, or any thing that wasn't very nice; how much -less, then, to any one whom you would feel ashamed of, or who could -not be received by your dear ones at home! Geoff, dear old Geoff, for -heaven's sake think of all this before it is too late! Take warning by -my fatal error, and see what misery you would prepare for both of you." - -Geoffrey Ludlow still sat in the same attitude. He made no reply for -some minutes; then he said, dreamily, "Yes--yes, you're quite right, of -course,--quite right. But I don't think we'll continue the conversation -now. Another time, Bowker, please--another time." Then he ceased, and -Mr. Bowker rose and pressed his hand, and took his departure. As he -closed the door behind him, that worthy said to himself: "Well, I've -done my duty, and I know I've done right; but it's very little of -Geoff's mutton that your William will cut, and very little of Geoff's -wine that your William will drink, if that marriage comes off. For of -course he'll tell her all I've said, and _won't_ she love your William!" - -And for hours Geoffrey Ludlow sat before his easel, gazing at the -Scylla head, and revolving all the detail of Mr. Bowker's story in his -mind. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. -PLAYING THE FISH. - - -When did the giver of good, sound, unpalatable, wholesome advice -ever receive his due? Who does not possess, amongst the multitude of -acquaintances, a friend who says, "Such and such are my difficulties: -I come to you because I want advice;" and who, after having heard all -that, after a long struggle with yourself, you bring yourself to say, -wrings your hand, goes away thinking what an impertinent idiot you -are, and does exactly the opposite of all you have suggested? All men, -even the most self-opinionated and practical, are eager for advice. -None, even the most hesitating and diffident, take it, unless it agrees -with their own preconceived ideas. There are, of course, exceptions -by which this rule is proved; but there are two subjects on which no -man was ever yet known to take advice, and they are horses and women. -Depreciate your friend's purchase as delicately as Agag came unto -Saul; give every possible encomium to make and shape and breeding; but -hint, _per contra_, that the animal is scarcely up to his weight, or -that that cramped action looks like a possible blunder; suggest that -a little more slope in the shoulder, a little less cowiness in the -general build, might be desirable for riding purposes, and your friend -will smile, and shake his head, and canter away, convinced of the utter -shallowness of your equine knowledge. In the other matter it is much -worse. You must be very much indeed a man's friend if you can venture -to hint to him, even after his iterated requests for your honest candid -opinion, that the lady of his love is any thing but what he thinks -her. And though you iterate and reiterate, moralise as shrewdly as -Ecclesiasticus, bring chapter and verse to support your text, he must -be more or less than a man, and cast in very different clay from that -of which we poor ordinary mortals are composed, if he accepts one of -your arguments or gives way one atom before your elucidations. - -Did William Bowker's forlorn story, commingled with his earnest -passionate appeal, weigh one scruple with Geoffrey Ludlow? Not one. -Geoff was taken aback by the story. There was a grand human interest -in that laying bare before him of a man's heart, and of two persons' -wasted lives, which aroused his interest and his sympathy, made him -ponder over what might have been, had the principal actors in the -drama been kept asunder, and sent him into a fine drowsy state of -metaphysical dubiety. But while Bowker was pointing his moral, Geoff -was merely turning over the various salient points which had adorned -his tale. - -He certainly heard Bowker drawing a parallel between his own unhappy -passion and Geoff's regard for the original owner of that "Scylla -head;" but as the eminent speaker was arguing on hypothetical facts, -and drawing deductions from things of which he knew absolutely -nothing, too much reliance was not to be placed on his arguments. In -Bowker's case there had been a public scandal, a certain betrayal of -trust, which was the worst feature in the whole affair, a trial and -an _exposé_, and a denunciation of the--well, the world used hard -words--the seducer; which--though Bowker was the best fellow in the -world, and had obviously a dreadful time of it--was only according -to English custom. Now, in his own case, Margaret (he had already -accustomed himself to think of her as Margaret) had been victimised by -a scoundrel, and the blame--for he supposed blame would, at least in -the minds of very strait-laced people, attach to her--was mitigated -by the facts. Besides--and here was his great thought--nothing would -be known of her former history. Her life, so far as any one in his -set could possibly know any thing about it, began on the night when -he and Charley Potts found her in the street. She was destitute and -starving, granted; but there was nothing criminal in destitution and -starvation, which indeed would, in the eyes of a great many weak and -good-natured (the terms are synonymous) persons, bind a kind of romance -to the story. And as to all that had gone before, what of that? How was -any thing of that love ever to become known? This Leonard Brookfield, -an army swell, a man who, under any circumstances, was never likely -to come across them, or to be mixed up in Geoff's artist-circle, had -vanished, and with him vanished the whole dark part of the story. -Vanished for ever and aye! Margaret's life would begin to date from the -time when she became his wife, when he brought her home to----Ah, by -the way, what was that Bowker said about her worthiness to associate -with his mother and sister? Why not? He would tell them all about it. -They were good women, who fully appreciated the grand doctrine of -forgiveness; and yet--He hesitated; he knew his mother to be a most -excellent church-going woman, bearing her "cross" womanfully, not to -say rather flaunting it than otherwise; but he doubted whether she -would appreciate an introduction to a Magdalen, however penitent. To -subscribe to a charity for "those poor creatures;" to talk pleasantly -and condescendingly to them, and to leave them a tract on visiting -a "Home" or a "Refuge," is one thing; to take them to your heart as -daughters-in-law is another. And his sister! Well, young girls didn't -understand this kind of thing, and would put a false construction on -it, and were always chattering, and a great deal of harm might be done -by Til's want of reticence; and so, perhaps, the best thing to be done -was to hold his tongue, decline to answer any questions about former -life, and leave matters to take their course. He had already arrived -at that state of mind that he felt, if any disagreements arose, he -was perfectly ready to leave mother and sister, and cleave to his -wife--that was to be. - -So Geoffrey Ludlow, tossing like a reed upon the waters, but ever, like -the same reed, drifting with the resistless current of his will, made -up his mind; and all the sage experience of William Bowker, illustrated -by the story of his life, failed in altering his determination. It is -questionable whether a younger man might not have been swayed by, or -frightened at, the council given to him. Youth is impressible in all -ways; and however people may talk of the headstrong passion of youth, -it is clear that--nowadays at least--there is a certain amount of -selfish forethought mingled with the heat and fervour; that love--like -the measles--though innocuo us in youth, is very dangerous when -taken in middle life; and Geoffrey Ludlow was as weak, and withal as -stubborn, an in-patient, as ever caught the disease. - -And yet?--and yet?--was the chain so strong, were the links already -so well riveted, as to defy every effort to break them? Or, in truth, -was it that the effort was wanting? An infatuation for a woman had -been painted in very black shadows by William Bowker; but it was a -great question to Geoff whether there was not infinite pleasure in the -mere fact of being infatuated. Since he had seen Margaret Dacre--at -all events, since he had been fascinated by her--not merely was he a -different man, so far as she was concerned, but all life was to him a -different and infinitely more pleasurable thing. That strange doubting -and hesitation which had been his bane through life seemed, if not -to have entirely vanished, at all events to be greatly modified; and -he had recently, in one or two matters, shown a decision which had -astonished the members of his little household. He felt that he had -at last--what he had wanted all through his life--a purpose; he felt -that there was something for him to live for; that by his love he had -learned something that he had never known before; that his soul was -opened, and the whole aspect of nature intensified and beautified; that -he might have said with Maud's lover in that exquisite poem of the -Laureate's, which so few really appreciate-- - - -"It seems that I am happy, that to me A livelier emerald twinkles in -the grass, A purer sapphire melts into the sea." - - -Then he sat down at his easel again, and worked away at the Scylla -head, which came out grandly, and soon grew all a-glow with Margaret -Dacre's peculiar expression; and then, after contemplating it long and -lovingly, the desire to see the original came madly upon him, and he -threw down his palette and brushes, and went out. - -He walked straight to Mrs. Flexor's, and, on his knocking, the door was -opened to him by that worthy dame, who announced to him, with awful -solemnity, that he'd "find a change upstairs." - -"A change!" cried Geoffrey, his heart thumping audibly, and his cheek -blanched; "a change!" - -"O, nothin' serious, Mr. Ludlows; but she have been a worritin' -herself, poor lamb, and a cryin' her very eyes out. But what it is I -can't make out, though statin' put your trust in one where trust is -doo, continual." - -"I don't follow you yet, Mrs. Flexor. Your lodger has been in low -spirits--is that it?" - -"Sperrits isn't the name for it, Mr. Ludlows, when downer than dumps is -what one would express. As queer as Dick's hatband have she been ever -since you went away yesterday; and I says to her at tea last evening--" - -"I can see her, I suppose?" - -"Of course you can, sir; which all I was doing was to prepare you -for the--" but here Mrs. Flexor, who had apparently taken something -stronger than usual with her dinner, broke down and became inarticulate. - -Geoffrey pushed past her, and, knocking at the parlour-door, entered -at once. He found Margaret standing, with her arms on the mantelshelf, -surveying herself in the wretched little scrap of looking-glass which -adorned the wall. Her hair was arranged in two large full bands, her -eyes were swollen, and her face was blurred and marked by tears. She -did not turn round at the opening of the door, nor, indeed, until she -had raised her head and seen in the glass Geoff's reflection; even then -she moved languidly, as though in pain, and her hand, when she placed -it in his, was dry with burning heat. - -"That chattering idiot down stairs was right after all," said Geoff, -looking alarmedly at her; "you are ill?" - -"No," she said, with a faint smile; "not ill, at all events not now. -I have been rather weak and silly; but I did not expect you yet. I -intended to remove all traces of such folly by the time you came. It -was fit I should, as I want to talk to you most seriously and soberly." - -"Do we not always talk so? did we not the last time I was -here--yesterday?" - -"Well, generally, perhaps; but not the last time--not yesterday. If I -could have thought so, I should have spared myself a night of agony and -a morning of remorse." - -Geoff's face grew clouded. - -"I am sorry for your agony, but much more sorry for your remorse, Miss -Dacre," said he. - -"Ah, Mr. Ludlow," cried Margaret, passionately, "don't _you_ be angry -with me; don't _you_ speak to me harshly, or I shall give way all -together! O, I watched every change of your face; and I saw what you -thought at once; but indeed, indeed it is not so. My remorse is not -for having told you all that I did yesterday; for what else could I do -to you who had been to me what you had? My remorse was for what I had -done--not for what I had said--for the wretched folly which prompted me -to yield to a wheedling tongue, and so ruin myself for ever." - -Her tears burst forth again as she said this, and she stamped her foot -upon the ground. - -"Ruin you for ever, Margaret!" said Geoffrey, stealing his arm round -her waist as she still stood by the mantelshelf; "O no, not ruin you, -dearest Margaret--" - -"Ah, Mr. Ludlow," she interrupted, neither withdrawing from nor -yielding to his arm, "have I not reason to say ruin? Can I fail to see -that you have taken an interest in me which--which--" - -"Which nothing you have told me can alter--which I shall preserve, -please God," said Geoff, in all simplicity and sincerity, "to the end -of my life." - -She looked at him as he said these words with a fixed regard, half of -wonder, half of real unfeigned earnest admiration. - -"I--I'm a very bad hand at talking, Margaret, and know I ought to say a -great deal for which I can't find words. You see," he continued, with a -grave smile, "I'm not a young man now, and I suppose one finds it more -difficult to express oneself about--about such matters. But I'm going -to ask you--to--to share my lot--to be my wife!" - -Her heart gave one great bound within her breast, and her face was -paler than ever, as she said: - -"Your wife! your wife! Do you know what you are saying, Mr. Ludlow? or -is it I who, as the worldling, must point out to you--" - -"I know all," said Geoffrey, raising his hand deprecatingly; but she -would not be silenced. - -"I must point out to you what you would bring upon yourself--what you -would have to endure. The story of my life is known to you and to you -alone; not another living soul has ever heard it. My mother died while -I was in Italy; and of--the other person--nothing has ever been heard -since his flight. So far, then, I do not fear that my--my shame--we -will use the accepted term--would be flung in your teeth, or that you -would be made to wince under any thing that might be said about me. But -you would know the facts yourself; you could not hide them from your -own heart; they would be ever present to you; and in introducing me to -your friends, your relatives, if you have any, you would feel that--" - -"I don't think we need go into that, Margaret. I see how right and how -honourable are your motives for saying all this; but I have thought it -over, and do not attach one grain of importance to it. If you say 'yes' -to me, we shall live for ourselves, and with a very few friends who -will appreciate us for ourselves. Ah, I was going to say that to you. -I'm not rich, Margaret, and your life would, I'm afraid, be dull. A -small income and a small house, and--" - -"It would be my home, and I should have you;" and for the first time -during the interview she gave him one of her long dreamy looks out of -her half-shut eyes. - -"Then you will say 'yes,' dearest?" asked Geoff passionately. - -"Ah, how can I refuse! how can I deny myself such happiness as you hold -out to me after the misery I have zone through!" - -"Ah, darling, you shall forget that--" - -"But you must not act rashly--must not do in a moment what you would -repent your life long. Take a week for consideration. Go over every -thing in your mind, and then come back to me and tell me the result." - -"I know it now. O, don't hesitate, Margaret; don't let me wait the -horrid week!" - -"It is right, and so we will do it. It will be more tedious to me than -to you, my--my Geoffrey." - -Ah, how caressingly she spoke, and what a look of love and passion -glowed in her deep-violet eyes! - -"And I am not to see you during this week?" - -"No; you shall be free from whatever little influence my presence may -possess. You shall go now. Goodbye." - -"God bless you, my darling!" He bent down and kissed her upturned -mouth, then was gone. She looked after him wistfully; then after some -time said softly to herself: "I did not believe there lived so good a -man." - - - - -CHAPTER XII. -UNDER THE HARROW. - - -Mr. Bowker was not the only one of Geoffrey Ludlow's friends to whom -that gentleman's intentions towards the lodger at Flexor's occasioned -much troubled thought. Charley Potts regarded his friend's intimacy -in that quarter with any thing but satisfaction; and an enormous -amount of bird's-eye tobacco was consumed by that rising young artist -in solemn cogitation over what was best to be done in the matter. -For though Geoffrey had reposed no confidence in his friend, and, -indeed, had never called upon him, and abstained as much as possible -from meeting him since the night of the adventure outside the Titian -Sketching-Club, yet Mr. Potts was pretty accurately informed of the -state of affairs, through the medium of Mr. Flexor, then perpetually -sitting for the final touches to Gil Bias; and having a tolerable -acquaintance with human nature,--or being, as he metaphorically -expressed it, "able to reckon how many blue beans made five,"--Mr. -Potts was enabled to arrive at a pretty accurate idea of how affairs -stood in Little Flotsam Street. And affairs, as they existed in Little -Flotsam Street, were by no means satisfactory to Mr. Charles Potts. -Had it been a year ago, he would have cared but little about it. A -man of the world, accustomed to take things as they were, without the -remotest idea of ever setting himself up to correct abuses, or protest -against a habitude of being not strictly in accordance with the views -of the most strait-laced, Charley Potts had floated down the stream -of life objecting to nothing, objected to by none. There were fifty -ladies of his acquaintance, passing as the wives of fifty men of his -acquaintance, pleasant genial creatures, capital punch-mixers,--women -in whose presence you might wear your hat, smoke, talk slang, chaff, -and sing; women who knew all the art-gossip, and entered into it; -whom one could take to the Derby, or who would be delighted with a -cheap-veal-and-ham-pie, beer-in-a-stone-jar, and bottle-of-hot-sherry -picnic in Bushey Park,--the copy of whose marriage-licenses Charley -never expected to see. It was nothing to him, he used to say. It might -or it might not be; but he didn't think that Joe's punch would be any -the stronger, or Tom's weeds any the better, or Bill's barytone voice -one atom more tuneful and chirpy, if the Archbishop of Canterbury had -given out the bans and performed the ceremony for the lot. There was -in it, he thought, a glorious phase of the _vie de Bohême_, a scorn of -the respectable conventionalities of society, a freedom of thought and -action possessing a peculiar charm of their own; and he looked upon the -persons who married and settled, and paid taxes and tradesmen's bills, -and had children, and went to bed before morning, and didn't smoke clay -pipes and sit in their shirt-sleeves, with that softened pity with -which the man bound for Epsom Downs regards the City clerk going to -business on the Clapham omnibus. - -But within the last few months Mr. Potts's ideas had very considerably -changed. It was not because he had attained the venerable age of -thirty, though he was at first inclined to ascribe the alteration to -that; it was not that his appetite for fun and pleasure had lost any -of its keenness, nor that he had become "awakened," or "enlightened," -or subjected to any of the preposterous revival influences of the -day. It was simply that he had, in the course of his intimacy with -Geoffrey Ludlow, seen a great deal of Geoffrey Ludlow's sister, Til; -and that the result of his acquaintance with that young lady was the -entire change of his ideas on various most important points. It was -astonishing, its effect on him: how, after an evening at Mrs. Ludlow's -tea-table--presided over, of course, by Miss Til--Charley Potts, going -somewhere out to supper among his old set, suddenly had his eyes -opened to Louie's blackened eyelids and Bella's painted cheeks; how -Georgie's _h_-slips smote with tenfold horror on his ear, and Carry's -cigarette-smoking made him wince with disgust. He had seen all these -things before, and rather liked them; it was the contrast that induced -the new feeling. Ah, those preachers and pedants,--well-meaning, -right-thinking men,--how utterly futile are the means which they use -for compassing their ends! In these sceptical times, their pulpit -denunciations, their frightful stories of wrath to come, are received -with polite shoulder-shrugs and grins of incredulity; their twopence -coloured pictures of the Scarlet Woman, their time-worn renderings of -the street-wanderer, are sneered at as utterly fictitious and untrue; -and meanwhile detached villas in St. John's Wood, and first-floors -in quiet Pimlico streets, command the most preposterous rents. Young -men will of course be young men; but the period of young-man-ism in -that sense narrows and contracts every year. The ranks of her Scarlet -Ladyship's army are now filled with very young boys who do not know -any better, or elderly men who cannot get into the new groove, and -who still think that to be gentlemanly it is necessary to be immoral. -Those writers who complain of the "levelling" tone of society, and -the "fast" manners of our young ladies, scarcely reflect upon the -improved morality of the age. Our girls--all the outcry about fastness -and selling themselves for money notwithstanding--are as good and as -domestic as when formed under the literary auspices of Mrs. Chapone; -and--granting the existence of Casinos and Anonymas--our young men are -infinitely more wholesome than the class for whose instruction Philip -Dormer Stanhope, Earl of Chesterfield, penned his delicious letters. - -So Mr. Charles Potts, glowing with newly-awakened ideas of -respectability, began to think that, after all, the _vie de Bohême_ was -perhaps a mistake, and not equal, in the average amount of happiness -derived from it, to the _vie de_ Camden Town. He began to think that to -pay rent and taxes and tradesmen's bills was very likely no dearer, and -certainly more satisfactory, than to invest in pensions for cast-off -mistresses and provisions for illegitimate children. He began to think, -in fact, that a snug little house in the suburbs, with his own Lares -and Penates about him, and Miss Matilda Ludlow, now looking over his -shoulder and encouraging him at his work, now confronting him at the -domestic dinner-table, was about the pleasantest thing which his fancy -could conjure up in his then frame of mind. - -Thinking all this, devoutly hoping it might so fall out, and being, -like most converts, infinitely more rabid in the cause of Virtue than -those who had served her with tolerable fidelity for a series of years, -Mr. Charley Potts heard with a dreadful amount of alarm and amazement -of Geoffrey Ludlow's close connection with a person whose antecedents -were not comeatable and siftable by a local committee of Grundys. A -year ago, and Charley would have laughed the whole business to scorn; -insisted that every man had a right to do as he liked; slashed at -the doubters; mocked their shaking heads and raised shoulders and -taken no heed of any thing that might have been sad. But matters were -different now. Not merely was Charley a recruit in the Grundy ranks, -having pinned the Grundy colours in his coat, and subscribed to the -Grundy oath; but the person about to be brought before the Grundy -_Fehmgericht_, or court-marshal, was one in whom, should his hopes be -realised, he would have the greatest interest. Though he had never -dared to express his hopes, though he had not the smallest actual -foundation for his little air-castle, Charles Potts naturally and -honestly regarded Matilda Ludlow as the purest and most honourable of -her sex--as does every young fellow regard the girl he loves; and the -idea that she should be associated, or intimately connected, with any -one under a moral taint, was to him terrible and loathsome. - -The moral taint, mind, was all hypothetical. Charles Potts had not -heard one syllable of Margaret Dacre's history, had been told nothing -about it, knew nothing of her except that he and Geoffrey had saved her -from starvation in the streets. But when people go in for the public -profession of virtue, it is astonishing to find how quickly they listen -to reports of the shortcomings and backslidings of those who are not -professedly in the same category. It seemed a bit of fatalism too, -that this acquaintance should have occurred immediately on Geoffrey's -selling his picture for a large sum to Mr. Stompff. Had he not done -this, there is no doubt that the other thing would have been heard -of by few, noticed by none; but in art, as in literature, and indeed -in most other professions, no crime is so heavily visited as that of -being successful. It is the sale of your picture, or the success of -your novel, that first makes people find out how you steal from other -people, how your characters are mere reproductions of your own personal -friends,--for which you ought to be shunned,--how laboured is your -pathos, and how poor your jokes. It is the repetition of your success -that induces the criticism; not merely that you are a singular instance -of the badness of the public taste, but that you have a red nose, a -decided cast in one eye, and that undoubtedly your grandmother had -hard labour for stealing a clock. Geoff Ludlow the struggling might -have done as he liked without comment; on Geoff Ludlow the possessor -of unlimited commissions from the great Stompff it was meet that every -vial of virtuous wrath should be poured. - -Although Charles Potts knew the loquacity of Mr. Flexor,--the story -of Geoff's adventure and fascination had gone the round of the -studios,--he did not think how much of what had occurred, or what was -likely to occur, was actually known, inasmuch as that most men, knowing -the close intimacy existing between him and Ludlow, had the decency to -hold their tongues in his presence. But one day he heard a good deal -more than every thing. He was painting on a fancy head which he called -"Diana Vernon," but which, in truth, was merely a portrait of Miss -Matilda Ludlow very slightly idealised (the "Gil Blas" had been sent -for acceptance or rejection by the Academy Committee), and Bowker was -sitting by smoking a sympathetic pipe, when there came a sharp tug at -the bell, and Bowker, getting up to open the door, returned with a very -rueful countenance, closely followed by little Tidd. Now little Tidd, -though small in stature, was a great ruffian. A soured, disappointed -little wretch himself, he made it the business of his life to go about -maligning every one who was successful, and endeavouring, when he -came across them personally, to put them out of conceit by hints and -innuendoes. He was a nasty-looking little man, with an always grimy -face and hands, a bald head, and a frizzled beard. He had a great -savage mouth with yellow tusks at either end of it; and he gave you, -generally, the sort of notion of a man that you would rather not drink -after. He had been contemporary with Geoffrey Ludlow at the Academy, -and had been used to say very frankly to him and others, "When I become -a great man, as I'm sure to do, I shall cut all you chaps;" and he -meant it. But years had passed, and Tidd had not become a great man -yet; on the contrary, he had subsided from yards of high-art canvas -into portrait-painting, and at that he seemed likely to remain. - -"Well, how do _you_ do, Potts?" said Mr. Tidd. "I said 'How do you -do?' to our friend Mr. Bowker at the door. Looks well, don't he? His -troubles seem to sit lightly on him." Here Mr. Bowker growled a bad -word, and seemed as if about to spring upon the speaker. - -"And what's this you're doing, Potts? A charming head! acharming--n-no! -not quite so charming when you get close to it; nose a little out of -drawing, and--rather spotty, eh? What do you say, Mr. Bowker?" - -"I say, Mr. Tidd, that if you could paint like that, you'd give one of -your ears." - -"Ah, yes--well, that's not complimentary, but--soured, poor man; sad -affair! Yes, well! you've sent your Gil Blas to the Academy, I suppose, -Potts?" - -"O yes; he's there, sir; very likely at this moment being held up by a -carpenter before the Fatal Three." - -"Ah! don't be surprised at its being kicked out." - -"I don't intend to be." - -"That's right; they're sending them back in shoals this year, I'm -told--in shoals. Have you heard any thing about the pictures?" - -"Nothing, except that Landseer's got something stunning." - -"Landseer, ah!" said Mr. Tidd. "When I think of that man, and the -prices he gets, my blood boils, sir--boils! That the British public -should care about and pay for a lot of stupid horses and cattle-pieces, -and be indifferent to real art, is--well, never mind!" and Mr. Tidd -gave himself a great blow in the chest, and asked, "What else?" - -"Nothing else--O yes! I heard from Rushworth, who's on the Council, -you know, that they had been tremendously struck by Geoff Ludlow's -pictures, and that one or two more of the same sort are safe to make -him an Associate." - -"What!" said Mr. Tidd, eagerly biting his nails. "What!--an Associate! -Geoffrey Ludlow an Associate!" - -"Ah, that seems strange to you, don't it, Tidd?" said Bowker, speaking -for the first time. "I recollect you and Geoff together drawing from -the life. You were going to do every thing in those days, Tidd; and old -Geoff was as quiet and as modest as--as he is now. It's the old case of -the hare and the tortoise; and you're the hare, Tidd;--though, to look -at you," added Mr. Bowker under his breath, "you're a d--d sight more -like the tortoise, by Jove!" - -"Geoffrey Ludlow an Associate!" repeated Mr. Tidd, ignoring Mr. -Bowker's remark, and still greedily biting his nails. "Well, I should -hardly have thought that; though you can't tell what they won't do down -in that infernal place in Trafalgar Square. Theyve treated me badly -enough; and it's quite like them to make a pet of him." - -"How have they treated you badly, Tidd?" asked Potts, in the hope of -turning the conversation away from Ludlow and his doings. - -"How!" screamed Tidd; "in a thousand ways! Theyve a personal hatred -of me, sir--that's what they have! Ive tried every dodge and painted -in every school, and they won't have me. The year after Smith made a -hit with that miserable picture 'Measuring Heights,' from the _Vicar -of Wakefield_, I sent in 'Mr. Burchell cries Fudge!'--kicked out! -The year after, Mr. Ford got great praise for his wretched daub of -'Dr. Johnson reading Goldsmith's Manuscript.' I sent in 'Goldsmith, -Johnson, and Bozzy at the Mitre Tavern'--kicked out!--a glorious bit -of humour, in which I'd represented all three in different stages of -drunkenness--kicked out!" - -"I suppose you've not been used worse than most of us, Tidd," growled -Mr. Bowker. "She's an unjust stepmother, is the R.A. of A. But she -snubs pretty nearly every body alike." - -"Not at all!" said Tidd. "Here's this Ludlow--" - -"What of him?" interposed Potts quickly. - -"Can any one say that his painting is--ah, well! poor devil! it's no -good saying any thing more about him; he'll have quite enough to bear -on his own shoulders soon." - -"What, when he's an Associate!" said Bowker, who inwardly was highly -delighted at Tidd's evident rage. - -"Associate!--stuff! I mean when he's married." - -"Married? Is Ludlow going to be married?" - -"Of course he is. Haven't you heard it? it's all over town." And indeed -it would have been strange if the story had not permeated all those -parts of the town which Mr. Tidd visited, as he himself had laboured -energetically for its circulation. "It's all over town--O, a horrible -thing! horrible thing!" - -Bowker looked across at Charley Potts, who said, "What do you mean by a -horrible thing, Tidd? Speak out and tell us; don't be hinting in that -way." - -"Well, then, Ludlow's going to marry some dreadful bad woman. O, it's a -fact; I know all about it. Ludlow was coming home from a dinner-party -one night, and he saw this woman, who was drunk, nearly run over by an -omnibus at the Regent Circus. He rushed into the road, and pulled her -out; and finding she was so drunk she couldn't speak, he got a room for -her at Flexor's and took her there, and has been to see her every day -since; and at last he's so madly in love with her that he's going to -marry her." - -"Ah!" said Mr. Bowker; "who is she? Where did she come from?" - -"Nobody knows where she came from; but she's a reg'lar bad 'un,--as -common as dirt. Pity too, ain't it? for Ive heard Ludlow's mother is a -nice old lady, and Ive seen his sister, who's stunnin'!" and Mr. Tidd -winked his eye. - -This last proceeding finished Charley Potts, and caused his wrath, -which had been long simmering, to boil over. "Look here, Mr. Tidd!" he -burst forth; "that story about Geoff Ludlow is all lies--all lies, do -you hear! And if I find that you're going about spreading it, or if you -ever mention Miss Ludlow as you did just now, I'll break your infernal -neck for you!" - -"Mr. Potts!" said Tidd,--"Mr. Potts, such language! Mr. Bowker, did you -hear what he said?" - -"I did," growled old Bowker over his pipe; "and from what I know of -him, I should think he was deuced likely to do it." - -Mr. Tidd seemed to be of the same opinion, for he moved towards the -door, and slunk out, muttering ominously. - -"There's a scoundrel for you!" said Charley, when the door shut -behind the retreating Tidd; "there's a ruffian for you! Ive not the -least doubt that vagabond got a sort of foundation smattering from -that blabbing Flexor, and invented all that about the omnibus and the -drunken state and the rest of it himself. If that story gets noised -about, it will do Geoff harm." - -"Of course it will," said Bowker; "and that's just what Tidd wants. -However, I think your threat of breaking his neck has stopped that -little brute's tongue. There are some fellows, by Jove! who'll go -on lying and libelling you, and who are only checked by the idea of -getting a licking, when they shut up like telescopes. I don't know -what's to be done about Geoff. He seems thoroughly determined and -infatuated." - -"I can't understand it." - -"_I_ can," said old Bowker, sadly; "if she's any thing like the head -he's painted in his second picture--and I think from his manner it must -be deuced like her--I can understand a man's doing any thing for such a -woman. Did she strike you as being very lovely?" - -"I couldn't see much of her that night, and she was deadly white and -ill; but I didn't think her as good-looking as--some that I know." - -"Geoff ought to know about this story that's afloat." - -"I think he ought," said Charley. "I'll walk up to his place in a day -or two, and see him about it." - -"See _him?_" said Bowker. "Ah, all right! Yesterday was not your -William's natal day." - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. -AT THE PRIVATE VIEW. - - -The grand epoch of the artistic year had arrived; the tremendous -Fehmgericht--appointed to decide on the merits of some hundreds of -struggling men, to stamp their efforts with approval or to blight them -with rejection--had issued their sentence. The Hanging-Committee had -gone through their labours and eaten their dinners; every inch of space -on the walls in Trafalgar Square was duly covered; the successful men -had received intimation of the "varnishing day," and to the rejected -had been despatched a comforting missive, stating that the amount -of space at the command of the Academy was so small, that, sooner -than place their works in an objectionable position, the Council had -determined to ask for their withdrawal. Out of this ordeal Geoffrey -Ludlow had come splendidly. There had always been a notion that he -would "do something;" but he had delayed so long--near the mark, but -never reaching it--that the original belief in his talents had nearly -faded out. Now, when realisation came, it came with tenfold force. The -old boys--men of accepted name and fame--rejoiced with extra delight -in his success because it was one in their own line, and without any -giving in to the doctrines of the new school, which they hated with all -their hearts. They liked the "Sic vos non vobis" best (for Geoffrey had -sternly held to his title, and refused all Mr. Stompff's entreaties -to give it a more popular character); they looked upon it as a more -thoroughly legitimate piece of work. They allowed the excellences of -the "Scylla and Charybdis," and, indeed, some of them were honest -enough to prefer it, as a bit of real excellence in painting; but -others objected to the pre-Raphaelite tendency to exalt the white face -and the dead-gold hair into a realisation of beauty. But all were -agreed that Geoffrey Ludlow had taken the grand step which was always -anticipated from him, and that he was, out and away, the most promising -man of the day: So Geoff was hung on the line, and received letters -from half-a-dozen great names congratulating him on his success, and -was in the seventh heaven of happiness, principally from the fact that -in all this he saw a prospect of excellent revenue, of the acquisition -of money and honour to be shared with a person then resident in Mr. -Flexor's lodgings, soon to be mistress of his own home. - -The kind Fates had also been propitious to Mr. Charles Potts, whose -picture of "Gil Blas and the Archbishop" had been well placed in the -North Room. Mr. Tidd's "Boadicea in her Chariot," ten feet by six, had -been rejected; but his portrait of W. Bagglehole, Esq., vestry-clerk of -St. Wabash, Little Britain, looked down from the ceiling of the large -room and terrified the beholders. - -So at length arrived that grand day of the year to the Academicians, -when they bid certain privileged persons to the private view of the -pictures previous to their public exhibition. The _profanum vulgus_, -who are odi'd and arceo'd, pine in vain hope of obtaining a ticket for -this great occasion. The public press, the members of the Legislature -carefully sifted, a set of old dowagers who never bought a sketch, and -who scarcely know a picture from a pipkin, and a few distinguished -artists,--these are the happy persons who are invited to enter the -sacred precincts on this eventful day. Geoffrey Ludlow never had been -inside the walls on such an occasion--never expected to be; but on -the evening before, as he was sitting in his studio smoking a pipe -and thinking that within twenty-four hours he would have Margaret's -final decision, looking back over his short acquaintance with her in -wonder, looking forward to his future life with her in hope, when a -mail-phaeton dashed up to the door, and in the strident tones, "Catch -hold, young 'un," shouted to the groom, Geoff recognised the voice of -Mr. Stompff, and looking out saw that great capitalist descending from -the vehicle. - -"Hallo, Ludlow!" said Mr. Stompff, entering the studio; "how are you? -Quiet pipe after the day's grind? That's your sort! What will I take, -you were going to say? Well, I think a little drop of sherry, if you've -got it pale and dry,--as, being a man of taste, of course you have. -Well, those duffers at the Academy have hung you well, you see! Of -course they have. You know how that's done, of course?" - -"I had hoped that the--" Geoff began to stutter directly it became a -personal question with him--"that the--I was going to say that the -pictures were good enough to--" - -"Pictures good enough!--all stuff! pickles! The pictures are good--no -use in denying that, and it would be deuced stupid in me, whove -bought 'em! But that's not why they're so well hung. My men all on -the Hanging-Committee--_twiggez-vous?_ Last year there were two of -Caniche's men, and a horrible fellow who paints religious dodges, which -no one buys: not one of my men on the line, and half of them turned out -I determined to set that right this year, and Ive done it. Just you -look where Caniche's men are to-morrow, that's all!" - -"To-morrow?" - -"O, ah! that's what brought me here; I forgot to tell you. Here's a -ticket for the private view. I think you ought to be there,--show -yourself, you know, and that kind of thing. And look here: if you see -me pointing you out to people, don't you be offended. Ive lived longer -in the world than you, and I know what's what. Besides, you're part -of my establishment just now, and I know the way to work the oracle. -So don't mind it, that's all. Very decent glass of sherry, Ludlow! I -say--excuse me, but if you _could_ wear a white waistcoat to-morrow, I -think I should like it. English gentleman, you know, and all that! Some -of Caniche's fellows are very seedy-looking duffers." - -Geoff smiled, took the ticket, and promised to come, terribly -uncomfortable at the prospect of notoriety which Mr. Stompff had opened -for him. But that worthy had not done with him yet. - -"After it's all over," said he, "you must come and dine with me at -Blackwall. Regular business of mine, sir. I take down my men and two -or three of the newspaper chaps, after the private view, and give 'em -as good a dinner as money can buy. No stint! I say to Lovegrove, 'You -know me! The best, and damn the expense!' and Lovegrove does it, and -it's all right! It would be difficult for a fellow to pitch into any -of my men with a recollection of my Moselle about him, and a hope that -it'll come again next year, eh? Well--won't detain you now; see you -to-morrow; and don't forget the dinner." - -Do you not know this kind of man, and does he not permeate English -society?--this coarse ruffian, whose apparent good-nature disarms your -nascent wrath, and yet whose good-nature you know to be merely vulgar -ostentatious self-assertion under the guise of _bonhomie_. I take the -character I have drawn, but I declare he belongs to all classes. I -have seen him as publisher to author, as attorney to young barrister, -as patron to struggler generally. Geoffrey Ludlow shrank before him, -but shrank in his old feeble hesitating way; he had not the pluck to -shake off the yoke, and bid his employer go to the devil. It was a new -phase of life for him--a phase which promised competence at a time -when competence was required; which, moreover, rid him of any doubt or -anxiety about the destination of his labour, which to a man of Ludlow's -temperament was all in all. How many of us are there who will sell such -wares as Providence has given us the power of producing at a much less -rate than we could otherwise obtain for them, and to most objectionable -people, so long as we are enabled to look for and to get a certain -price, and are absorbed from the ignominy of haggling, even though by -that haggling we should be tenfold enriched! So Geoffrey Ludlow took -Mr. Stompff's ticket, and gave him his pale sherry, and promised to -dine with him, and bowed him out; and then went back into his studio -and lit a fresh pipe and sat down to think calmly over all that was -about to befall him. - -What came into his mind first? His love, of course. There is no man, -as yet unanchored in the calm haven of marriage, who amidst contending -perplexities does not first think of what storms and shoals beset his -progress in that course. And who, so long as there he can see a bit -of blue sky, a tolerably clear passage, does not, to a great extent, -ignore the black clouds which he sees banking up to windward, the -heavy swell crested with a thin, dangerous, white line of wave, which -threatens his fortunes in another direction. Here Geoffrey Ludlow -thought himself tolerably secure. Margaret had told him all her story, -had made the worst of it, and had left him to act on her confession. -Did she love him? That was a difficult question for a man of Geoff's -diffidence to judge. But he thought he might unhesitatingly answer it -in the affirmative. It was her own proposition that nothing should be -done hurriedly; that he should take the week to calmly reflect over the -position, and see whether he held by his first avowal. And to-morrow -the week would be at an end, and he would have the right to ask for her -decision. - -That decision, if favourable, would at once settle his plans, and -necessitate an immediate communication to his mother. This was a phase -of the subject which Geoffrey characteristically had ignored, put by, -and refrained from thinking of as long as possible. But now there was -no help for it. Under any circumstances he would have endeavoured, on -marrying, to set up a separate establishment for himself; but situated -as he was, with Margaret Dacre as his intended wife, he saw that such -a step was inevitable. For though he loved his mother with all his -heart, he was not blind to her weaknesses and he knew that the "cross" -would never be more triumphantly brought forward, or more loudly -complained of, than when it took the form of a daughter-in-law,--a -daughter-in-law, moreover, whose antecedents were not held up for -the old lady's scrutinising inspection. And here, perhaps, was the -greatest tribute to the weird influence of the dead-gold hair, the -pallid face, and the deep-violet eyes. A year ago, and Geoff Ludlow -would have told you that nothing could ever have made him alter his -then style of life. It had continued too long, he would have told you; -he had settled down into a certain state of routine, living with the -old lady and Til: they understood his ways and wishes, and he thought -he should never change. And Mrs. Ludlow used to say that Geoffrey would -never marry now; he did not care for young chits of girls, who were -all giggle and nonsense, my dear; a man at his time of life looked -for something more than that, and where it was to come from she, for -one, did not know. Miss Matilda had indeed different views on the -subject; she thought that dear old Geoff would marry, but that it -would probably come about in this way. Some lovely female member of -the aristocracy, to whom Geoff had given drawing-lessons, or who had -seen his pictures, and become imbued with the spirit of poetry in them, -would say to her father, the haughty earl, "I pine for him; I cannot -live without him;" and to save his darling child's health, the earl -would give his consent, and bestow upon the happy couple estates of the -annual value of twenty thousand pounds. But then you see Miss Matilda -Ludlow was given to novel-reading, and though perfectly practical and -unromantic as regards herself and her career, was apt to look upon all -appertaining to her brother, whom she adored, through a surrounding -halo of circulating-library. - -How this great intelligence would, then, be received by his -home-tenants set Geoff thinking after Stompff's departure, and between -the puff of his pipe he turned the subject hither and thither in -his mind, and proposed to himself all kinds of ways for meeting the -difficulty; none of which, on reconsideration, appearing practicable -or judicious, he reverted to an old and favourite plan of his, that of -postponing any further deliberation until the next day, when, as he -argued with himself; he would have "slept upon it"--a most valuable -result when the subject is systematically ignored up to the time of -going to sleep, and after the hour of waking--he would have been to the -private view at the Academy--which had, of course, an immense deal to -do with it--and he would have received the final decision from Margaret -Dacre. O yes, it was useless to think any more of it that night. And -fully persuaded of this, Geoff turned in and fell fast asleep. - - -"And there won't be a more gentlemanly-looking man in the rooms than -our dear old Geoff!" - -"Stuff, Til! don't be absurd!" - -"No, I mean it; and you know it too, you vain old thing; else why are -you perpetually looking in the glass?" - -"No, but--Til, nonsense!--I suppose I'm all right, eh?" - -"All right!--you're charming, Geoff! I never saw you such a--I can't -help it you know--swell before! Don't frown, Geoff; there's no other -word that expresses it. One would think you were going to meet a lady -there. Does the Queen go, or any of the young princesses?" - -"How can you be so ridiculous, Til! Now, goodbye;" and Geoff gave his -sister a hearty kiss, and started off. Miss Matilda was right; he did -look perfectly gentlemanly in his dark-blue coat, white waistcoat, and -small-check trousers. Nature, which certainly had denied him personal -beauty or regularity of feature, had given him two or three marks -of distinction: his height, his bright earnest eyes, and a certain -indefinable odd expression, different from the ordinary ruck of -people--an expression which attracted attention, and invariably made -people ask who he was. - -It was three o'clock before Geoff arrived at the Academy, and the -rooms were crowded. The scene was new to him, and he stared round in -astonishment at the brilliancy of the _toilettes_, and what Charley -Potts would have called the "air of swelldom" which pervaded the place. -It is scarcely necessary to say that his first act was to glance at -the Catalogue to see where his pictures were placed; his second, to -proceed to them to see how they looked on the walls. Round each was a -little host of eager inspectors, and from what Geoff caught of their -conversation, the verdict was entirely favourable. But he was not long -left in doubt. As he was looking on, his arm was seized by Mr. Stompff, -who, scarcely waiting to carry him out of earshot, began, "Well! you've -done it up brown this time, my man, and no flies! Your pictures have -woke 'em up. They're talking of nothing else. Ive sold 'em both. Lord -Everton--that's him over there: little man with a double eyeglass, -brown coat and high velvet collar--he's bought the 'sic wos;' and Mr. -Shirtings of Manchester's got the other. The price has been good, sir; -I'm not above denyin' it. There's six dozen of Sham ready to go into -your cellar whenever you say the word: I ain't mean with my men like -some people. Power of nobs here to-day. There's the Prime Minister, -and the Chancellor of the Exchequer--that's him in the dirty white -hat and rumpled coat--and no end of bishops and old ladies of title. -That's Shirtings, that fat man in the black satin waistcoat. Wonderful -man, sir,--factory-boy in Manchester! Saved his shillin' a-week, and -is now worth two hundred thousand. Fine modern collection he's got! -That little man in the turn-down collar, with the gold pencil-case in -his hand, is Scrunch, the art-critic of the _Scourge_. A bitter little -beast; but Ive squared him. I gave him five-and-twenty pounds to write -a short account of the Punic War, which was given away with Bliff's -picture of 'Regulus,' and he's never pitched into any of my people -since. He's comin' to dinner to-day. O, by the bye, don't be late! I'll -drive you down." - -"Thank you," said Geoff; "I--Ive got somewhere to go to. I'll find my -own way to Blackwall." - -"Ha!" said Stompff, "then it is true, is it? Never mind; mum's the -word! I'm tiled! Look here: don't you mind me if you see me doing any -thing particular. It's all good for business." - -It may have been so, but it was undoubtedly trying. During the next two -hours Geoff was conscious of Mr. Stompff's perpetually hovering round -him, always acting as cicerone to some different man, to whom he would -point out Geoff with his forefinger, then whisper in his companion's -ear, indicate one of Geoff's pictures with his elbow, and finish by -promenading his friend just under Geoff's nose; the stranger making a -feeble pretence of looking at some highly-hung portrait, but obviously -swallowing Geoff with his eyes, from his hair to his boots. - -But he had also far more pleasurable experiences of his success. Three -or four of the leading members of the Academy, men of world-wide -fame, whom he had known by sight, and envied--so far as envy lay in -his gentle disposition--for years, came up to him, and introducing -themselves, spoke warmly of his picture, and complimented him in most -flattering terms. By one of these, the greatest of them all, Lord -Everton was subsequently brought up; and the kind old man, with that -courtesy which belongs only to the highest breeding, shook hands with -him, and expressed his delight at being the fortunate possessor of Mr. -Ludlow's admirable picture, and hoped to have the pleasure of receiving -him at Everton house, and showing him the gallery of old masters, in -whose footsteps he, Mr. Ludlow, was so swiftly following. - -And then, as Geoffrey was bowing his acknowledgments, he heard his name -pronounced, and turning round found himself close by Lord Caterham's -wheelchair, and had a hearty greeting from its occupant. - -"How do you do, Mr. Ludlow? You will recollect meeting me at Lady -Lilford's, I daresay. I have just been looking at your pictures, and I -congratulate you most earnestly upon them. No, I never flatter. They -appear to me very remarkable things, especially the evening-party -scene, where you seem to have given an actual spirit of motion to the -dancers in the background, so different from the ordinary stiff and -angular representation.--You can leave the chair here for a minute, -Stephens.--In such a crowd as this, Mr. Ludlow, it's refreshing--is it -not?--to get a long look at that sheltered pool surrounded by waving -trees, which Creswick has painted so charmingly. The young lady who -came with me has gone roving away to search for some favourite, whose -name she saw in the Catalogue; but if you don't mind waiting with me -a minute, she will be back, and I know she will be glad to see you, -as--ah! here she is!" - -As Geoffrey looked round, a tall young lady with brown eyes, a pert -inquisitive nose, an undulating figure, and a bright laughing mouth, -came hurriedly up, and without noticing Geoffrey, bent over Lord -Caterham's chair, and said, "I was quite right, Arthur; it is--" -then, in obedience to a glance from her companion, she looked up and -exclaimed, "What, Geoffrey!--Mr. Ludlow, I mean--O, how _do_ you do? -Why, you don't mean to say you don't recollect me?" - -Geoff was a bad courtier at any time, and now the expression of his -face at the warmth of this salutation showed how utterly he was puzzled. - -"You _have_ forgotten, then? And you don't recollect those days when--" - -"Stop!" he exclaimed, a sudden light breaking upon him; "little Annie -Maurice that used to live at Willesden Priory! My little fairy, that -I have sketched a thousand times. Well, I ought not to have forgotten -you, Miss Maurice, for I have studied your features often enough to -have impressed them on my memory. But how could I recognise my little -elf in such a dashing young lady?" - -Lord Caterham looked up at them out of the corners of his eyes as they -stood warmly shaking hands, and for a moment his face wore a pained -expression; but it passed away directly, and his voice was as cheery as -usual as he said, "_Et nos mutamur in illis_, eh, Mr. Ludlow? Little -fays grow into dashing young ladies, and indolent young sketchers -become the favourites of the Academy." - -"Ay," said Annie; "and the dear old Priory let to other people, and -many of those who made those times so pleasant are dead and gone. O, -Geoffrey--Mr. Ludlow, I mean--" - -"Yes," said Geoff, interrupting her; "and Geoffrey turned into Mr. -Ludlow, and Annie into Miss Maurice: there's another result of the -flight of time, and one which I, for my part, heartily object to." - -"Ah, but, Mr. Ludlow, I must bespeak a proper amount of veneration for -you on the part of this young lady," said Lord Caterham; "for I am -about to ask you to do me a personal favour in which she is involved." - -Geoff bowed absently; he was already thinking it was time for him to go -to Margaret. - -"Miss Maurice is good enough to stay with my family for the present, -Mr. Ludlow; and I am very anxious that she should avail herself of the -opportunity of cultivating a talent for drawing which she undoubtedly -possesses." - -"She used to sketch very nicely years ago," said Geoff, turning to her -with a smile; and her face was radiant with good humour as she said: - -"O, Geoffrey, do you recollect my attempts at cows?" - -"So, in order to give her this chance, and in the hope of making her -attempt at cows more creditable than it seems they used to be, I am -going to ask you, Mr. Ludlow, to undertake Miss Maurice's artistic -education, to give her as much of your time as you can spare, and, in -fact, to give what I think I may call her genius the right inclination." - -Geoffrey hesitated of course--it was his normal state--and he said -doubtingly: "You're very good; but I--I'm almost afraid--" - -"You are not bashful, I trust, Mr. Ludlow," said Lord Caterham; "I -have seen plenty of your work at Lady Lilford's, and I know you to be -perfectly competent." - -"It was scarcely that, my lord; I rather think that--" but when he got -thus far he looked up and saw Annie Maurice's brown eyes lifted to his -in such an appealing glance that he finished his sentence by saying: -"Well, I shall be very happy indeed to do all that I can--for old -acquaintance-sake, Annie;" and he held out his hand frankly to her. - -"You are both very good," she said; "and it will be a real pleasure to -me to recommence my lessons, and to try to prove to you, Geoffrey, that -I'm not so impatient or so stupid as I was. When shall we begin?" - -"The sooner the better, don't you think, Mr. Ludlow?" said Lord -Caterham. - -Geoff felt his face flush as he said: "I--I expect to be going out -of town for a week or two; but when I return I shall be delighted to -commence." - -"When you return we shall be delighted to see you. I can fully -understand how you long for a little rest and change after your hard -work, Mr. Ludlow. Now goodbye to you; I hope this is but the beginning -of an intimate acquaintance." And Lord Caterham, nodding to Geoffrey, -called Stephens and was wheeled away. - -"I like that man, Annie," said he, when they were out of earshot; "he -has a thoroughly good face, and the truth and honesty of his eyes -overbalance the weakness of the mouth, which is undecided, but not -shifty. His manner is honest, too; don't you think so?" - -He waited an instant for an answer, but Annie did not speak. - -"Didn't you hear sue, Annie? or am I not worth a reply?" - -"I--I beg your pardon, Arthur. I heard you perfectly; but I was -thinking. O yes, I should think Mr. Ludlow was as honest as the day." - -"But what made you _distraite?_ What were you thinking of?" - -"I was thinking what a wonderful difference a few years made. I was -thinking of my old ideas of Mr. Ludlow when he used to come out to dine -with papa, and sleep at our house; how he had long dark hair, which he -used to toss off his face, and poor papa used to laugh at him and call -him an enthusiast. I saw hundreds of silver threads in his hair just -now, and he seemed--well, I don't know--so much more constrained and -conventional than I recollect him." - -"You seem to forget that you had frocks and trousers and trundled a -hoop in those days, Annie. You were a little fay then; you are a Venus -now: in a few years you will be married, and then you must sit to Mr. -Ludlow for a Juno. It is only your pretty flowers that change so much; -your hollies and yews keep pretty much the same throughout the year." - -From the tone of voice in which Lord Caterham made this last remark, -Annie knew very well that he was in one of those bitter humours which, -when his malady was considered, came surprisingly seldom upon him, and -she knew that a reply would only have aggravated his temper, so she -forbore and walked silently by his side. - -No sooner did he find himself free than Geoffrey Ludlow hurried from -the Academy, and jumping into a cab, drove off at once to Little -Flotsam Street. Never since Margaret Dacre had been denizened at -Flexor's had Geoff approached the neighbourhood without a fluttering -at his heart, a sinking of his spirits, a general notion of fright and -something about to happen. But now, whether it was that his success -at the Academy and the kind words he had had from all his friends had -given him courage, it is impossible to say, but he certainly jumped out -of the hansom without the faintest feeling of disquietude, and walked -hurriedly perhaps, but by no means nervously, up to Flexor's door. - -Margaret was in, of course. He found her, the very perfection of -neatness, watering some flowers in her window which he had sent her. -She had on a tight-fitting cotton dress of a very small pattern, and -her hair was neatly braided over her ears. He had seen her look more -voluptuous, never more _piquante_ and irresistible. She came across the -room to him with outstretched hand and raised eyebrows. - -"You have come!" she said; "that's good of you, for I scarcely expected -you." - -Geoff stopped suddenly. "Scarcely expected me! Yet you must know that -to-day the week is ended." - -"I knew that well enough; but I heard from the woman of the house here -that to-day is the private view of the Academy, and I knew how much you -would be engaged." - -"And did you think that I should suffer any thing to keep me from -coming to you to-day?" - -She paused a minute, then looked him full in the face. "No; frankly and -honestly I did not. I was using conventionalisms and talking society to -you. I never will do so again. I knew you would come, and--and I longed -for your coming, to tell you my delight at what I hear is your glorious -success." - -"My greatest triumph is in your appreciation of it," said Geoff. -"Having said to you what I did a week ago, you must know perfectly that -the end and aim of all I think, of all I undertake, is connected with -you. And you must not keep me in suspense, Margaret, please. You must -tell me your decision." - -"My decision! Now did we not part, at my suggestion, for a week's -adjournment, during which you should turn over in your mind certain -positions which I had placed before you? And now, the week ended, you -ask for my decision! Surely rather I ought to put the question." - -"A week ago I said to you, 'Margaret, be my wife.' It was not very -romantically put, I confess; but I'm not a very romantic person. You -told me to wait a week, to think over all the circumstances of our -acquaintance, and to see whether my determination held good. The week -is over; Ive done all you said; and Ive come again to say, Margaret, be -my wife." - -It was rather a long speech this for Geoff; and as he uttered it his -dear old face glowed with honest fervour. - -"You have thoroughly made up your mind, considered every thing, and -decided?" - -"I have." - -"Mind, in telling you the story of my past life, I spoke out freely, -regardless of my own feelings and of yours. You owe me an equal -candour. You have thought of all?" - -"Of all." - -"And you still--" - -"I still repeat that one demand." - -"Then I say 'Yes,' frankly and freely. Geoffrey Ludlow, I will be your -wife; and by Heaven's help I will make your life happy, and atone for -my past. I--" - -And she did not say any more just then, for Geoff stopped her lips with -a kiss. - - -"What _can_ have become of Ludlow?" said Mr. Stompff for about the -twentieth time, as he came back into the dining-room, after craning -over the balcony and looking all round. - -"Giving himself airs on account of his success," said genial Mr. Bowie, -the art-critic. "I wouldn't wait any longer for him, Stompff." - -"I won't," said Stompff. "Dinner!" - -The dinner was excellent, the wine good and plentiful, the guests well -assorted, and the conversation as racy and salted as it usually is -when a hecatomb of absent friends is duly slaughtered by the company. -Each man said the direst things he could about his own personal -enemies; and there were but very few cases in which the rest of the -_convives_ did not join in chorus. It was during a pause in this kind -of conversation--much later in the evening, when the windows had been -thrown open, and most of the men were smoking in the balcony--that -little Tommy Smalt, who had done full justice to the claret, took his -cigar from his mouth, leaned lazily back, and looking up at the moonlit -sky, felt in such a happy state of repletion and tobacco as to be -momentarily charitable--the which feeling induced him to say: - -"I wish Ludlow had been with us!" - -"His own fault that he's not," said Mr. Stompff; "his own fault -entirely. However, he's missed a pleasant evening. I rather think we've -had the pull of him." - -Had Geoff missed a pleasant evening? He thought otherwise. He thought -he had, never had such an evening in his life; for the same cold -steel-blue rays of the early spring moon which fell upon the topers in -the Blackwall balcony came gleaming in through Mr. Flexor's first-floor -window, lighting up a pallid face set in a frame of dead-gold hair and -pillowed on Geoffrey Ludlow's breast. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. -THOSE TWAIN ONE FLESH. - - -So it was a settled thing between Margaret Dacre and Geoffrey Ludlow. -She had acceded to his earnest demand--demand thrice repeated--after -due consideration and delay, and she was to become his wife forthwith. -Indeed, their colloquy on that delicious moonlight evening would have -been brought to a conclusion much sooner than it was, had not Geoff -stalwartly declared and manfully held to his determination, spite of -every protest, not to go until they had settled upon a day on which to -be married. He did not see the use of waiting, he said; it would get -buzzed about by the Flexors; and all sorts of impertinent remarks and -congratulations would be made, which they could very well do without. -Of course, as regarded herself, Margaret would want a--what do you call -it?--outfit, _trousseau_, that was the word. But it appeared to him -that all he had to do was to give her the money, And all she had to do -was to go out and get the things she wanted, and that need not take any -time, or hinder them from naming a day--well, let us say in next week. -He himself had certain little arrangements to make; but he could very -well get through them all in that time. And what did Margaret say? - -Margaret did not say very much. She had been lying perfectly tranquil -in Geoffrey's arms; a position which, she said, first gave her -assurance that her new life had indeed begun. She should be able to -realise it more fully, she thought, when she commenced in a home of -her own, and in a fresh atmosphere; and as the prying curiosity of the -Flexors daily increased, and as Little Flotsam Street, with its normal -pavement of refuse and its high grim house-rows scarcely admitting any -light, was an objectionable residence, she could urge no reason for -delay. So a day at the end of the ensuing week was fixed upon; and -no sooner had it been finally determined than Geoff, looking round -at preparations which were absolutely necessary, was amazed at their -number and magnitude. - -He should be away a fortnight, he calculated, perhaps longer; and it -was necessary to apprise the families and the one or two "ladies' -colleges" in which he taught drawing of his absence. He would also let -Stompff know that he would not find him in his studio during the next -few days (for it was the habit of this great _entrepreneur_ to pay -frequent visits to his _protégés_, just to "give 'em a look-up," as -he said; but in reality to see that they were not doing work for any -opposition dealer); but he should simply tell Stompff that he was going -out of town for a little change, leaving that worthy to imagine that -he wanted rest after his hard work. And then came a point at which he -hitched up at once, and was metaphorically thrown on his beam-ends. -What was he to say to his mother and sister and to his intimate friends? - -To the last, of course, there was no actual necessity to say any thing, -save that he knew he must have some one to "give away" the bride, and -he would have preferred one of his old friends, even at the risk of -an explanation, to Flexor, hired for five shillings, and duly got up -in the costume of the old English gentleman. But to his mother and -sister it was absolutely necessary that some kind of notice should be -given. It was necessary they should know that the little household, -which, despite various small interruptions, had been carried on so -long in amity and affection, would be broken up, so far as he was -concerned; also necessary that they should know that his contribution -to the household income would remain exactly the same as though he -still partook of its benefits. He had to say all this; and he was as -frightened as a child. He thought of writing at first, and of leaving -a letter to be given to his mother after the ceremony was over; of -giving a bare history in a letter, and an amount of affection in the -postscript which would melt the stoniest maternal heart. But a little -reflection caused him to think better of this notion, and determined -him to seek an interview with his mother. It was due to her, and he -would go through with it. - -So one morning, when he had watched his sister Til safe off into a -prolonged diplomatic controversy with the cook, involving the reception -of divers ambassadors from the butcher and other tradespeople, Geoff -made his way into his mother's room, and found her knitting something -which might have been either an antimacassar for a giant or a -counterpane for a child, and at once intimated his pleasure at finding -her alone, as he had "something to say to her." - -This was an ominous beginning in Mrs. Ludlow's ears, and her "cross" -at once stood out visibly before her; Constantine himself had never -seen it plainer. The mere pronunciation of the phrase made her nervous; -she ought to have "dropped one and taken up two;" but her hands got -complicated, and she stopped with a knitting-needle in mid-air. - -"If you're alluding to the butcher's book, Geoffrey," she said, "I -hold myself blameless. It was understood, thoroughly understood, that -it should be eightpence a pound all round; and if Smithers chooses -to charge ninepence-halfpenny for lamb, and you allow it, I don't -hold myself responsible. I said to your sister at the time--I said, -'Matilda, I'm sure Geoffrey--'" - -"It's not that, mother, I want to talk to you about," said Geoff, with -a half-smile "it's a bigger subject than the price of butcher's meat. I -want to talk to you about myself--about my future life." - -"Very well, Geoffrey; that does not come upon me unawares. I am a -woman of the world. I ought to be, considering the time I had with -your poor father; and I suppose that now you're making a name, you'll -find it necessary to entertain. He did, poor fellow, though it's -little enough name or money he ever made! But if you want to see your -friends round you, there must be help in the kitchen. There are certain -things--jellies, and that like--that must come from the pastry-cook's; -but all the rest we can do very well at home with a little help in the -kitchen." - -"You don't comprehend me yet, mother. I--I'm going to leave you." - -"To leave us!--O, to live away! Very well, Geoffrey," said the old -lady, bridling up; "if you've grown too grand to live with your mother, -I can only say I'm sorry for you. Though I never saw my name in print -in the _Times_ newspaper, except among the marriages; and if that's to -be the effect it has upon me, I hope I never shall." - -"My dear mother, how _can_ you imagine any thing so absurd! The truth -is--" - -"O yes, Geoffrey, I understand. Ive not lived or sixty years in the -world for nothing. Not that there's been ever the least word said -about your friends coming pipe-smoking at all times of the night, or -hot water required for spirits when Emma was that dead with sleep she -could scarcely move; nor about young persons--female models you call -them--trolloping misses I say." - -It is worthy of remark that in all business matters Mrs. Ludlow was -accustomed to treat her son as a cipher, forgetting that two-thirds of -the income by which the house was supported were contributed by him. -There was no thought of this, however, in honest old Geoff's mind as he -said, - -"Mother, you won't hear me out! The fact is, I'm going to be married." - -"To be married, Geoffrey!" said the old lady, in a voice that was much -softer and rather tremulous; "to be married, my dear boy! Well, that is -news!" Her hands trembled as she laid them on his big shoulders and put -up her face to kiss him. "Well, well, to be sure! I never thought you'd -marry now, Geoffrey. I looked upon you as a confirmed old bachelor. And -who is it that has caught you at last? Not Miss Sanders, is it?" - -Geoffrey shook his head. - -"I thought not. No, that would never do. Nice kind of girl too; but -if we're to hold our heads so high when all our money comes out of -sugar-hogsheads in Thames Street, why where will be the end of it, I -should like to know? It isn't Miss Hall?" - -Geoffrey repeated his shake. - -"Well, I'm glad of it; not but what I'm very fond of Emily Hall; but -that half-pay father of hers! I shouldn't like some of the people about -here to know that we were related to a half-pay captain with a wooden -leg; and he'd be always clumping about the house, and be horrible -for the carpets! Well, if it isn't Minnie Beverley, I'll give it up; -for you'd never go marrying that tall Dickenson, who's more like a -dromedary than a woman!" - -"It is not Minnie Beverley, nor the young lady who's like a dromedary," -said Geoff, laughing. "The young lady I am going to marry is a stranger -to you; you have never even seen her." - -"Never seen her! O Geoff!" cried the old lady, with horror in her face, -"you're never going to marry one of those trolloping models, and bring -her home to live with us?" - -"No, no, mother; you need be under no alarm. This young lady, who is -from the country, is thoroughly ladylike and well educated. But I shall -not bring her home to you; we shall have a house of our own." - -"And what shall we do, Til and I? O, Geoffrey, I shall never have to go -into lodgings at my time of life, shall I, and after having kept house -and had my own plate and linen for so many years?" - -"Mother, do you imagine I should increase my own happiness at -the expense of yours? Of course you'll keep this house, and all -arrangements will go on just the same as usual, except that I sha'n't -be here to worry you." - -"You never worried me, my dear," said the old lady, as all his -generosity and noble unselfishness rose before her mind; "you never -worried me, but have been always the best of sons; and pray God that -you may be happy, for you deserve it." She put her arms round his neck -and kissed him fondly, while the tears trickled down her cheeks. "Ah, -here's Til," she continued, drying her eyes; "it would never do to let -her see me being so silly." - -"O, here you are at last!" said Miss Til, who, as they both noticed, -had a very high colour and was generally suffused about the face and -neck; "what have you been conspiring about? The Mater looks as guilty -as possible, doesn't she, Geoff? and you're not much better, sir. What -is the matter?" - -"I suspect you're simply attempting the authoritative to cover your own -confusion, Til. There's something--" - -"No, no! I won't be put off in that manner! What _is_ the matter?" - -"There's nothing the matter, my dear," said Mrs. Ludlow, who by this -time had recovered her composure; "though there is some great news. -Geoffrey's going to be married!" - -"What!" exclaimed Miss Til, and then made one spring into his arms. "O, -you darling old Geoff, you don't say so? O, how quiet you have kept it, -you horrible hypocrite, seeing us day after day and never breathing a -word about it! Now, who is it, at once? Stop, shall I guess? Is it any -one I know?" - -"No one that you know." - -"O, I am so glad! Do you know, I think I hate most people I -know--girls, I mean; and I'm sure none of them are nice enough for my -Geoff. Now, what's she like, Geoff?" - -"O, I don't know." - -"That's what men always say--so tiresome! Is she dark or fair?" - -"Well, fair, I suppose." - -"And what coloured hair and eyes?" - -"Eh? well, her hair is red, I think." - -"Red! Lor, Geoff! what they call carrots?" - -"No; deep-red, like red gold--" - -"O, Geoff, I know, I know! Like the Scylla in the picture. O, you worse -than fox, to deceive me in that way, telling me it was a model, and all -the rest of it. Well, if she's like that, she must be wonderful to look -at, and I'm dying to see her. What's her name?" - -"Margaret." - -"Margaret! That's very nice; I like Margaret very much. Of course -you'll never let yourself be sufficiently childishly spoony to let -it drop into Peggy, which is atrocious. I'm very glad she's got a -nice name; for, do all I could, I'm certain I never could like a -sister-in-law who was called Belinda or Keziah, or any thing dreadful." - -"Have you fixed your wedding-day, Geoffrey?" - -"Yes, mother; for Thursday next." - -"Thursday!" exclaimed Miss Til. "Thursday next? why there'll be no time -for me to get anything ready; for I suppose, as your sister, Geoff, I'm -to be one of the bridesmaids?" - -"There will be no bridesmaids, dear Til," said Geoffrey; "no company, -no breakfast. I have always thought that, if ever I married, I should -like to walk into the church with my bride, have the service gone -through, and walk out again, without the least attempt at show; and I'm -glad to find that Margaret thoroughly coincides with me." - -"But surely, Geoffrey," said Mrs. Ludlow, "your friends will--" - -"O my! Talking of friends," interrupted Miss Til, "I quite forgot -in all this flurry to tell you that Mr. Charles Potts is in the -drawing-room, waiting to see you, Geoffrey." - -"Dear me! is he indeed? ah, that accounts for a flushed face--" - -"Don't be absurd, Geoff! Shall I tell him to come here?" - -"You may if you like; but don't come back with him, as I want five -minutes' quiet talk with him." - -So Mrs. Ludlow and her daughter left the studio, and in a few minutes -Charley Potts arrived. As he walked up to Geoffrey and wrung his hand, -both men seemed under some little constraint. Geoff spoke first. - -"I'm glad you're here, Charley. I should have gone up to your place -if you hadn't looked in to-day. I have something to tell you, and -something to ask of you." - -"Tell away, old boy; and as for the asking, look upon it as -done,--unless it's tin, by the way; and there I'm no good just now." - -"Charley, I'm going to be married next Thursday to Margaret Dacre--the -girl we found fainting in the streets that night of the Titians." - -Geoff expected some exclamation, but his friend only nodded his head. - -"She has told me her whole life: insisted upon my hearing it before I -said a word to her; made me wait a week after I had asked her to be my -wife, on the chance that I should repent; behaved in the noblest way." - -Geoffrey again paused, and Mr. Potts again nodded. - -"We shall be married very quietly at the parish-church here; and there -will be nobody present but you. I want you to come; will you?" - -"Will I? Why, old man, we've been like brothers for years; and to think -that I'd desert you at a time like this! I--I didn't quite mean that, -you know; but if not, why not? You know what I do mean." - -"Thanks, Charley. One thing more: don't talk about it until after it's -over. I'm an awkward subject for chaff, particularly such chaff as this -would give rise to. You may tell old Bowker, if you like; but no one -else." - -And Mr. Potts went away without delivering that tremendous philippic -with which he had come charged. Perhaps it was his conversation with -Miss Til in the drawing-room which had softened his manners and -prevented him from being brutal. - -They were married on the following Thursday; Margaret looking perfectly -lovely in her brown-silk dress and white bonnet Charley Potts could not -believe her to be the haggard creature in whose rescue he had assisted; -and simple old William Bowker, peering out from between the curtains -of a high pew, was amazed at her strange weird beauty. The ceremony -was over; and Geoff, happy and proud, was leading his wife down the -steps of the church to the fly waiting for them, when a procession of -carriages, coachmen and footmen with white favours, and gaily-clad -company, all betokening another wedding, drove up to the door. The -bride and her bridesmaids had alighted, and the bridegroom's best-man, -who with his friend had just jumped out of his cabriolet, was bowing to -the bridesmaids as Geoff and Margaret passed. He was a pleasant airy -fellow, and seeing a pretty woman coming down the steps, he looked hard -at her. Their eyes met, and there was something in Margaret's glance -which stopped him in the act of raising his hand to his hat. Geoffrey -saw nothing of this; he was waving his hand to Bowker, who was standing -by; and they passed on to the fly. - -"Come on, Algy!" called out the impatient intended bridegroom; "they'll -be waiting for us in the church. What on earth are you staring at?" - -"Nothing, dear old boy!" said Algy Barford, who was the best man just -named,--"nothing but a resurrection!--only a resurrection; by Jove, -that's all!" - - - - - -Book the Second. - - - - -CHAPTER I. -NEW RELATIONS. - - -The fact of her having a daughter-in-law whom she had never seen, of -whose connections and antecedents she knew positively nothing, weighed -a good deal on Mrs. Ludlow's mind. "If she had been an Indian, my -dear," she said to her daughter Matilda, "at least, I don't mean an -Indian, not black you know; of course not--ridiculous; but one of -those young women who are sent out to India by their friends to pick -up husbands,--it would be a different matter. Of course, then I could -not have seen her until she came over to England; and as Geoff has -never been in India, I don't quite see how it could have happened; but -you know what I mean. But to think that she should have been living -in London, within the bills of thingummy--mortality, and Geoff never -to bring her to see me, is most extraordinary--most extraordinary! -However, it only goes to prove what Ive said--that I have a cross -to bear; and now my son's marrying himself in a most mysterious and -Arabian-nights-like manner is added to the short-weight which we always -get from the baker, and to the exceeding forwardness shown by that -young man with the pomatumed hair and the steel heart stuck into his -apron, whenever you go into the grocer's shop." - -And although Miss Matilda combated this idea with great resolution, -albeit by no means comfortable in her own mind as to Geoffrey's -proceedings, the old lady continued in a state of mind in which -indignation at a sense of what she imagined the slight put upon her -was only exceeded by her curiosity to catch a glimpse of her son's -intended: under the influence of which latter feeling she even proposed -to Til that they should attend the church on the occasion of the -marriage-ceremony. "I can put on my Maltese-lace veil, you know, my -dear: and if we gave the pew-opener sixpence, she'd put us into a place -in the gallery where we could hide behind a pillar, and be unseen -spectators of the proceedings." But this suggestion was received with -so much disfavour by her daughter that the old lady was compelled to -abandon it, together with an idea, which she subsequently broached, of -having Mr. Potts to supper,--giving him sprats, or tripe, or some of -those odd things that men like; and then, when he was having a glass -of spirits-and-water and smoking a pipe, getting him to tell us all -about it, and how it went off. So Mrs. Ludlow was obliged to content -herself with a line from Geoffrey,--received two or three days after -his marriage, saying that he was well and happy, and that his Margaret -sent her love ("She might have written that herself, I think!" said the -old lady; "it would have been only respectful; but perhaps she can't -write. Lord, Lord! to think we should have come to this!"),--and with a -short report from Mr. Potts, whom Til had met, accidentally of course, -walking one morning near the house, and who said that all had gone off -capitally, and that the bride had looked perfectly lovely. - -But there was balm in Gilead; and consolation came to old Mrs. Ludlow -in the shape of a letter from Geoffrey at the end of the first week of -his absence, requesting his mother and sister to see to the arrangement -of his new house, the furniture of which was all ordered, and would -be sent in on a certain day, when he wished Til and his mother to be -present. Now the taking of this new house, and all in connection with -it, had been a source of great disquietude and much conversation to -the old lady, who had speculated upon its situation, its size, shape, -conveniences, &c., with every one of her little circle of acquaintance. -"Might be in the moon, my dear, for all we know about it," she used to -say; "one would think that one's own son would mention where he was -going to live--to his mother, at least: but Geoff is that tenacious, -that--well, I suppose it's part of the cross of my life." But the -information had come at last, and the old lady was to have a hand, -however subordinate, in the arrangements; and she was proportionately -pleased. "And now, Til, where is it, once more! Just read the letter -again, will you?--for we're to be there the first thing to-morrow -morning, Geoff says. What?--O, the vans will be there the first thing -to-morrow morning! Yes, I know what the vans' first thing is--eleven -o'clock or thereabouts; and then the men to go out for dinner at -twelve, and not come back till half-past two, if somebody isn't there -to hunt them up! The Elm Lodge, Lowbar! Lowbar! Why, that's Holloway -and Whittington, and all that turn-again nonsense about the bells! -Well, I'm sure! Talk about the poles being asunder, my dear; they're -not more asunder than Brompton and Lowbar. O, of course that's done -that he needn't see more of us than he chooses, though there was no -occasion for that, I'm sure, at least so far as I'm concerned; I know -when I'm wanted fast enough, and act accordingly." - -"I don't think there was any such idea in Geoff's mind, mamma," said -Til; "he always had a wish to go to the other side of town, as he found -this too relaxing." - -"Other side of town, indeed, my dear?--other side of England, you mean! -This side has always been good enough for me; but then, you see, I -never was a public character. However, if we are to go, we'd better -have Brown's fly; it's no good our trapesing about in omnibuses that -distance, and perhaps taking the wrong one, and I don't know what." - -But the old lady's wrath (which, indeed, did not deserve the name of -wrath, but would be better described as a kind of perpetual grumble, -in which she delighted) melted away when, on the following morning, -Brown's fly, striking off to the left soon after it commenced ascending -the rise of Lowbar Hill, turned into a pretty country road, and -stopped before a charming little house, bearing the name "Elm Lodge" -on its gate-pillars. The house, which stood on a small eminence, was -approached by a little carriage-sweep; had a little lawn in front, on -which it opened from French windows, covered by a veranda, nestling -under climbing clematis and jasmine; had the prettiest little rustic -portico, floored with porcelain tiles; a cosy dining-room, a pretty -little drawing-room with the French windows before named, and a capital -painting-room. From the windows you had a splendid view over broad -fields leading to Hampstead, with Harrow church fringing the distant -horizon. Nobody could deny that it was a charming little place; and -Mrs. Ludlow admitted the fact at once. - -"Very nice, very nice indeed, my dear Til!" said she; "Geoffrey has -inherited my taste--that I will say for him. Rather earwiggy, I should -think, all that green stuff over the balcony; too much so for me; -however, I'm not going to live here, so it don't matter. Oh! the vans -have arrived! Well, my stars! all in suites! Walnut and green silk for -the drawing room, black oak and dark-brown velvet for the dining-room, -did you say, man? It's never--no, my dear, I thought not; it's _not_ -real velvet,--Utrecht, my dear; I just felt it. I thought Geoff would -never be so insane as to have real; though, as it is, it must have -cost a pretty penny. Well, he never gave us any thing of this sort at -Brompton; of course not." - -"O, mother, how can you talk so!" said Til; "Geoff has always been -nobly generous; but recollect he's only just beginning to make money." - -"Quite true, my dear, quite true; and he's been the best of sons. Only -I should have liked for once to have had the chance of showing my taste -in such matters. In your poor father's time every thing was so heavy -and clumsy compared to what it is nowadays, and--there! I would have -had none of your rubbishing Cupids like that, holding up those stupid -baskets." - -So the old lady chattered on, by no means allowing her energy to relax -by reason of her talk, but bustling about with determined vigour. -When she had tucked up her dress, and got a duster into her hand, she -was happy, flying at looking-glasses and picture-frames, and rubbing -off infinitesimal atoms of dirt; planting herself resolutely in every -body's way, and hunting up, or, as she termed it "hinching," the -upholsterer's men in the most determined manner. - -"I know 'em, my dear; a pack of lazy carpet-caps; do nothing unless you -hinch 'em;" and so she worried and nagged and hustled and drove the -men, until the pointed inquiry of one of them as to "who _was_ that -_h_old cat?" suggested to Miss Til the propriety of withdrawing her -mother from the scene of action. But she had done an immense deal of -good, and caused such progress to be made, that before they left, the -rooms had begun to assume something like a habitable appearance. They -went to take one more look round the house before getting into Brown's -fly; and it was while they were upstairs that Mrs. Ludlow opened a -door which she had not seen before--a door leading into a charming -little room, with light chintz paper and chintz hangings, with a maple -writing-table in the window, and a cosy lounge-chair and a _prie-dieu_; -and niches on either side the fireplace occupied by little bookcases, -into which the foreman of the upholsterers was placing a number of -handsomely-bound books, which he took from a box on the floor. - -"Why, good Lord! what's this?" said the old lady, as soon as she -recovered her breath. - -"This is the budwaw, mum," said the foreman, thinking he had been -addressed. - -"The what, man? What does he say, Matilda?" - -"The budwaw, mum; Mrs. Ludlow's own room as is to be. Mr. Ludlow was -most partickler about this room, mum; saw all the furniture for it -before he went away, mum; and give special directions as to where it -was to be put." - -"Ah, well, it's all right, I daresay. Come along, my dear." - -But Brown's horse had scarcely been persuaded by his driver to -comprehend that he was required to start off homewards with Brown's -fly, when the old lady turned round to her daughter, and said solemnly: - -"You mark my words, Matilda, and after I'm dead and gone don't you -forget 'em--your brother's going to make a fool of himself with this -wife of his. I don't care if she were an angel, he'd spoil her. -Boudoir, indeed!--room all to herself, with such a light chintz as -that, and maple too; there's not one woman in ten thousand could stand -it; and Geoffrey's building up a pretty nest for himself, you mark my -words." - -Two days later a letter was received from Geoffrey to say that they -had arrived home, and that by the end of the week the house would -be sufficiently in order, and Margaret sufficiently rested from her -fatigue, to receive them, if they would come over to Elm Lodge to -lunch. As the note was read aloud by Til, this last word struck upon -old Mrs. Ludlow's ear, and roused her in an instant. - -"To what, my dear?" she asked. "I beg your pardon, I didn't catch the -word." - -"To lunch, mamma." - -"O, indeed; then I did catch the word, and it wasn't your mumbling tone -that deceived me. To lunch, eh? Well, upon my word! I know I'm a stupid -old woman, and I begin to think I live in heathenish times; but I know -in my day that a son would no more have thought of asking his mother to -lunch than--well, it's good enough for us, I suppose." - -"Mamma, how _can_ you say such things! They're scarcely settled yet, -and don't know any thing about their cook; and no doubt Margaret's a -little frightened at first--I'm sure I should be, going into such a -house as that." - -"Well, my dear, different people are differently constituted. I -shouldn't feel frightened to walk into Buckingham Palace as mistress -to-morrow. However, I daresay you're right;" and then Mrs. Ludlow -went into the momentous question of "what she was to go in." It was -lucky that in this matter she had Til at her elbow; for whatever the -old lady's taste may have been in houses and furniture, it was very -curious in dress, leaning towards wild stripes and checks and large -green leaves, with veins like caterpillars, spread over brown grounds; -towards portentous bonnets, bearing cockades and bows of ribbon where -such things were never seen before; to puce-coloured gloves, and -parasols rescued at an alarming sacrifice from a cheap draper's sale. -But under Til's supervision Mrs. Ludlow was relegated to a black-silk -dress, and the bonnet which Geoffrey had presented to her on her -birthday, and which Til had chosen; and to a pair of lavender gloves -which fitted her exactly, and had not those caverns at the tips of the -fingers and that wrinkled bagginess in the thumbs which were usually -to be found in the old lady's hand-coverings; and as she took her seat -in Brown's fly, the neighbours on either side, with their noses firmly -pressed against their parlour-windows, were envious of her personal -appearance, though both of them declared afterwards that she wanted a -"little more lighting-up." - -When the fly was nearing its destination, Mrs. Ludlow began to grow -very nervous, a state which was exhibited by her continually tugging at -her bonnet-strings and shaking out the skirt of her dress, requesting -to be informed whether she was "quite straight," and endeavouring to -catch the reflection of herself in the front glasses of the fly. These -performances were scarcely over before the fly stopped at the gate, and -Mrs. Ludlow descending was received into her son's strong arms. The -old lady's maternal feelings were strongly excited at that moment, for -she never uttered a word of complaint or remonstrance, though Geoff -squeezed up all the silk skirt which she had taken such pains to shake -out, and hugged her until her bonnet was all displaced. Then, after -giving Til a hearty embrace, Geoff took his mother's hand and led her -across the little lawn to the French window, at which Margaret was -waiting to receive her. - -Naturally enough, old Mrs. Ludlow had thought very much over this -interview, and had pictured it to herself in anticipation a score of -times. She had never taken any notice of the allusions to the likeness -between her daughter-in-law that was to be and the Scylla-head which -Geoff had painted; but had drawn entirely upon her own imagination for -the sort of person who was to be presented to her. This ideal personage -had at various times undergone a good deal of change. At one time she -would appear as a slight girl with long fair hair and blue eyes ("what -I call a wax-doll beauty," the old lady would think); then she would -have large black eyes, long black hair, and languishing manners; then -she would be rather plain, but with a finely-developed figure, Mrs. -Ludlow having a theory that most artists thought of figure more than -face; but in any case she would be some little chit of a girl, just the -one to catch such a man as our Geoff, who stuck to his paintings, and -had seen so little of the world. - -So much for Mrs. Ludlow's ideal; the realisation was this. On the step -immediately outside the window stood Margaret, a slight rose-flush -tinting her usually pale cheeks just under her eyes; her deep-violet -eyes wider open than usual, but still soft and dreamy; her red-gold -hair in bands round her face, but twisted up at the back into one -large knot at the top of her head. She was dressed in a bright-blue -cambric dress, which fell naturally and gracefully round her, neither -bulging out with excess of crinoline, nor sticking limply to her like a -bathing-gown; across her shoulders was a large white muslin-cape, such -as that which Marie Antoinette is represented as wearing in Delaroche's -splendid picture; muslin-cuffs and a muslin-apron. A gleam of sun shone -upon her, bathing her in light; and as the old lady stood staring at -her in amazement, a recollection came across her of something which she -had not seen for more than forty years, nor ever thought of since,--a -reminiscence of a stained-glass figure of the Virgin in some old -Belgian cathedral, pointed out to her by her husband in her honeymoon. - -As this idea passed through her mind, the tears rose into Mrs. -Ludlow's eyes. She was an excitable old lady and easily touched; and -simultaneously with the painted figure she thought of the husband -pointing it out,--the young husband then so brave and handsome, now -for so many years at rest,--and she only dimly saw Margaret coming -forward to meet her. But remembering that tears would be a bad omen -for such an introduction, she brushed them hastily away, and looked up -in undisguised admiration at the handsome creature moving gracefully -towards her. Geoffrey, in a whirl of stuttering doubt, said, "My -mother, Margaret; mother, this is--Margaret--my wife;" and each woman -moved forward a little, and neither knew what to do. Should they -shake hands or kiss? and from whom should the suggestion come? It -came eventually from the old lady, who said simply, "I'm glad to see -you, my dear;" and putting one hand on Margaret's shoulder, kissed -her affectionately. There was no need of introduction between the -others. Til's bright eyes were sparkling with admiration and delight; -and Margaret, seeing the expression in them, reciprocated it at once, -saying, "And this is Til!" and then they embraced, as warmly as girls -under such circumstances always do. Then they went into the house, Mrs. -Ludlow leaning on her son's arm, and Til and Margaret following. - -"Now, mother," said Geoff, as they passed through the little hall, -"Margaret will take you upstairs. You'll find things much more settled -than when you were here last." And upstairs the women went accordingly. - -When they were in the bedroom, Mrs. Ludlow seated herself comfortably -in a chair, with her back to the light, and said to Margaret: - -"Now, my dear, come here and let me have a quiet look at you. Ive -thought of you a thousand times, and wondered what you were like; but I -never thought of any thing like this." - -"You--you are not disappointed, I hope," said Margaret. She knew it was -a dull remark, and she made it in a constrained manner. But what else -was she to say? - -"Disappointed! no, indeed, my dear. But I won't flatter you; you'll -have quite enough of that from Geoffrey. I shall always think of you -in future as a saint; you're so like the pictures of the saints in the -churches abroad." - -"You see you flatter me at once." - -"No, my dear, I don't. For you are like them, I'm sure; not that you're -to wear horsehair next your skin, or be chopped up into little pieces, -or made to walk on hot iron, or any thing of that sort, you know; but I -can see by your face that you're a good girl, and will make my Geoff a -good wife." - -"I will try to do so, Mrs. Ludlow," said Margaret, earnestly. - -"And you'll succeed, my dear. I knew I could always trust Geoff for -that; he might marry a silly girl, one that hadn't any proper notions -of keeping house or managing those nuisances of servants but I knew he -would choose a good one. And don't call me 'Mrs. Ludlow,' please, my -dear. I'm your mother now; and with such a daughter-in-law I'm proud of -the title!" This little speech was sealed with a kiss, which drove away -the cloud that was gathering on Margaret's brow, and they all went down -to lunch together. The meal passed off without any particular incident -to be recorded. Margaret was self-possessed, and did the honours of -her table gracefully, paying particular attention to her guests, and -generally conducting herself infinitely better than Geoff, who was in -a flurry of nervous excitement, and was called to order by his mother -several times for jumping up to fetch things when he ought to have rung -the bell. "A habit that I trust you'll soon break him of, Margaret, my -dear; for nothing goes to spoil a servant so quickly; and calling over -the bannisters for what he wants is another trick, as though servants' -legs weren't given them to answer bells." But Mrs. Ludlow did not -talk much, being engaged, during the intervals of eating, in mentally -appraising the articles on the table, in quietly trying the weight of -the spoons, and in administering interrogative taps to the cow on the -top of the butter-dish to find if she were silver or plated, in private -speculations as to which quality of Romford ale Geoffrey had ordered -and what he paid for it, and various other little domestic whereto -her experience as a household manager prompted her. Geoffrey too was -silent; but the conversation, though not loud, was very brisk between -Margaret and Til, who seemed, to Geoff's intense delight, to have taken -a great fancy for each other. - -It was not until late in the afternoon, when the hour at which Brown's -fly had been ordered was rapidly approaching, and they were all seated -in the veranda enjoying the distant view, the calm stillness, and the -fresh air, that the old lady, who had been looking with a full heart at -Geoffrey--who, seated close behind Margaret, was playing with the ends -of her hair as she still kept up her conversation with Til--said: - -"Well, Geoffrey, I don't think I ought to leave you to-night without -saying how much I am pleased with my new daughter. O, I don't mind her -hearing me; she's too good a girl to be upset by a little truthful -praise--ain't you, my dear? Come and sit by me for a minute and give -me your hand, Margaret; and you, Geoff, on the other side. God bless -you both, my children, and make you happy in one another! You're -strange to one another, and you'll have some little worries at first; -but you'll soon settle down into happiness. And that's the blessing of -your both being young and fresh. I'm very glad you didn't marry poor -Joe Telford's widow, Geoff, as we thought you would, ten years ago. -I don't think, if I had been a man, I should have liked marrying a -widow. Of course every one has their little love-affairs before they -marry, but that's nothing; but with a widow it's different, you know; -and she'd be always comparing you with the other one, and perhaps the -comparison might not be flattering. No; it's much better to begin life -both together, with no past memories to--why, Geoffrey, how your hand -shakes, my dear! What's the matter? it can't be the cold, for Margaret -is as steady as a rock." - -Geoffrey muttered something about "a sudden shiver," and just at -that moment the fly appeared at the gate So they parted with renewed -embraces and promises of meeting again very shortly; Geoffrey was to -bring Margaret over to Brompton, and the next time they came to Elm -Lodge they must spend a long day, and perhaps sleep there; and it was -not until Brown's fly turned the corner which shut the house out of -sight that Mrs. Ludlow ceased stretching her head out of the window and -nodding violently. Then she burst out at once with her long-pent-up -questioning. - -"Well, Matilda, and what do you think of your new relation? I'm sure -you've been as quiet as quiet; there's been no getting a word out of -you. But I suppose you don't mind telling your mother. What _do_ you -think of her?" - -"She is very handsome, mamma, and seems very kind, and very fond of -Geoff." - -"Handsome, my dear! She's really splendid! There's a kind of _je ne -sais quoi_ about her that--and tall too, like a duchess! Well, I don't -think the Wilkinsons in the Crescent will crow any longer. Why, that -girl that Alfred Wilkinson married the other day, and that they all -went on so about, isn't a patch upon Margaret. Did you notice her cape -and cuffs, Matilda? Rather Frenchified, I thought; rather like that -nurse that the Dixons brought from Boulogne last year, but very pretty. -I hope she'll wear them when she comes to spend the day with us, and -that some of those odious people in the Crescent will come to call. -Their cook seems to have a light hand at pie-crust; and _did_ you taste -the jelly, my dear? I wonder if it was made at home; if so, the cook's -a treasure, and dirt-cheap at seventeen and every thing found except -beer, which Margaret tells me is all she gives! I see they didn't like -my arrangement of the furniture; theyve pulled the grand-piano away -from the wall, and put the ottoman in its place: nice for the people -who sit on it to rub the new paper with their greasy heads!" - -And so the old lady chattered on until she felt sleepy, and stumbled -out at her own door in an exhausted state, from which the delicious -refreshment of a little cold brandy-and-water and a particularly hard -and raspy biscuit did not rouse her. But just as Til was stepping into -bed her mother came into the room, perfectly bright and preternaturally -sharp, to say, "Do you know, my dear, I think, after all, Geoffrey was -very fond of Joe Telford's widow? You were too young then to recollect -her; for when I was speaking about her to-night, and saying how much -better it was that both husband and wife should come fresh to each -other, Geoff s hand shook like an aspen-leaf, and his face was as pale -as death." - - - - -CHAPTER II. -MARGARET. - - -Margaret had carried out what she knew would be the first part of the -new programme of her life. During their short honeymoon, Geoffrey had -talked so much of his mother and sister, and of his anxiety that they -should be favourably impressed with her, that she had determined to -put forth all the strength and tact she had to make that first meeting -an agreeable one to them. That she had done so, that she had succeeded -in her self-imposed task, was evident. Mrs. Ludlow, in her parting -words, had expressed herself delighted with her new daughter-in-law; -but by her manner, much more than by any thing she had said, Geoff knew -that his mother's strong sympathies had been enlisted, if her heart -had not been entirely won. For though the old lady so far gave in to -the prejudices of the world as to observe a decent reticence towards -objects of her displeasure--though she never compromised herself by -outraging social decency in verbal attacks or disparaging remarks--a -long experience had given her son a thorough appreciation of, and power -of translating, certain bits of facial pantomime of a depreciatory -nature, which never varied; notably among them, the uplifted eyebrow -of astonishment, the prolonged stare of "wonder at her insolence," -the shoulder-shrug of "I don't understand such things," and the sniff -of unmitigated disgust. All these Geoff had seen brought to bear -on various subjects quite often enough to rate them at their exact -value; and it was, therefore, with genuine pleasure that he found them -conspicuous by their absence on the occasion of his mother's first -visit to Elm Lodge. - -For although Geoff was not particularly apt as a student of human -nature,--his want of self-confidence, and the quiet life he had -pursued, being great obstacles to any such study,--he must, -nevertheless, have had something of the faculty originally implanted -in him, inasmuch as he had contrived completely, and almost without -knowing it himself, to make himself master of the key to the characters -of the two people with whom his life had been passed. It was this -knowledge of his mother that made him originally propose that the -first meeting between her and Margaret should take place at Brompton, -where he could take his wife over as a visitor. He thought that very -likely any little latent jealousy which the old lady might feel by -reason of her deposition, not merely from the foremost place in her -son's affections, but from the head of his table and the rulership -of his house,--and it is undeniable that with the very best women -these latter items jar quite as unpleasantly as the former,--whatever -little jealousy Mrs. Ludlow may have felt on these accounts would be -heightened by the sight of the new house and furniture in which it had -pleased Geoff to have his new divinity enshrined. There is a point -at which the female nature rebels; and though Geoff neither knew, -nor professed to know, much about female nature, he was perfectly -certain that as a young woman is naturally more likely to "take up -with" another who is her inferior in personal attractions, so Mrs. -Ludlow would undoubtedly be more likely to look favourably on a -daughter-in-law whose _status_, artificially or otherwise, should -not appear greater than her own. It was Margaret who dissuaded Geoff -from his original intention, pitting against her husband's special -acquaintance with his mother's foibles her ordinary woman's cleverness, -which told her that, properly managed, the new house and furniture, and -all their little luxury, could be utilised for, instead of against, -them with the old lady, making her part and parcel of themselves, and -speaking of all the surroundings as component parts of a common stock, -in which with them she had a common interest. This scheme, talked over -in a long desultory lovers' ramble over the green cliffs at Niton -in the ever-lovely Isle of Wight, resulted in the letter requesting -Mrs. Ludlow to superintend the furniture-people, of which mention has -already been made, and in the meeting taking place at Elm Lodge, as -just described. - -This first successful stroke, which Geoff perhaps unduly appreciated -(but any thing in which his mother was involved had great weight with -him), originated by Margaret and carried out by her aid, had great -effect on Geoffrey Ludlow, and brought the woman whom he had married -before him in quite a new light. The phrase "the woman he had married" -is purposely chosen, because the fact of having a wife, in its largest -and most legitimate sense, had not yet dawned upon him. We read in -works of fiction of how men weigh and balance before committing -matrimony,--carefully calculate this recommendation, calmly dissect -that defect; we have essay-writers, political economists, and others, -who are good enough to explain these calculations, and to show us -why it ought to be, and how it is to be done; but, spite of certain -of my brother-fictionists and these last-named social teachers, I -maintain that, in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, a man who is a -man, "with blood, bones, passion, marrow, feeling," as Byron says, -marries a girl because he is smitten with the charms either of her -person or her manner--because there is something _simpatico_, as the -Italians call it, between them--because he is "in love with her," as -the good old English phrase runs; but without having paid any thing -but the most cursory attention to her disposition and idiosyncrasy. -Is it so, or is it not? Such a state of things leads, I am perfectly -aware, to the acceptance of stone for bread and scorpions for fish; -but it exists, hath existed, and will continue to exist. Brown now -helplessly acknowledges Mrs. B.'s "devil of a temper;" but even if he -had had proof positive of it, he would have laughed it away merrily -enough that summer at Margate, when Mrs. B. was Emily Clark, and he was -under the thrall of her black eyes. Jones suffers under his wife's "low -fits," and Robinson under Mrs. Robinson's religion, which she takes -very hot and strong, with a great deal of groaning and anathematising; -but though these peculiarities of both ladies might have been learned -"on application" to any of the various swains who had been rejected -by them, no inquiry was ever made by the more fortunate men who took -them honestly on trust, and on account of their visible personal -attractions: And though these instances seem drawn from a lower class -of life, I contend that the axiom holds good in all states of society, -save, of course, in the case of purely mercenary marriages, which, -however, are by no means so common in occurrence, or at all events so -fatal in their results, as many of our novel-writers wish us to believe. - -It was undoubtedly the case with Geoffrey Ludlow. He was a man as free -from gross passions, as unlikely to take a sudden caprice, or to give -the reins to his will, as any of his kind. His intimates would as soon -have thought of the bronze statue of Achilles "committing" itself as -Geoff Ludlow; and yet it was for the dead-gold hair, the deep-violet -eyes, and the pallid face, that he had married Margaret Dacre; and on -her mental attributes he had not bestowed one single thought. He had -not had much time, certainly; but however long his courtship might -have been, I doubt whether he would have penetrated very far into -the mysteries of her idiosyncrasy. He had a certain theory that she -was "artistic;" a word which, with him, took the place of "romantic" -with other people, as opposed to "practical." Geoff hated "practical" -people; perhaps because he had suffered from an over-dose of -practicality in his own home. He would far sooner that his wife should -_not_ have been able to make pies and puddings, and cut-out baby-linen, -than that she should have excelled in those notable domestic virtues. -But none of these things had entered his head when he asked Margaret -Dacre to join her lot with his,--save, perhaps, an undefined notion -that no woman with such hair and such eyes could be so constituted. You -would have looked in vain in Guinevere for the characteristics of Mrs. -Rundell, or Miss Acton. - -He had thought of her as his peerless beauty, as his realisation -of a thousand waking dreams; and that for the time was enough. But -when he found her entering into and giving shape and colour to his -schemes, he regarded her with worship increased a hundredfold. -Constitutionally inert and adverse to thinking and deciding for -himself,--with a wholesome doubt, moreover, of the efficacy of his -own powers of judgment,--it was only the wide diversity of opinion -which on nearly every subject existed between his mother and himself -that had prevented him from long ago giving himself up entirely to -the old lady's direction. But he now saw, readily enough, that he had -found one whose guiding hand he could accept, who satisfied both his -inclinations and his judgment; and he surrendered himself with more -than resignation--with delight, to Margaret's control. - -And she? It is paying her no great compliment to say that she was -equal to the task; it is making no strong accusation against her to -say that she had expected and accepted the position from the first. -I am at a loss how exactly to set forth this woman's character as I -feel it, fearful of enlarging on defects without showing something -in their palliation--more fearful of omitting some mental ingredient -which might serve to explain the twofold workings of her mind. When -she left her home it was under the influence of love and pride; wild -girlish adoration of the "swell:" the man with the thick moustache, -the white hands, the soft voice, the well-made boots; the man so -different in every respect from any thing she had previously known; -and girlish pride in enslaving one in social rank far beyond the -railway-clerks, merchants' book-keepers, and Custom-House agents, who -were marked down as game by her friends and compeers. The step once -taken, she was a girl no more; her own natural hardihood came to her -aid, and enabled her to hold her own wherever she went. The man her -companion,--a man of society simply from mixing with society, but -naturally sheepish and stupid,--was amazed at her wondrous calmness and -self-possession under all sorts of circumstances. It was an odd sort of -_camaraderie_ in which they mixed, both at home and abroad; one where -the _laissez-aller_ spirit was always predominant, and where those who -said and did as they liked were generally most appreciated; but there -was a something in Margaret Dacre which compelled a kind of respect -even from the wildest. Where she was, the drink never degenerated into -an orgie; and though the _cancans_ and _doubles entendres_ might ring -round the room, all outward signs of decency were preserved. In the -wild crew with which she was mixed she stood apart, sometimes riding -the whirlwind with them, but always directing the storm; and while -invariably showing herself the superior, so tempering her superiority -as to gain the obedience and respect, if not the regard, of all those -among whom she was thrown. How did this come about? Hear it in one -sentence--that she was as cold as ice, and as heartless as a stone. -She loved the man who had betrayed her with all the passion which had -been vouchsafed to her. She loved him, as I have said, at first, from -his difference to all her hitherto surroundings; then she loved him -for having made her love him and yield to him. She had not sufficient -mental power to analyse her own feelings; but she recognised that -she had not much heart, was not easily moved; and therefore she gave -extraordinary credit, which he did not deserve, to him who had had the -power to turn her as he listed. - -But still, on him, her whole powers of loving stopped--spent, used-up. -Her devotion to him--inexplicable to herself--was spaniel-like in -its nature. She took his reproaches, his threats, at the last his -desertion, and loved him still. During the time they were together she -had temptation on every side; but not merely did she continue faithful, -but her fidelity was never shaken even in thought. Although in that -shady _demi-monde_ there is a queer kind of honour-code extant among -the Lovelaces and the Juans, far stricter than they think themselves -called upon to exercise when out of their own territory, there are of -course exceptions, who hold the temptation of their friend's mistress -but little less _piquante_ than the seduction of their friend's wife; -but none of these had the smallest chance with Margaret. What in such -circles is systematically known by the name of a _caprice_ never -entered her mind. Even at the last, when she found herself deserted, -penniless, she knew that a word would restore her to a position -equivalent, apparently, to that she had occupied; but she would not -have spoken that word to have saved her from the death which she was so -nearly meeting. - -In those very jaws of death, from which she had just been rescued, -a new feeling dawned upon her. As she lay back in the arm-chair in -Flexor's parlour, dimly sounding in her ears, at first like the -monotonous surging of the waves, afterwards shaping itself into words, -but always calm and grave and kind, came Geoff's voice. She could -scarcely make out what was said, but she knew what was meant from the -modulation and the tone. Then, when Mr. Potts had gone to fetch Dr. -Rollit, she knew that she was left alone with the owner of the voice, -and she brought all her strength together to raise her eyelids and -look at him. She saw the quiet earnest face, she marked the intense -gaze, and she let her light fingers fall on the outstretched hand, -and muttered her "Bless you!--saved me!" with a gratitude which was -not merely an expression of grateful feeling for his rescuing her -from death, but partook more of the cynic's definition of the word--a -recognition of benefits to come. - -It sprung up in her mind like a flame. It did more towards effecting -her cure, even in the outset, than all the stimulants and nourishment -which Dr. Rollit administered. It was with her while consciousness -remained, and flashed across her the instant consciousness returned. A -home, the chances of a home--nothing but that--somewhere, with walls, -and a fire, and a roof to keep off the pelting of the bitter rain. -Walls with pictures and a floor with carpets; not a workhouse, not such -places as she had spent the night in on her weary desolate tramp; but -such as she had been accustomed to. And some one to care for her--no -low whisperings, and pressed hands, and averted glances, and flight; -but a shoulder to rest her head against, a strong arm round her to -save her from--O God!--those awful black pitiless streets. Rest, only -rest,--that was her craving. Let her once more be restored to ordinary -strength, and then let her rest until she died. Ah, had she not had -more than the ordinary share of trouble and disquietude, and could not -a haven be found for her at last? She recollected how, in the first -flush of her wildness, she had pitied all her old companions soberly -settling down in life; and now how gladly would she change lots with -them! Was it come? was the chance at hand? Had she drifted through the -storm long enough, and was the sun now breaking through the clouds? -She thought so, even as she lay nearer death than life, and through -the shimmering of her eyelids caught a fleeting glimpse of Geoff -Ludlow's face, and heard his voice as in a dream; she knew so after the -second time of his calling on her in her convalescence; knew she might -tell him the story of her life, which would only bind a man of his -disposition more strongly to her; knew that such a feeling engendered -in such a man at his time of life was deep and true and lasting, and -that once taken to his heart, her position was secure for ever. - -And what was her feeling for him who thus rose up out of the darkness, -and was to give her all for which her soul had been pining? Love? Not -one particle. She had no love left. She had not been by any means -bounteously provided with that article at the outset, and all that she -had she had expended on one person. Of love, of what we know by love, -of love as he himself understood it, she had not one particle for -Geoffrey. But there was a feeling which she could hardly explain to -herself. It would have been respect, respect for his noble heart, his -thorough uprightness, and strict sense of honour; but this respect was -diluted by an appreciation of his dubiety, his vacillation, his utter -impotency of saying a harsh word or doing a harsh thing; and diluted in -a way which invested the cold feeling of respect with a warmer hue, and -rendered him, if less perfect, certainly more interesting in her eyes. -Never, even for an instant, had she thought of him with love-passion; -not when she gazed dreamily at him out of the voluptuous depths of her -deep-violet eyes; not when, on that night when all had been arranged -between them, she had lain on his breast in the steel-blue rays of the -spring moon. She had--well, feigned it, if you like,--though she would -scarcely avow that, deeming rather that she had accepted the devotion -which he had offered her without repelling it. _Il y a toujours l'un -qui baise, l'autre qui tend la joue_. That axiom, unromantic, but -true in most cases, was strictly fulfilled in the present instance. -Margaret proffered no love, but accepted, if not willingly, at least -with a thorough show of graciousness, all that was proffered to her. -And in the heartfelt worship of Geoffrey Ludlow there was something -inexplicably attractive to her. Attractive, probably, because of its -entire novelty and utter unselfishness. She could compare it with -nothing she had ever seen or known. To her first lover there had been -the attraction of enchaining the first love of a very young girl, the -romance of stolen meetings and secret interviews, the enchantment of -an elopement, which was looked upon as a great sin by those whom he -scorned, and a great triumph by those whose applause he envied; the -gratification of creating the jealousy of his compeers, and of being -talked about as an example to be shunned by those whom he despised. He -had the satisfaction of flaunting her beauty through the world, and of -gaining that world's applause for his success in having made it succumb -to him. But how was it with Geoffrey? The very opposite, in every -way. At the very best her early history must be shrouded in doubt and -obscurity. If known it might act prejudicially against her husband with -his patrons, and those on whom he was dependent for his livelihood. -Even her beauty could not afford him much source of gratification, save -to himself; he could seldom or never enjoy that reflected pleasure -which a sensible man feels at the world's admiration of his wife; for -had he not himself told her that their life would be of the quietest, -and that they would mix with very few people? - -No! if ever earnest, true, and unselfish love existed in the world, it -was now, she felt, bestowed upon her. What in the depths of her despair -she had faintly hoped for, had come to her with treble measure. Her -course lay plain and straight before her. It was not a very brilliant -course, but it was quiet and peaceful and safe. So away all thoughts of -the past! drop the curtain on the feverish excitement, the wild dream -of hectic pleasure! Shut it out; and with it the dead dull heartache, -the keen sense of wrong, the desperate struggle for bare life. - -So Margaret dropped that curtain on her wedding-day, with the full -intention of never raising it again. - - - - -CHAPTER III. -ANNIE. - - -Lord Caterham's suggestion that Annie Maurice should cultivate her -drawing-talent was made after due reflection. He saw, with his usual -quickness of perception, that the girl's life was fretting away within -her; that the conventional round of duties which fell to her lot as his -mother's companion was discharged honestly enough, but without interest -or concern. He never knew why Lady Beauport wanted a companion. So long -as he had powers of judging character, he had never known her have -an intimate friend; and when, at the death of the old clergyman with -whom Annie had so long been domesticated, it was proposed to receive -her into the mansion at St. Barnabas Square, Lord Caterham had been -struck with astonishment, and could not possibly imagine what duties -she would be called upon to fulfil. He heard that the lady henceforth -to form a part of their establishment was young, and that mere fact -was in itself a cause for wonder. There was no youth there, and it -was a quality which was generally openly tabooed. Lady Beauport's -woman was about fifty, a thorough mistress of her art, an artist in -complexion before whom Madame Rachel might have bowed; a cunning and -skilled labourer in all matters appertaining to the hair; a person -whose anatomical knowledge exceeded that of many medical students, and -who produced effects undreamt of by the most daring sculptors. There -were no nephews or nieces to come on visits, to break up the usual -solemnity reigning throughout the house, with young voices and such -laughter as is only heard in youth, to tempt the old people into a -temporary forgetfulness of self, and into a remembrance of days when -they had hopes and fears and human interest in matters passing around -them. There were sons--yes! Caterham himself, who had never had one -youthful thought or one youthful aspiration, whose playmate had been -the physician, whose toys the wheelchair in which he sat and the irons -by which his wrecked frame was supported, who had been precocious at -six and a man at twelve; and Lionel--but though of the family, Lionel -was not of the house; he never used to enter it when he could make any -possible excuse; and long before his final disappearance his visits had -been restricted to those occasions when he thought his father could be -bled or his mother cajoled. What was a girl of two-and-twenty to do in -such a household, Caterham asked; but got no answer. It had been Lady -Beauport's plan, who knew that Lord Beauport had been in the habit of -contributing a yearly something towards Miss Maurice's support; and -she thought that it would be at least no extra expense to have the -young woman in the house, where she might make herself useful with her -needle, and could generally sit with Mrs. Parkins the housekeeper. - -But Lord Beauport would not have this. Treated as a lady, as a member -of his own family in his house, or properly provided for out of it, -should Annie Maurice be: my lady's companion, but my cousin always. No -companionship with Mrs. Parkins, no set task or suggested assistance. -Her own room, her invariable presence when the rest of the family meet -together, if you please. Lady Beauport did not please at first; but -Lord Beauport was firm, firm as George Brakespere used to be in the old -days; and Lady Beauport succumbed with a good grace, and was glad of it -ever after. For Annie Maurice not merely had the sweetest temper and -the most winning ways,--not merely read in the softest voice, and had -the taste to choose the most charming "bits," over which Lady Beauport -would hum first with approval and then with sleep,--not merely played -and sung delightfully, without ever being hoarse or disinclined,--not -merely could ride with her back to the horses, and dress for the Park -exactly as Lady Beauport wished--neither dowdy nor swell,--but she -brought old-fashioned receipts for quaint country dishes with which -she won Mrs. Parkins's heart, and she taught Hodgson, Lady Beauport's -maid, a new way of _gauffreing_ which broke down all that Abigail's -icy spleen. Her bright eyes, her white teeth, her sunny smile, did all -the rest for her throughout the household: the big footmen moved more -quickly for her than for their mistress; the coachman, with whom she -must have interchanged confidential communications, told the groom -she "knowed the p'ints of an 'oss as well as he did--spotted them -wind-galls in Jack's off 'ind leg, and says, 'a cold-water bandage -for them,' she says;" the women-servants, more likely than any of the -others to take offence, were won by the silence of her bell and her -independence of toilette assistance. - -Lord Caterham saw all this, and understood her popularity; but he saw -too that with it all Annie Maurice was any thing but happy. Reiteration -of conventionality,--the reception of the callers and the paying of the -calls, the morning concerts and afternoon botanical promenades, the -occasional Opera-goings, and the set dinner-parties at home,--these -weighed heavily on her. She felt that her life was artificial, that she -had nothing in common with the people with whom it was passed, save -when she escaped to Lord Caterham's room. He was at least natural; she -need talk or act no conventionality with him; might read, or work, or -chat with him as she liked. But she wanted some purpose in life--that -Caterham saw, and saw almost with horror; for that purpose might tend -to take her away; and if she left him, he felt as though the only -bright portion of his life would leave him too. - -Yes; he had begun to acknowledge this to himself. He had fought against -the idea, tried to laugh it off, but it had always recurred to him. -For the first time in his life, he had moments of happy expectancy -of an interview that was to come, hours of happy reflection over an -interview that was past. Of course the Carry-Chesterton times came -up in his mind; but these were very different. Then he was in a wild -state of excitement and tremor, of flushed cheeks and beating heart -and trembling lips; he thrilled at the sound of her voice; his blood, -usually so calm, coursed through his veins at the touch of her hand; -his passion was a delirium as alarming as it was intoxicating. The -love of to-day had nothing in common with that bygone time. There was -no similarity between Carry Chesterton's dash and _aplomb_ and Annie -Maurice's quiet domestic ways. The one scorched him with a glance; -the other soothed him with a word. How sweet it was to lie back in -his chair with half-shut eyes, as in a dream, and watch her moving -quietly about, setting every thing in order, putting fresh flowers in -his vases, dusting his writing-table, laughingly upbraiding the absent -Algy Barford, and taxing him with the delinquency of a half-smoked -cigar on the mantelpiece, and a pile of cigar-ash on the carpet. -Then he would bid her finish her house-work, and she would wheel his -chair to the table and read the newspapers to him, and listen to his -quaint, shrewd, generally sarcastic comments on all she read. And he -would sit, listening to the music of her voice, looking at the quiet -charms of her simply-banded glossy dark-brown hair, at the play of -feature illustrating every thing she read. It was a brother's love -he told himself at first, and fully believed it; a brother's love -for a favourite sister. He thought so until he pictured to himself -her departure to some friend's or other, until he imagined the house -without her, himself without her, and--and she with some one else. And -then Lord Caterham confessed to himself that he loved Annie Maurice -with all his soul, and simultaneously swore that by no act or word of -his should she or any one else ever know it. - -The Carry-Chesterton love-fever had been so sharp in its symptoms, -and so prostrating in its results, that this second attack fell with -comparative mildness on the sufferer. He had no night-watches now, no -long feverish tossings to and fro waiting for the daylight, no wild -remembrance of parting words and farewell hand-clasps. She was there; -her "goodnight" had rung out sweetly and steadily without a break in -the situation; her sweet smile had lit up her face; her last words -had been of some projected reading or work for the morrow. It was all -friend and friend or brother and sister to every one but him. The very -first night after Miss Chesterton had been presented to Lady Beauport, -the latter, seeing with a woman's quickness the position of affairs, -had spoken of the young lady from Homersham as "that dreadful person," -"that terribly-forward young woman," and thereby goaded Lord Caterham -into worse love-madness. Now both father and mother were perpetually -congratulating themselves and him on having found some one who seemed -to be able to enter into and appreciate their eldest son's "odd ways." -This immunity from parental worry and supervision was pleasant, -doubtless; but did it not prove that to eyes that were not blinded by -love-passion there was nothing in Miss Maurice's regard for her cousin -more than was compatible with cousinly affection, and with pity for one -so circumstanced? So Lord Caterham had it; and who shall say that his -extreme sensitiveness had deceived him? - -It was the height of the London season, and Lady Beauport was fairly -in the whirl. So was Annie Maurice, whose position was already as -clearly defined amongst the set as if she had been duly ticketed -with birth, parentage, education, and present employment. Hitherto -her experience had decidedly been pleasant, and she had found that -all the companion-life, as set forth in fashionable novels, had been -ridiculously exaggerated. From no one had she received any thing -approaching a slight, any thing approaching an insult. The great ladies -mostly ignored her, though some made a point of special politeness; -the men received her as a gentlewoman, with whom flirtation might -be possible on an emergency, though unremunerative as a rule. Her -perpetual attendance on Lady Beauport had prevented her seeing as much -as usual of Lord Caterham; and it was with a sense of relief that she -found a morning at her disposal, and sent Stephens to intimate her -coming to his master. - -She found him as usual, sitting listlessly in his wheelchair, the -newspaper folded ready to his hand, but unfolded and unread. He -looked up, and smiled as she entered the room, and said: "At last, -Annie at last! Ah, I knew such a nice little girl who came here -from Ricksborough, and lightened my solitary hours; but we've had a -fashionable lady here lately, who is always at concerts or operas, or -eating ices at Gunter's, or crushing into horticultural marquees, or--" - -"Arthur, you ought to be ashamed of yourself! You know, however, I -won't stoop to argue with you, sir. I'll only say that the little girl -from Ricksborough has come back again, and that the fashionable lady -has got a holiday and gone away." - -"That's good; but I say, just stand in the light, Annie." - -"Well, what's the matter now?" - -"What has the little girl from Ricksborough done with all her colour? -Where's the brightness of her eyes?" - -"Ah, you don't expect every thing at once, do you, sir? Her natural -colour has gone; but she has ordered a box from Bond Street; and as for -the brightness of her eyes--" - -"O, there's enough left; there is indeed, especially when she fires up -in that way. But you're not looking well, Annie. I'm afraid my lady's -doing too much with you." - -"She's very kind, and wishes me to be always with her." - -"Yes; but she forgets that the vicarage of Ricksborough was scarcely -good training-ground for the races in which she has entered you, -however kindly you take to the running." He paused a minute as he -caught Annie's upturned gaze, and said: "I don't mean that, dear Annie. -I know well enough you hate it all; and I was only trying to put the -best face on the matter. What else can I do?" - -"I know that, Arthur; nor is it Lady Beauport's fault that she does -not exactly comprehend how a series of gaieties can be any thing but -agreeable to a country-bred young woman. There are hundreds of girls -who would give any thing to be 'brought out' under such chaperonage and -in such a manner." - -"You are very sweet and good to say so, Annie, and to look at it -in that light, but I would give any thing to get you more time to -yourself." - -"That proves more plainly than any thing, Arthur, that you don't -consider me one of the aristocracy; for their greatest object in life -appears to me to prevent their having any time to themselves." - -"Miss Maurice," said Lord Caterham with an assumption of gravity, -"these sentiments are really horrible. I thought I missed my _Mill -on Liberty_ from the bookshelves. I am afraid, madame, you have been -studying the doctrines of a man who has had the frightful audacity to -think for himself." - -"No, indeed, Arthur; nothing of the sort. I did take down the -book--though of course you had never missed it; but it seemed a dreary -old thing, and so I put it back again. No, I haven't a radical thought -or feeling in me--except sometimes." - -"And when is the malignant influence at work, pray?" - -"When I see those footmen dressed up in that ridiculous costume, -with powder in their heads, I confess then to being struck with -wonder at a society which permits such monstrosity, and degrades its -fellow-creatures to such a level." - -"O, for a stump!" cried Caterham, shaking in his chair and with the -tears running down his cheeks; "this display of virtuous indignation is -quite a new and hitherto undiscovered feature in the little girl from -Ricksborough; though of course you are quite wrong in your logic. Your -fault should be found with the creatures who permit themselves to be so -reduced. That 'dreary old thing,' Mr. Mill, would tell you that if the -supply ceased, the demand would cease likewise. But don't let us talk -about politics, for heaven's sake, even in fun. Let us revert to our -original topic." - -"What was that?" - -"What was that! Why you, of course! Don't you recollect that we decided -that you should have some drawing-lessons?" - -"I recollect you were good enough to--" - -"Annie! Annie! I thought it was fully understood that my goodness was -a tabooed subject. No; you remember we arranged, on the private-view -day of the Exhibition, with that man who had those two capital -pictures--what's his name?--Ludlow, to give you some lessons." - -"Yes; but Mr. Ludlow himself told us that he could not come for some -little time; he was going out of town." - -"Ive had a letter from him this morning, explaining the continuance of -his absence. What do you think is the reason?" - -"He was knocked up, and wanted rest?" - -"N-no; apparently not." - -"He's not ill? O, Arthur, he's not ill?" - -"Not in the least, Annie,--there's not the least occasion for you to -manifest any uneasiness." Lord Caterham's voice was becoming very hard -and his face very rigid. "Mr. Ludlow's return to town was delayed in -order that he might enjoy the pleasures of his honeymoon in the Isle of -Wight." - -"His what?" - -"His honeymoon; he informs me that he is just married." - -"Married? Geoff married? Who to? What a very extraordinary thing! Who -is he married to?" - -"He has not reposed sufficient confidence in me to acquaint me with -the lady's name, probably guessing rightly that I was not in the least -curious upon the point, and that to know it would not have afforded me -the slightest satisfaction." - -"No, of course not; how very odd!" That was all Annie Maurice said, her -chin resting on her hand, her eyes looking straight before her. - -"What is very odd?" said Caterham, in a harsh voice. "That Mr. Ludlow -should get married? Upon my honour I can't see the eccentricity. It is -not, surely, his extreme youth that should provoke astonishment, nor -his advanced age, for the matter of that. He's not endowed with more -wisdom than most of us to prevent his making a fool of himself. What -there is odd about the fact of his marriage I cannot understand." - -"No, Arthur," said Annie, very quietly, utterly ignoring the querulous -tone of Caterham's remarks; "very likely you can't understand it, -because Mr. Ludlow is a stranger to you, and you judge him as you would -any other stranger. But if you'd known him in the old days when he used -to come up to us at Willesden, and papa was always teasing him about -being in love with the French teacher at Minerva House, a tall old -lady with a moustache; or with the vicar's daughter, a sandy-haired -girl in spectacles; and then poor papa would laugh,--O, how he would -laugh!--and declare that Mr. Ludlow would be a bachelor to the end of -his days. And now he's married, you say? How very, very strange!" - -If Lord Caterham had been going to make any further unpleasant remark, -he checked himself abruptly, and looking into Annie's upturned -pondering face, said, in his usual tone, - -"Well, married or not married, he won't throw us over; he will hold to -his engagement with us. His letter tells me he will be back in town at -the end of the week, and will then settle times with us; so that we -shall have our drawing-lessons after all." - -But Annie, evidently thoroughly preoccupied, only answered -methodically, "Yes--of course--thank you--yes." So Lord Caterham was -left to chew the cud of his own reflections, which, from the manner in -which he frowned to himself, and sat blankly drumming with his fingers -on the desk before him, was evidently no pleasant mental pabulum. So -that he was not displeased when there came a sonorous tap at the door, -to which, recognising it at once, he called out, "Come in!" - - - - -CHAPTER IV. -ALGY BARFORD'S NEWS. - - -It was the Honourable Algy Barford who opened the door, and came in -with his usual light and airy swing, stopping the minute he saw a lady -present, to remove his hat and to give an easy bow. He recognised Annie -at once, and, as she and he were great allies, he went up to her and -shook hands. - -"Charmed to see you, Miss Maurice. This is delightful--give -you my word! Come to see this dear old boy here--how are you, -Caterham, my dear fellow?--and find you in his den, lighting it up -like--like--like--I'm regularly basketed, by Jove! You know what you -light it up like, Miss Maurice." - -Annie laughed as she said, "O, of course I know, Mr. Barford; but I'm -sorry to say the illumination is about immediately to be extinguished, -as I must run away. So goodbye; goodbye, Arthur. I shall see you -to-morrow." And she waved her hand, and tripped lightly away. - -"Gad, what a good-natured charming girl that is!" said Algy Barford, -looking after her. "I always fancy that if ever I could have settled -down--but I never could--impossible! I'm without exception the most -horrible scoundrel that--what's the matter, Caterham, dear old boy? you -seem very down this morning, floundered, by Jove, so far as flatness is -concerned. What is it?" - -"I--oh, I don't know, Algy; a little bored, perhaps, this -morning--hipped, you know." - -"Know! I should think I did. I'm up to my watch-guard myself--think -I'll take a sherry peg, just to keep myself up. This is a dull world, -sir; a very wearying orb. Gad, sometimes I think my cousin, poor Jack -Hamilton, was right, after all." - -"What did he say?" asked Caterham, not caring a bit, but for the sake -of keeping up the conversation. - -"Say! well, not much; he wasn't a talker, poor Jack; but what he -did say was to the purpose. He was a very lazy kind of bird, and -frightfully easily bored; so one day he got up, and then he wrote a -letter saying that he'd lived for thirty years, and that the trouble of -dressing himself every morning and undressing himself every night was -so infernal that le couldn't stand it any longer; and then he blew his -brains out." - -"Ah," said Lord Caterham; "he got tired of himself, you see; and when -you once do that, there's nobody you get so tired of." - -"I daresay, dear old boy, though it's a terrific notion. Can't say I'm -tired of myself quite yet, though there are times when I have a very -low opinion of myself, and think seriously of cutting myself the next -time we meet. What's the news with you, my dear Caterham?" - -"News! what should be the news with me, Algy? Shut up in this place, -like a rat in a cage, scarcely seeing any one but the doctor." - -"Couldn't see a better fellow for news, my dear old boy. Doctors were -always the fellows for news,--and barbers!--Figaro hé and Figaro la, -and all that infernal rubbish that people laugh at when Ronconi sings -it, always makes me deuced melancholy, by Jove. Well, since you've no -news for me, let me think what I heard at the Club. Deuced nice club -we've got now; best we've ever had since that dear old Velvet Cushion was -done up." - -"What's it called?" - -"The Pelham; nothing to do with the Newcastle people or any thing of -that sort; called after some fellow who wrote a book about swells; or -was the hero of a book about swells, or something. Deuced nice place, -snug and cosy; a little overdone with Aldershot, perhaps, and, to a -critical mind, there might be a thought too much Plunger; but I can -stand the animal tolerably well." - -"I know it; at least Ive heard of it," said Caterham. "They play very -high, don't they?" - -"O, of course you've heard it, I forgot; dear old Lionel belonged to -it. Play! n-no, I don't think so. You can if you like, you know, of -course. For instance, Lampeter--Lamb Lampeter they call him; he's such -a mild-looking party--won two thousand of Westonhanger the night before -last at _écarté_--two thousand pounds, sir, in crisp bank-notes All -fair and above board too. They had a corner table at first; but when -Westonhanger was dropping his money and began doubling the stakes, -Lampeter said, 'All right, my lord; I'm with you as far as you like to -go; but when so much money's in question, it perhaps might be advisable -to take one of the tables in the middle of the room, where any one can -stand round and see the play.' They did, and Westonhanger's estate is -worse by two thou'." - -"As you say, that does not look at all as if they played there." - -"What I meant was that I didn't think dear old Lionel ever dropped -much there. I don't know, though; I rather think Gamson had him one -night. Wonderful little fellow, Gamson!--tremendously good-looking -boy!--temporary extra-clerk at two guineas a-week in the Check and -Countercheck Office; hasn't got another regular rap in the world -besides his pay, and plays any stakes you like to name. Seems to keep -luck in a tube, like you do scent, and squeezes it out whenever he -wants it. I am not a playing man myself; but I don't fancy it's very -hard to win at the Pelham. These Plungers and fellows up from the Camp, -they always will play; and as theyve had a very heavy dinner and a big -drink afterwards, it stands to reason that any fellow with a clear head -and a knowledge of the game can pick them up at once, without any sharp -practice." - -"Yes," said Lord Caterham, "it seems a very charming place. I suppose -wheelchairs are not admitted? How sorry I am! I should have so enjoyed -mixing with the delightful society which you describe, Algy. And what -news had Mr. Gamson and the other gentlemen?" - -"Tell you what it is, Caterham, old boy, you've got a regular -wire-drawing fit on to-day. Let's see; what news had I to tell -you?--not from Gamson, of course, or any of those hairy Yahoos from -Aldershot, who are always tumbling about the place. O, I know! Dick -French has just come up from Denne,--the next place, you know, to -Eversfield, your old uncle Ampthill's house; and he says the old boy's -frightfully ill--clear case of hooks, you know; and I thought it might -be advisable that your people should know, in case any thing might be -done towards working the testamentary oracle. The old gentleman used to -be very spoony on Lionel, years ago, I think Ive heard him say." - -"Well, what then?" - -"Gad, you catch a fellow up like the Snapping-Turtle, Caterham. I -don't know what then; but I thought if the thing were properly put to -him--if there was any body to go down to Eversfield and square it with -old Ampthill, he might leave his money--and there's no end of it, I -hear--or some of it at least, to poor old Lionel." - -"And suppose he did. Do you think, Algy Barford, after what has -happened, that Lionel Brakespere could show his face in town? Do you -think that a man of Lionel's spirit could face-out the cutting which -he'd receive from every one?--and rightly too; I'm not denying that. I -only ask you if you think he could do it?" - -"My dear old Caterham, you are a perfect child!--coral and bells and -blue sash, and all that sort of thing, by Jove! If Lionel came back -at this instant, there are very few men who'd remember his escapade, -unless he stood in their way; then, I grant you, they would bring it -up as unpleasantly as they could. But if he were to appear in society -as old Ampthill's heir, there's not a man in his old set that wouldn't -welcome him; no, by George, not a woman of his acquaintance that -wouldn't try and hook him for self or daughter, as the case might be." - -"I'm sorry to hear it," was all Caterham said in reply. - - -What did Lord Caterham think of when his friend was gone? What effect -had the communication about Mr. Ampthill's probable legacy had on him? -But one thing crossed his mind. If Lionel returned free, prosperous, -and happy, would he not fall in love with Annie Maurice? His experience -in such matters had been but limited; but judging by his own feelings, -Lord Caterham could imagine nothing more likely. - - - - -CHAPTER V. -SETTLING DOWN. - - -It was not likely that a man of Geoffrey Ludlow's temperament would -for long keep himself from falling into what was to be the ordinary -tenor of his life, even had his newly-espoused wife been the most -exacting of brides, and delighted in showing her power by keeping him -in perpetual attendance upon her. It is almost needless to say that -Margaret was guilty of no weakness of this kind. If the dread truth -must be told, she took far too little interest in the life to which -she had devoted herself to busy herself about it in detail. She had a -general notion that her whole future was to be intensely respectable; -and in the minds of all those persons with whom she had hitherto been -associated, respectability meant duless of the most appalling kind; -meant two-o'clock-shoulder-of-mutton-and-weak-Romford-ale dinner, five -o'clock tea, knitting, prayers and a glass of cold water before going -to bed; meant district-visiting and tract-distributing, poke bonnets -and limp skirts, a class on Sunday afternoons, and a visit to the -Crystal Palace with the school-children on a summer's day. She did not -think it would be quite as bad as this in her case; indeed, she had -several times been amused--so far as it lay in her now to be amused--by -hearing Geoffrey speak of himself, with a kind of elephantine -liveliness, as a roisterer and a Bohemian. But she was perfectly -prepared to accept whatever happened; and when Geoff told her, the day -after his mother's visit, that he must begin work again and go on as -usual, she took it as a matter of course. - -So Geoff arranged his new studio, and found out his best light, and got -his easel into position; and Flexor arrived with the lay-figure which -had been passing its vacation in Little Flotsam Street; and the great -model recognised Mrs. Geoffrey Ludlow, who happened to look in, with a -deferential bow, and, with what seemed best under the circumstances, a -look of extreme astonishment, as though he had never seen her before, -and expected to find quite a different person. - -Gradually and one by one all the old accessories of Geoff's daily life -seemed closing round him. A feeble ring, heard while he and his wife -were at breakfast, would be followed by the servant's announcement -of "the young person, sir, a-waitin' in the stujo;" and the young -person--a model--would be found objurgating the distance from town, and -yet appreciative of the beauty of the spot when arrived at. - -And Mr. Stompff had come; of course he had. No sooner did he get -Geoff's letter announcing his return than he put himself into a hansom -cab, and went up to Elm Lodge. For Mr. Stompff was a man of business. -His weak point was, that he judged other men by his own standard; -and knowing perfectly well that if any other man had had the success -which Geoffrey Ludlow had achieved that year, he (Stompff) would have -worked heaven and earth to get him into his clutches, he fancied that -Caniche, and all the other dealers, would be equally voracious, and -that the best thing he could do would be to strike the iron while it -was hot, and secure Ludlow for himself. He thought too that this was -rather a good opportunity for such a proceeding, as Ludlow's exchequer -was likely to be low, and he could the more easily be won over. So the -hansom made its way to Elm Lodge; and its fare, under the title of "a -strange gentleman, sir!" was ushered into Geoff's studio. - -"Well, and how are you, Ludlow! What did she say, 'a strange -gentleman'? Yes, Mary, my love! I am a strange gentleman, as you'll -find out before I've done with you." Mr. Stompff laid his finger to -his nose, and winked with exquisite facetiousness. "Well, and how are -you? safe and sound, and all the rest of it! And how's Mrs. L.? Must -introduce me before I go. And what are you about now, eh? What's this?" - -He stopped before the canvas on the easel, and began examining it -attentively. - -"That's nothing!" said Geoffrey; "merely an outline of a notion I -had of the Esplanade at Brighton. I don't think it would make a bad -subject. You see, here I get the invalids in Bath-chairs, the regular -London swells promenading it, the boatmen; the Indian-Mutiny man, -with his bandaged foot and his arm in a sling and his big beard; some -excursionists with their baskets and bottles; some Jews, and--" - -"Capital! nothing could be better! Hits the taste of the day, my boy; -shoots folly, and no flies, as the man said. That's your ticket! Any -body else seen that!" - -"Well, literally not a soul. It's only just begun, and no one has been -here since I returned." - -"That's all right! Now what's the figure? You're going to open your -mouth, I know; you fellows always do when you've made a little success." - -"Well, you see," began old Geoff, in his usual hesitating diffident -manner, "it's a larger canvas than I've worked on hitherto, and there -are a good many more figures, and--" - -"Will five hundred suit you?" - -"Ye-es! Five hundred would be a good price, for--" - -"All right! shake hands on it! I'll give you five hundred for the -copyright--right and away, mind!--sketch, picture, and right of -engraving. We'll get it to some winter-gallery, and you'll have another -ready for the Academy. Nothing like that, my boy! I know the world, -and you don't. What the public likes, you give them as much of as you -can. Don't you believe in over-stocking the market with Ludlows; that's -all stuff! Let 'em have the Ludlows while they want 'em. In a year or -two they'll fight like devils to get a Jones or a Robinson, and wonder -how the deuce any body could have spent their money on such a dauber -as Ludlow. Don't you be offended, my boy; I'm only speakin' the truth. -I buy you because the public wants you; and I turn an honest penny in -sellin' you again; not that I'm any peculiar nuts on you myself, either -one way or t'other. Come, let's wet this bargain, Ludlow, my boy; some -of that dry sherry you pulled out when I saw you last at Brompton, eh?" - -Geoffrey rang the bell; the sherry was produced, and Mr. Stompff -enjoyed it with great gusto. - -"Very neat glass of sherry as ever I drank. Well, Ludlow, success to -our bargain! Give it a good name, mind; that's half the battle; and, I -say, I wouldn't do too much about the Jews, eh? You know what I mean; -none of that d--d nose-trick, you know. There's first-rate customers -among the Jews, though they know more about pictures than most people, -and won't be palmed off like your Manchester coves but when they do -like a thing, they will have it; and tough they always insist upon -discount, yet even then, with the price one asks for a picture, it -pays. Well, you'll be able to finish that and two others--O, how do you -do, mam?" - -This last to Margaret, who, not knowing that her husband had any one -with him was entering the studio. She bowed, and was about to withdraw; -but Geoff called her back, and presented Mr. Stompff to her. - -"Very glad to make your acquaintance, mam," said that worthy, seizing -her hand; "heard of you often, and recognise the picture of Scyllum -and Something in an instant. Enjoyed yourself in the country, I 'ope. -That's all right. But nothing like London; that's the place to pick up -the dibs. I've been telling our friend here he must stick to it, now -he's a wife to provide for; for we know what's what, don't we, Mrs. -Ludlow? Three pictures a year, my boy, and good-sized 'uns too; no -small canvases: that's what we must have out of you." - -Geoffrey laughed as he said, "Well, no; not quite so much as that. -Recollect, I intend to take my wife out occasionally; and besides, I've -promised to give some drawing lessons." - -"What!" shrieked Mr. Stompff; "drawing-lessons! a man in your position -give drawing-lessons! I never heard such madness! You musn't do that, -Ludlow." - -The words were spoken so decidedly that Margaret bit her lips, and -turned to look at her husband, whose face flushed a deep red, and whose -voice stuttered tremendously as he gasped out, "B-but I shall! D-don't -you say 'must,' please, to me, Mr. Stompff; because I don't like it; -and I don't know what the d-deuce you mean by using such a word!" - -Mr. Stompff glanced at Margaret, whose face expressed the deepest -disgust; so clearly perceiving the mistake he had made, he said, "Well, -of course I only spoke as a friend; and when one does that he needn't -be in much doubt as to his reward. When I said 'must,' which seems to -have riled you so, Ludlow, I said it for your own sake. However, you -and I sha'n't fall out about that. Don't you give your pictures to any -one else, and we shall keep square enough. Where are you going to give -drawing-lessons, if one may be bold enough to ask?" - -"In St. Barnabas Square, to a young lady, a very old friend of mine, -and a _protégée_ of Lord Caterham's," said Geoffrey, whose momentary -ire had died out. - -"O, Lord Caterham's! that queer little deformed chap. Good little -fellow, too, they say he is; sharp, and all that kind of thing. Well, -there's no harm in that. I thought you were going on the philanthropic -dodge--to schools and working-men, and that lay. There's one rule in -life,--you never lose any thing by being civil to a bigwig; and this -little chap, I daresay, has influence in his way. By the way, you might -ask him to give a look in at my gallery, if he's passing by. Never does -any harm, that kind of thing. Well, I can't stay here all day. Men of -business must always be pushing on, Mrs. Ludlow. Good day to you; and, -I say, when--hem! there's any thing to renounce the world, the flesh, -and the--hey, you understand? any body wanted to promise and vow, -you know,--I'm ready; send for me. I've got my eye on a silver thug -already. Goodbye, Ludlow; see you next week. Three before next May, -recollect, and all for me. Ta-ta!" and Mr. Stompff stepped into his -cab, and drove off, kissing his fat pudgy little hands, with a great -belief in Geoffrey Ludlow and a holy horror of his wife. - - -In the course of the next few days Geoffrey wrote to Lord Caterham, -telling him that he was quite ready to commence Miss Maurice's -instruction; and shortly afterwards received an answer naming a day for -the lessons to commence. On arriving at the house Geoff was shown into -Lord Caterham's room, and there found Annie waiting to receive him. -Geoff advanced, and shook hands warmly; but he thought Miss Maurice's -manner was a little more reserved than on the last occasion of their -meeting. - -"Lord Caterham bade me make his excuses to you, Mr. Ludlow," said she. -"He hopes to see you before you go; but he is not very well just now, -and does not leave his room till later in the day." - -Geoff was a little hurt at the "Mr. Ludlow." Like all shy men, he -was absurdly sensitive; and at once thought that he saw in this mode -of address a desire on Annie's part to show him his position as -drawing-master. So he merely said he was "sorry for the cause of Lord -Caterham's absence;" and they proceeded at once to Work. - -But the ice on either side very soon melted away. Geoff had brought -with him an old sketch-book, filled with scraps of landscape and -figures, quaint _bizarre_ caricatures, and little bits of every-day -life, all drawn at Willesden Priory or in its neighbourhood, all having -some little history of their own appealing to Annie's love of those -old days and that happy home. And as she looked over them, she began -to talk about the old times; and very speedily it was, "O, Geoff, -don't you remember?" and "O, Geoff, will you ever forget?" and so on; -and they went on sketching and talking until, to Annie at least, the -present and the intervening time faded away, and she was again the -petted little romp, and he was dear old Geoff, her best playmate, her -earliest friend, whom she used to drive round the gravel-paths in her -skipping-rope harness, and whose great shock head of hair used to cause -her such infinite wonder and amusement. - -As she sat watching him bending over the drawing, she remembered with -what anxiety she used to await his coming at the Priory, and with -what perfect good-humour he bore all her childish whims and vagaries. -She remembered how he had always been her champion when her papa had -been _brusque_ or angry with her, saying, "Fairy was too small to be -scolded;" how when just before that horrible bankruptcy took place and -all the household were busy with their own cares she, suffering under -some little childish illness, was nursed by Geoff, then staying in -the house with a vague idea of being able to help Mr. Maurice in his -trouble; how he carried her in his arms to and fro, to and fro, during -the whole of one long night, and hushed her to sleep with the soft -tenderness of a woman. She had thought of him often and often during -her life at Ricksborough Vicarage, always with the same feelings of -clinging regard and perfect trust; and now she had found him. Well, no, -not him exactly; she doubted very much whether Mr. Ludlow the rising -artist was the same as the "dear old Geoff" of the Willesden-Priory -days. There was--and then, as she was thinking all this, Geoff raised -his eyes from the drawing, and smiled his dear old happy smile, and -put his pencil between his teeth, and slowly rubbed his hands while -he looked over his sketch, so exactly as he used to do fifteen years -before that she felt more than ever annoyed at that news which Arthur -had told tier a few days ago about Mr. Ludlow being married. - -Yes, it was annoyance she felt! there was no other word for it. In the -old days he had belonged entirely to her, and why should he not now? -Her papa had always said that it was impossible Geoff could ever be any -thing but an old bachelor, and an old bachelor he should have remained. -What a ridiculous thing for a man at his time of life to import a new -element into it by marriage! It would have been so pleasant to have -had him then, just in the old way; to have talked to him and teased -him, and looked up to him just as she used to do, and now--O, no! it -could not be the same! no married man is ever the same with the friends -of his bachelorhood, especially female friends, as he was before. And -Mrs. Ludlow, what was she like? what could have induced Geoff to marry -her? While Geoff's head was bent over the drawing, Annie revolved all -this rapidly in her mind, and came to the conclusion that it must have -been for money that Geoff plunged into matrimony, and that Mrs. Ludlow -was either a widow with a comfortable jointure, in which case Annie -pictured her to herself as short, stout, and red-faced, with black -hair in bands and a perpetual black-silk dress; or a small heiress of -uncertain age, thin, with hollow cheeks and a pointed nose, ringlets of -dust-coloured hair, a pinched waist, and a soured temper. And to think -of Geoff's going and throwing away the rest of his life on a person of -this sort, when he might have been so happy in his old bachelor way! - -The more she thought of this the more she hated it. Why had he not -announced to them that he was going to be married, when she first met -him after that long lapse of years? To be sure, the rooms at the Royal -Academy were scarcely the place in which to enter on such a matter; but -then--who could she be? what was she like? It was so long since Geoff -had been intimate with any one; she knew that of course his range of -acquaintance might have been changed a hundred times and she not know -one of them. How very strange that he did not say any thing about it -now! He had been here an hour sketching and pottering about, and yet -had not breathed a word about it. O, she would soon settle that! - -So the next time Geoff looked up from his sketch, she said to him: -"Are you longing to be gone, Geoffrey? Getting fearfully bored? Is a -horrible _heimweh_ settling down upon your soul? I suppose under the -circumstances it ought to be, if it isn't." - -"Under what circumstances, Annie? I'm not bored a bit, nor longing to -be gone. What makes you think so?" - -"Only my knowledge of a fact which I've learned, though not from -you--your marriage, Geoffrey." - -"Not from me! Pardon me, Annie; I begged Lord Caterham, to whom I -announced it, specially to name it to you. And, if you must know, -little child, I wondered you had said nothing to me about it." - -He looked at her earnestly as he said this; and there was a dash of -disappointment in his honest eyes. - -"I'm so sorry, Geoff--so sorry! But I didn't understand it so; really I -didn't," said Annie, already half-penitent. "Lord Caterham told me of -the fact, but as from himself; not from you; and--and I thought it odd -that, considering all our old intimacy, you hadn't--" - -"Odd! why, God bless my soul! Annie, you don't think that I shouldn't; -but, you see, it was all so--At all events, I'm certain I told Lord -Caterham to tell you." - -Geoff was in a fix here. His best chance of repudiating the idea that -he had willfully neglected informing Annie of his intended marriage -was the true reason, that the marriage itself was, up to within the -shortest time of its fulfilment, so unlooked for; but this would throw -a kind of slur on his wife; at all events, would prompt inquiries; so -he got through it as best he could with the stuttering excuses above -recorded. - -They seemed to avail with Annie Maurice; for she only said, "O, yes; -I daresay it was some bungle of yours. You always used to make the -most horrible mistakes, Geoff, I've heard poor papa say a thousand -times, and get out of it in the lamest manner." Then, after a moment, -she said, "You must introduce me to your wife, Geoffrey;" and, almost -against her inclination, added, "What is she like?" - -"Introduce you, little child? Why, of course I will, and tell her -how long I have known you, and how you used to sit on my knee, and -be my little pet," said old Geoff, in a transport of delight. "O, I -think you'll like her, Annie. She is--yes, I may say so--she is very -beautiful, and--and very quiet and good." - -Geoff's ignorance of the world is painfully manifested in this speech. -No Woman could possibly be pleased to hear of her husband having been -in the habit Of having any little pet on his knee; and in advancing her -being "very beautiful" as a reason for liking his wife, Geoff showed -innocence which was absolutely refreshing. - -Very beautiful! Was that mere conjugal blindness or real fact? Taken in -conjunction with "very quiet and good," it looked like the former; but -then where beauty was concerned Geoff had always been a stern judge; -and it was scarcely likely that he would suffer his judgment, founded -on the strictest abstract principles to be warped by any whim or fancy. -Very beautiful!--the quietude and goodness came into account,--very -beautiful! - -"O, yes; I must come and see Mrs. Ludlow, please. You will name a day -before you go?" - -"Name a day! What for, Annie?" - -Lord Caterham was the speaker, sitting in his chair, and being wheeled -in from his bedroom by Stephens. Ins tone was a little harsh; his -temper a little sharp. He had all along determined that Annie and Geoff -should not be left alone together on the occasion of her first lesson. -But _l'homme propose et Dieu dispose_; and Caterham had been unable to -raise his head from his pillow, with one of those fearful neuralgic -headaches which occasionally affected him. - -"What for! Why, to be introduced to Mrs. Ludlow! By the way, you seem -to have left your eyes in the other room, Arthur. You have not seen Mr. -Ludlow before, have you?" - -"I beg Mr. Ludlow a thousand pardons!" said Caterham, who had -forgotten the announcement of Geoffrey's marriage, and who hailed the -recalling of the past with intense gratification. "I'm delighted to -see you, Mr. Ludlow; and very grateful to you for coming to fill up so -agreeably some of our young lady's blank time. If I thought you were -a conventional man, I should make you a pretty Conventional speech of -gratulation on your marriage; but as I'm sure you're something much -better, I leave that to be inferred." - -"You are very good," said Geoff. "Annie was just saying that I should -introduce My wife to her, and--" - -"Of course, of course!" said Caterham, a little dashed by the -familiarity of the "Annie." "I hope, to see Mrs. Ludlow here; not -merely as a visitor to a wretched bachelor like myself; but I'm sure my -mother would be very pleased to welcome her, and will, if you please, -do herself the honour of calling on Mrs. Ludlow. - -"Thank you, Arthur; you are very kind, and I appreciate it," said -Annie, in a low voice, crossing to his chair; "but my going will be a -different thing; I mean, as an old friend of Geoff's, _I_ may go and -see his wife." - -An old friend of Geoff's! Still the same bond between them, in which he -had no part--an intimacy with which he had nothing to do. - -"Of course," said he; "nothing could be more natural." - - -"Little Annie coming to be introduced to Margaret!" thought Geoff, as -he walked homeward, the lesson over. This, then, was to be Margaret's -first introduction to his old friend. Not much fear of their not -getting on together. And yet, on reflection, Geoff was not so sure of -that, after all. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. -AT HOME. - - -The people of Lowbar, lusty citizens with suburban residences--lawyers, -proctors, and merchants, all warm people in money matters--did -not think much of the advent into their midst of a man following -an unrecognised profession, which had no ledger-and-day-book -responsibility, employed no clerks, and ministered to no absolute want. -It was not the first time indeed that they had heard of an artist being -encamped among them; for in the summer several brethren of the brush -were tempted to make a temporary sojourn in the immediate vicinity -of the broad meadows and suburban prettinesses. But these were mere -birds of passage, who took lodgings over some shop in the High Street, -and who were never seen save by marauding schoolboys or wandering -lovers, who would come suddenly upon a bearded man smoking a pipe, and -sketching away under the shade of a big white umbrella. To wear a beard -and, in addition to that enormity, to smoke a pipe, were in themselves -sufficient, in the eyes of the worthy inhabitants of Lowbar, to prove -that a man was on the high-road to destruction; but they consoled -themselves with the reflection that the evil-doer was but a sojourner -amongst them. Now, however, had arrived a man in the person of Geoffrey -Ludlow, who not merely wore a beard and smoked a pipe, but further flew -in the face of all decently-constituted society by having a beautiful -wife. And this man had not come into lodgings, but had regularly -established himself in poor Mrs. Pierce's house, which he had had all -done up and painted and papered and furnished in a manner--so at least -Mr. Brandram the doctor said--that might be described as gorgeous. - -Now, as the pretty suburb of Lowbar is still a good score of years -behind the world, its inhabitants could not understand this at all, -and the majority of them were rather scandalised than otherwise, when -they found that the vicar and his wife had called on the newcomers. -Mr. Brandram the doctor had called too; but that was natural. He was -a pushing man was Brandram, and a worldly man, so unlike Priestley, -the other doctor, who was a retiring gentleman. So at least said -Priestley's friends and Brandram's enemies. Brandram was a little man -of between fifty and sixty, neat, and a little horsy in his dress, -cheerful in his manner, fond of recommending good living, and fond of -taking his own prescription. He was a little "fast" for Lowbar, going -to the theatre once or twice in the year, and insisting upon having -novels for the Book-Society; whereas Priestley's greatest dissipation -was attending a "humorous lecture" at the Mechanics' Institute, and his -lightest reading a book of Antipodean travel. Brandram called at Elm -Lodge, of course, and saw both Geoff and Margaret, and talked of the -Academy pictures,--which he had carefully got up from the catalogue -and the newspaper-notices,--and on going away, left Mrs. Brandram's -card. For three weeks afterwards, that visit supplied the doctor -with interesting discourse for his patients: he described all the -alterations which had been made in the house since Mrs. Pierce's death; -he knew the patterns of the carpets, the colours of the curtains, the -style of the furniture. Finally, he pronounced upon the newcomers; -described Geoff as a healthy man of a sanguineous temperament, not much -cut out for the Lowbar folk; and his wife as a beautiful woman, but -lymphatic. - -These last were scarcely the details which the Lowbar folk wanted to -know. They wanted to know all about the _ménage_; in what style the -newcomers lived; whether they kept much or any company; whether they -agreed well together. This last was a point of special curiosity; for, -in common with numberless other worthy, commonplace, stupid people, the -Lowbar folk imagined that the private lives of "odd persons"--under -which heading they included all professors of literature and art of any -kind--were passed in dissipation and wrangling. How the information was -to be obtained was the great point, for they knew that nothing would -be extracted from the vicar, even if he had been brimful of remarks -upon his new parishioners, which, indeed, he was not, as they neither -of them happened to be at home when he called. It would be something -to be well assured about their personal appearance, especially _her_ -personal appearance; to see whether there were really any grounds for -this boast of beauty which Dr. Brandram went talking about in such a -ridiculous way. The church was the first happy hunting-ground pitched -upon; and during the first Sunday after Geoff's and Margaret's arrival -the excitement during divine service was intense; the worshippers in -the middle and side aisles, whose pews all faced the pulpit, and whose -backs were consequently turned to the entrance-door, regarding with -intense envy their friends whose pews confronted each other between -the pulpit and the altar, and who, consequently, while chanting the -responses or listening to the lesson, could steal furtive glances on -every occasion of the door's opening, without outraging propriety. But -when it was found that the newcomers did not attend either morning -or evening service,--and unquestionably a great many members of the -congregation had their dinner of cold meat and salad (it was considered -sinful in Lowbar to have hot dinners on Sunday) at an abnormally early -hour for the purpose of attending evening service on the chance of -seeing the new arrivals,--it was considered necessary to take more -urgent measures; and so the little Misses Coverdale--two dried-up -little chips of spinsters with corkscrew ringlets and black-lace -mittens, who kept house for their brother, old Coverdale, the -red-faced, white-headed proctor, Geoffrey's next-door neighbour--had -quite a little gathering the next day, the supposed object of which -was to take tea and walk in the garden, but the real object to peep -furtively over the wall and try and catch a glimpse of her who was -already sarcastically known as "Dr. Brandram's beauty." Some of the -visitors, acquainted with the peculiarities of the garden, knowing -what mound to stand on and what position to take up, were successful -in catching a glimpse of the top of Margaret's hair--"all taken off -her face like a schoolgirl's, and leaving her cheeks as bare as bare," -as they afterwards reported--as she wandered listlessly round the -garden, stooping now and then to smell or gather a flower. One or -two others were also rewarded by the sight of Geoffrey in his velvet -painting-coat; among them, Letty Coverdale, who pronounced him a -splendid man, and, O, so romantic-looking! for all ideas of matrimony -had not yet left Miss Letty Coverdale, and the noun-substantive Man -yet caused her heart to beat with an extra throb in her flat little -chest; whereas Miss Matty Coverdale, who had a face like a horse, and -who loudly boasted that she had never had an offer of marriage in her -life, snorted out her wonder that Geoff did not wear a surtout like a -Christian and her belief that he'd be all the cleaner after a visit to -Mr. Ball, who was the Lowbar barber. - -But bit by bit the personal appearance of both of them grew -sufficiently familiar to many of the inhabitants, some of the most -courageous of whom had actually screwed themselves up to that pitch of -boldness necessary for the accomplishment of calling and leaving cards -on strangers pursuing a profession unnamed in the _Directory_, and -certainly not one of the three described in _Mangnall's Questions_. The -calls were returned, and in some cases were succeeded by invitations -to dinner. But Geoffrey cared little for these, and Margaret earnestly -begged they might be declined. If she found her life insupportably -dull and slow, this was not the kind of relief for which she prayed. -A suburban dinner-party would be but a dull parody on what she had -known; would give her trouble to dress for, without the smallest -compensating amusement; would leave her at the mercy of stupid people, -among whom she would probably be the only stranger, the only resource -for staring eyes and questioning tongues. That they would have stared -and questioned, there is little doubt; but they certainly intended -hospitality. The "odd" feeling about the Ludlows prevalent on their -first coming had worn off, and now the tide seemed setting the other -way. Whether it was that the tradesmen's books were regularly paid, -that the lights at Elm Lodge were seldom or never burning after eleven -o'clock, that Geoffrey's name had been seen in the _Times_, as having -been present at a dinner given by Lord Everton, a very grand dinner, -where he was the only untitled man among the company, or for whatever -other reason, there was a decided disposition to be civil to them. -No doubt Margaret's beauty had a great deal to do with it, so far as -the men were concerned. Old Mr. Coverdale, who had been portentously -respectable for half a century, but concerning whom there was a -floating legend of "Jolly dog-ism" In his youth, declared he had seen -nothing like her since the Princess Charlotte; and Abbott, known as -Captain Abbott, from having once been in the Commissariat, who always -wore a chin-tip and a tightly-buttoned blue frock-coat and pipe-clayed -buckskin gloves, made an especial point of walking past Elm Lodge -every afternoon, and bestowing on Margaret, whenever he saw her, a -peculiar leer which had done frightful execution amongst the nursemaids -of Islington. Mrs. Abbott, a mild meek little woman, who practised -potichomanie, delcomanie the art of making wax-flowers, any thing -whereby to make money to pay the tradespeople and supply varnish for -her husband's boots and pocket-money for his _menus plaisirs_, was not, -it is needless to say, informed of these vagaries on the captain's part. - -They were discussed every where: at the Ladies' Clothing-Club, where -one need scarcely say that the opinions concerning Margaret's beauty -were a little less fervid in expression; and at the Gentlemen's -Book-Society, where a proposition to invite Geoff to be of their -number, started by the vicar and seconded by old Mr. Coverdale, was -opposed by Mr. Bryant (of Bryant and Martin, coach-builders, Long -Acre), On the ground that the first Of the rules stated that this -should be an association of gentlemen; and who could I say what would -be done next if artists was to be received? The discussion on this -point waxed very warm, and during it Mr. Cremer the curate incurred Mr. -Bryant's deepest hatred for calling out to him, on his again attempting -to address the meeting, "Spoke, spoke!" which Mr. Bryant looked upon -as a sneer at his trade, and remembered bitterly when the subscription -was got up in the parish for presenting Mr. Cremer with the silver -teapot and two hundred sovereigns, with which (the teapot at least) -he proceeded to the rectory of Steeple Bumstead, in a distant part of -the country. They were discussed by the regulars in the nine-o'clock -omnibus, most of whom, as they passed by Elm Lodge and saw Geoff -through the big window just commencing to set his palette, pitied him -for having to work at home, and rejoiced in their own freedom from the -possibility of conjugal inroad; or, catching a glimpse of Margaret, -poked each other in the ribs and told each other what a fine woman -she was. They were discussed by the schoolboys going to school, who -had a low opinion of art, and for the most part confined the remarks -about Geoffrey to his having a "stunnin' beard," and about Margaret -to her being a "regular carrots," the youthful taste being strongly -anti-pre-Raffaellitic, and worshipping the raven tresses and straight -noses so dear to the old romancers. - -And while all these discussions and speculations were rife, the persons -speculated on and discussed were leading their lives without a thought -of what people were saying of them. Geoff knew that he was doing good -work; he felt that intuitively as every man does feel it, quite as -intuitively as when he is producing rubbish; and he knew it further -from the not-too-laudatorily-inclined Mr. Stompff, who came up from -time to time, and could not refuse his commendation to the progress -of the pictures. And then Geoff was happy--at least, well, Margaret -might have been a little more lively perhaps; but then--O, no; he was -thoroughly happy! and Margaret--existed! The curtain had dropped on her -wedding-day, and she had been groping in darkness ever since. - - -Time went on, as he does to all of us, whatever our appreciation of -him may be, according to the mood we may happen to be in: swiftly to -the happy and the old, slowly to the young and the wearied. There is -that blessed compensation which pervades all human things, even in the -flight of time. No matter how pleasant, how varied, how completely -filled is the time of the young, it hangs on them somehow; they do -not feel it rush past them nor melt away, the hours swallowed up in -days, the days in years, as do the elder people, who have no special -excitement, no particular delight. The fact still remains that the -young want time to fly, the old want him to crawl; and that, fulfilling -the wishes of neither, he speeds on _aquo pale_, grumbled at by both. - -The time went on. So Margaret knew by the rising and setting of the -sun, by the usual meals, her own getting up and going to bed, and all -the usual domestic routine. But by what else? Nothing. She had been -married now nearly six months, and from that experience she thought -she might deduce something like an epitome of her life. What was it? -She had a husband who doated on her; who lavished on her comforts, -superfluities, luxuries; who seemed never so happy as when toiling at -his easel, and who brought the products of his work to her to dispose -of as she pleased. A husband who up to that hour of her thought had -never in the smallest degree failed to fulfil her earliest expectations -of him,--generous to a degree, kind-hearted, weak, and easily led. -Weak! weak as water.--Yes, and O yes! What you, like, my dear! What -you think best, my child! That is for your decision, Margaret. I--I -don't know; I scarcely like to give an opinion. Don't you think you had -better settle it? I'll leave it all to you, please, dearest.--Good God! -if he would only say _something_--as opposed to her ideas as possible, -the more opposed the better--some assertion of self, some trumpet-note -of argument, some sign of his having a will of his own, or at least -an idea from which a will might spring. Here was the man who in his -own art was working out the most admirable genius, showing that he had -within him more of the divine afflatus than is given to nine hundred -and ninety-nine in every thousand amongst us--a man who was rapidly -lifting his name for the wonder and the envy of the best portion of -the civilised world, incapable of saying "no" even to a proposition of -hashed mutton for dinner, shirking the responsibility of a decision on -the question of the proper place for a chair. - -Indeed, I fear that, so far as I have stated, the sympathies of women -will go against old Geoff, who must, I fancy, have been what they are -in the habit of calling "very trying." You see he brought with him to -the altar a big generous old heart, full of love and adoration of his -intended wife, full of resolution, in his old blunt way, to stand by -her through evil and good report, and to do his duty by her in all -honour and affection. He was any thing but a self-reliant man; but he -knew that his love was sterling coin, truly unalloyed; and he thought -that it might be taken as compensation for numerous deficiencies, the -existence of which he readily allowed. You see he discovered his power -of loving simultaneously almost with his power of painting; and I think -that this may perhaps account for a kind of feeling that, as the latter -was accepted by the world, so would the former be by the person to whom -it was addressed. When he sent out the picture which first attracted -Mr. Stompff's attention, he had no idea that it was better than a -score others which he had painted, during the course of his life; when -he first saw Margaret Dacre, he could not tell that the instinctive -admiration would lead to any thing more than the admiration which he -had already silently paid to half-a-hundred pretty faces. But both had -come to a successful issue; and he was only to paint his pictures with -all the talent of his head and hand, and to love his wife with all the -affection of his heart, to discharge his duty in life. - -He did this; he worshipped her with all his heart. Whatever she did -was right, whatever ought to have been discussed she was called upon -to settle. They were very small affairs, as I have said,--of hashed -mutton and jams of the colour of a ribbon, or the fashion of a bonnet. -Was there never to be any thing further than this? Was life to consist -in her getting up and struggling through the day and going to bed at -Elm Lodge? The short breakfast, when Geoff was evidently dying to be -off into the painting-room; the long, long day,--composed of servants -instruction, newspaper, lunch, sleep, little walk, toilette, dinner, -utterly feeble conversation, yawns and head-droppings, and finally -bed. She had pictured to herself something quiet, tranquil, without -excitement, without much change; but nothing like this. - -Friends?--relations? O yes! old Mrs. Ludlow came to see her now and -then; and she had been several times to Brompton. The old lady was -very kind in her pottering stupid way, and her daughter Matilda was -kind also, but as once gushing and prudish; so Margaret thought. -And they both treated her as if she were a girl; the old lady -perpetually haranguing her with good advice and feeble suggestion, and -Matilda--who, of course, like all girls, had, it was perfectly evident, -some silly love-affair on with some youth who had not as yet declared -himself--wanting to make her half-confidences, and half-asking for -advice, which she never intended to take. A girl? O yes, of course, she -must play out that farce, and support that terribly vague story which -old Geoff; pushed into a corner on a sudden, and without any one to -help him at the instant, had fabricated concerning her parentage and -belongings. And she must listen to the old lady's praises of Geoff, -and how she thought it not improbable, if things went on as they were -going, that the happiest dream of her life would be fulfilled--that she -should ride in her son's carriage. "It would be yours, of course, my -dear; I know that well enough; but you'd let me ride in it sometimes, -just for the honour and glory of the thing." And they talked like -this to her: the old lady of the glory of a carriage; Matilda of some -hawbuck wretch for whom she had a liking;--to her! who had sat on the -box-seat of a drag a score of times, with half-a-score of the best men -in England sitting behind her, all eager for a word or a smile. - -She saw them now, frequently, whenever she came over to Brompton,--all -the actors in that bygone drama of her life, save the hero himself. -It was the play of _Hamlet_ with Hamlet left out, indeed. But what -vast proportions did she then assume compared to what she had been -lately! There were Rosencrantz and Guildenstern,--the one in his -mail-phaeton, the other on his matchless hack; there was old Polonius -in the high-collared bottle-green coat of thirty years back, guiding -his clever cob in and out among the courtiers; there was the Honourable -Osric, simpering and fooling among the fops. She hurried across the -Drive or the Row on her way to or from Brompton, and stood up, a little -distance off, gazing at these comrades of old times. She would press -her hands to her head, and wonder whether it was all true or a dream -whether she was going back to the dull solemnity of Elm Lodge, when a -dozen words would put her into that mail-phaeton--on to that horse! -How often had Rosencrantz ogled! and was it not Guildenstern's billet -that, after reading, she tore up and threw in his face? It was an awful -temptation; and she was obliged, as an antidote, to picture to herself -the tortures she had suffered from cold and want and starvation, to -bring her round at all to a sensible line of thought. - -Some one else had called upon her two or three times. O yes, a Miss -Maurice, who came in a coroneted carriage, and to whom she had taken a -peculiar detestation; not from any airs she had given herself--O no; -there was nothing of that kind about her. She was one of those persons, -don't you know, who have known your husband before his marriage, and -take an interest in him, and must like you for his sake; one of those -persons who are so open and honest and above-board, that you take an -immediate distrust of them at first sight, which you never get over. O -no, Margaret was perfectly certain she should never like Annie Maurice. - -Music she had, and books; but she was not very fond of the first, -and only played desultorily. Geoff was most passionately fond of -music; and sometimes after dinner he would ask for "a tune," and then -Margaret would sit down at the piano and let her fingers wander over -the keys, gradually finding them straying into some of the brilliant -dance-music of Auber and Musard, of Jullien and Koenig, with which -she had been familiarised during her Continental experience. And -as she played, the forms familiarly associated with the music came -trooping out of the mist--Henri, so grand in the _Cavalier seul_, Jules -and Eulalie, so unapproachable in the _En avant deux_. There they -whirled in the hot summer evenings; the _parterre_, illuminated with -a thousand lamps glittering like fireflies, the sensuous strains of -the orchestra soaring up to the great yellow-faced moon looking down -upon it; and then the cosy little supper, the sparkling iced drink, -the--"Time for bed, eh, dear?" from old Geoff, already nodding with -premature sleep; and away flew the bright vision at the rattle of the -chamber-candlestick. - -Books! yes, no lack of them. Geoff subscribed for her to the library, -and every week came the due supply of novels. These Margasightret read, -some in wonder, some in scorn. There was a great run upon the Magdalen -just then in that style of literature; writers were beginning to be -what is called "outspoken;" and young ladies familiarised with the -outward life of the species, as exhibited in the Park and at the Opera, -read with avidity of their diamonds and their ponies, of the interior -of the _ménage_, and of their spirited conversations with the cream -of the male aristocracy. A deference to British virtue, and a desire -to stand well with the librarian's subscribers, compelled an amount -of repentance in the third volume which Margaret scarcely believed -to be in accordance with truth. The remembrance of childhood's days, -which made the ponies pall, and rendered the diamonds disgusting,--the -inherent natural goodness, which took to eschewing of crinoline -and the adoption of serge, which swamped the colonel in a storm of -virtuous indignation, and brought the curate safely riding over the -billows,--were agreeable incidents, but scarcely, she thought, founded -on fact. Her own experience at least had taught her otherwise; but it -might be so after all. - -So her life wore drearily on. Would there never be any change in it? -Yes, one change at least Time brought in his flight. Dr. Brandram's -visits were now regular; and one morning a shrill cry resounded through -the house, and the doctor placed in its father's arms a strong healthy -boy. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. -WHAT THEIR FRIENDS THOUGHT. - - -Geoffrey Ludlow had married and settled himself in a not-too-accessible -suburb, but he had not given up such of his old companions as were on -a footing of undeniable intimacy with him. These were few in number; -for although Geoff was a general favourite from his urbanity and the -absence of any thing like pretentiousness in his disposition, he was -considered slow by most of the bolder spirits among the artist-band. -He was older than many of them certainly, but that was scarcely the -reason; for there were jolly old dogs whose presence never caused the -smallest reticence of song or story--gray and bald-headed old boys, -who held their own in scurrility and slang, and were among the latest -sitters and the deepest drinkers of the set. It is needless to say that -in all their popularity--and they were popular after a fashion--there -was not mingled one single grain of respect; while Geoffrey was -respected as much as he was liked. But his shyness, his quiet domestic -habits, and his perpetual hard work gave him little time for the -cultivation of acquaintance, and he had only two really intimate -friends, who were Charley Potts and William Bowker. - -Charley Potts had been "best man" at the marriage, and Geoffrey had -caught a glimpse of old Bowker in hiding behind a pillar of the church. -It was meet, then, that they--old companions of his former life--should -see him under his altered circumstances, should know and be received -by his wife, and should have the opportunity, if they wished for it, -of keeping up at least a portion of the _camaraderie_ of old days. -Therefore after his return to London, and when he and his wife were -settled down in Elm Lodge, Geoffrey wrote to each of his old friends, -and said how glad he would be to see them in his new house. - -This note found Mr. Charles Potts intent upon a representation of -Mr. Tennyson's "Dora," sitting with the child in the cornfield, a -commission which he had received from Mr. Caniche, and which was to -be paid for by no less a sum than a hundred and fifty pounds. The -"Gil Bias" had proved a great success in the Academy, and had been -purchased by a country rector, who had won a hundred-pound prize in -the Art-Union; so that Charley was altogether in very high feather and -pecuniary triumph. He had not made much alteration in the style of his -living or in the furniture of his apartment; but he had cleared off a -long score for beer and grog standing against him in the books kept -by Caroline of signal fame; he had presented Caroline herself with a -cheap black-lace shawl, which had produced something like an effect at -Rosherville Gardens! and he had sent a ten-pound note to the old aunt -who had taken care of him after his mother's death, and who wept tears -of gratified joy on its receipt, and told all Sevenoaks of the talent -and the goodness of her nephew. He had paid off some other debts also, -and lent a pound or two here and there among his friends, and was even -after that a capitalist to the extent of having some twenty pounds in -the stomach of a china sailor, originally intended as a receptacle for -tobacco. His success had taken effect on Charley. He had begun to think -that there was really something in him, after all; that life was, as -the working-man observed, "not all beer and skittles;" and that if he -worked honestly on, he might yet be able to realise a vision which had -occasionally loomed through clouds of tobacco-smoke curling round his -head; a vision of a pleasant cottage out at Kilburn, or better still -at Cricklewood; with a bit of green lawn and a little conservatory, -and two or three healthy children tumbling about; while their mother, -uncommonly like Matilda Ludlow, looked on from the ivy-covered porch; -and their father, uncommonly like himself, was finishing in the studio -that great work which was to necessitate his election into the Academy. -This vision had a peculiar charm for him; he worked away like a horse; -the telegraphic signals to Caroline and the consequent supply of beer -became far less frequent; he began to eschew late nights, which he -found led to late mornings; and the "Dora" was growing under his hand -day by day. - -He was hard at work and had apparently worked himself into a knot, for -he was standing a little distance from his easel, gazing vacantly at -the picture and twirling his moustache with great vigour,--a sure sign -of worry with him,--when the "tugging, of the trotter" was heard, and -on his opening the door, Mr. Bowker presented himself and walked in. - -"'Tis I! Bowker the undaunted! Ha, Ha!" and Mr. Bowker gave two short -stamps, and lunged with his walking-stick at his friend. "Give your -William drink; he is athirst. What! nothing of a damp nature about? -Potts, virtue and industry are good things; and your William has been -glad to observe that of late you have been endeavouring to practise -both; but industry is not incompatible with pale ale, and nimble -fingers are oft allied to a dry palate. That sounds like one of the -headings of the pages from Maunders' _Treasury of Knowledge_.--Send for -some beer!" - -The usual pantomime was gone through by Mr. Potts, and while it was in -process, Bowker filled a pipe and walked towards the easel. "Very good, -Charley; very good indeed. Nice fresh look in that gal--not the usual -burnt-umber rusticity; but something--not quite--like the real ruddy -peasant bronze. Child not bad either; looks as if it had got its feet -in boxing-gloves, though; you must alter that; and don't make its eyes -quite so much like willow-pattern saucers. What's that on the child's -head?" - -"Hair, of course." - -"And what stuff's that the girl's sitting in?" - -"Corn! cornfield--wheat, you know, and that kind of stuff. What do you -mean? why do you ask?" - -"Only because it seems to your William that both substances are exactly -alike. If it's hair, then the girl is sitting in a hair-field; if it's -corn, then the child has got corn growing on its head." - -"It'll have it growing on its feet some day, I suppose," growled Mr. -Potts, with a grin. "You're quite right, though, old man; we'll alter -that at once.--Well, what's new with you?" - -"New? Nothing! I hear nothing, see nothing, and know nobody. I might be -a hermit-crab, only I shall never creep into any body else's shell; my -own--five feet ten by two feet six--will be ready quite soon enough for -me. Stop! what stuff I'm talking! I very nearly forgot the object of my -coming round to you this morning. Your William is asked into society! -Look; here's a letter I received last night from our Geoff, asking me -to come up to see his new house and be introduced to his wife." - -"I had a similar one this morning." - -"I thought that was on the cards, so I came round to see what you were -going to do." - -"Do? I shall go, of course. So will you, won't you?" - -"Well, Charley, I don't know. I'm a queer old skittle, that has been -knocked about in all manner of ways, and that has had no women's -society for many years. So much the better, perhaps. I'm not pretty to -look at; and I couldn't talk the stuff women like to have talked to -them, and I should be horribly bored if I had to listen to it. So--and -yet--God forgive me for growling so!--there are times when I'd give -any thing for a word of counsel and comfort in a woman's voice, for -the knowledge that there was any woman--good woman, mind!--no matter -what--mother, sister, wife--who had an interest in what I did. There! -never mind that." - -Mr. Bowker stopped abruptly. Charley Potts waited for a minute; then -putting his hand affectionately on his friend's shoulder, said: "But -our William will make an exception for our Geoff. You've known him so -long, and you're so fond of him." - -"Fond of him! God bless him! No one could know Geoff without loving -him, at least no one whose love was worth having. But you see there's -the wife to be taken into account now." - -"You surely wouldn't doubt your reception by her? The mere fact of your -being an old friend of her husband's would be sufficient to make you -welcome." - -"O, Mr. Potts, Mr. Potts! you are as innocent as a sucking-dove, dear -Mr. Potts, though you have painted a decent picture! To have known -a man before his marriage is to be the natural enemy of his wife. -However, I'll chance that, and go and see our Geoff." - -"So shall I," said Potts, "though I'm rather doubtful about _my_ -reception. You see I was with Geoff that night,--you know, when we met -the--his wife, you know." - -"So you were. Haven't you seen her since?" - -"Only at the wedding, and that all in a hurry--just an introduction; -that was all." - -"Did she seem at all confused when she recognised you?" - -"She couldn't have recognised me, because when we found her she was -senseless, and hadn't come-to when we left. But of course Geoff had -told her who I was, and she didn't seem in the least confused." - -"Not she, if there's any truth in physiognomy," muttered old Bowker; -"well, if she showed no annoyance at first meeting you, she's not -likely to do so now, and you'll be received sweetly enough, no doubt. -We may as well go together, eh?" - -To this proposition Mr. Potts consented with great alacrity, for though -a leader of men in his own set, he was marvellously timid, silent, -and ill at ease in the society of ladies. The mere notion of having -to spend a portion of time, however short, in company with members of -the other sex above the rank of Caroline, and with whom he could not -exchange that free and pleasant _badinage_ of which he was so great a -master, inflicted torture on him sufficient to render him an object of -compassion. So on a day agreed upon, the artistic pair set out to pay -their visit to Mrs. Geoffrey Ludlow. - -Their visit took place at about the time when public opinion in Lowbar -was unsettled as to the propriety of knowing the Ludlows; and the -dilatoriness of some of the inhabitants in accepting the position of -the newcomers may probably be ascribed to the fact of the visitors -having been encountered in the village. It is undeniable that the -appearance of Mr. Potts and of Mr. Bowker was not calculated to impress -the beholder with a feeling of respect, or a sense of their position -in society. Holding this to be a gala-day, Mr. Potts had extracted a -bank-note from the stomach of the china sailor, and expended it at -the "emporium" of an outfitter in Oxford Street, in the purchase of a -striking, but particularly ill-fitting, suit of checked clothes--coat, -waistcoat, and trousers to match. His boots, of an unyielding leather, -had very thick clump soles, which emitted curious wheezings and -groanings as he walked; and his puce-coloured gloves were baggy at all -the fingers' ends, and utterly impenetrable as regarded the thumbs. His -white hat was a little on one side, and his moustaches were twisted -with a ferocity which, however fascinating to the maid-servants at the -kitchen-windows, failed to please the ruralising cits and citizenesses, -who were accustomed to regard a white hat as the distinctive badge -of card-sharpers, and a moustache as the outward and visible sign -of swindling. Mr. Bowker had made little difference in his ordinary -attire. He wore a loose shapeless brown garment which was more like a -cloth dressing-gown than a paletot; a black waistcoat frayed at the -pockets from constant contact with his pipe-stem, and so much too short -that the ends of his white-cotton braces were in full view; also a -pair of gray trousers of the cut which had been in fashion when their -owner was in fashion--made very full over the boot, and having broad -leather straps. Mr. Bowker also wore a soft black wideawake hat, and -perfumed the fragrant air with strong cavendish tobacco, fragments of -which decorated his beard. The two created a sensation as they strode -up the quiet High Street; and when they rang at Elm Lodge Geoffrey's -pretty servant-maid was ready to drop between admiration at Mr. Potts's -appearance and a sudden apprehension that Mr. Bowker had come after the -plate. - -She had, however, little time for the indulgence of either feeling; -for Geoffrey, who had been expecting the arrival of hi friends, with a -degree of nervousness unintelligible to himself, no sooner heard the -bell than he rushed out from his studio and received his old comrades -with great cordiality. He shook hands heartily with Charley Potts; but -a certain hesitation mingled with the warmth of his greeting of Bowker; -and his talk rattled on from broken sentence to broken sentence, as -though he were desirous of preventing his friend from speaking until he -himself had had his say. - -"How d'ye do, Charley? so glad to see you; and you, Bowker, my good -old friend: it is thoroughly kind of you to come out here; and--long -way, you know, and out of your usual beat, I know. Well, so you see -Ive joined the noble army of martyrs,--not that I mean that of course; -but--eh, you didn't expect I would do it, did you? I couldn't say, like -the girl in the Scotch song, 'I'm owre young to marry yet,' could I? -However, thank God, I think you'll say my wife is--what a fellow I am! -keeping you fellows out here in this broiling sun; and you haven't--at -least you, Bowker, haven't been introduced to her. Come along--come in!" - -He preceded them to the drawing-room, where Margaret was waiting to -receive them. It was a hot staring day in the middle of a hot staring -summer. The turf was burnt brown; the fields spreading between Elm -Lodge and Hampstead, usually so cool and verdant, were now arid wastes; -the outside blinds of the house were closed to exclude the scorching -light, and there was no sound save the loud chirping of grasshoppers. -A great weariness was on Margaret that day; she had tried to rouse -herself, but found it impossible, so had sat all through the morning -staring vacantly before her, busy with old memories. Between her past -and her present life there was so little in common, that these memories -were seldom roused by associations. The dull never-changing domestic -day, and the pretty respectability of Elm Lodge, did not recal the wild -Parisian revels, the rough pleasant Bohemianism of garrison-lodgings, -the sumptuous luxury of the Florentine villa. But there was something -in the weather to-day--in the bright fierce glare of the sun, in the -solemn utterly-unbroken stillness--which brought back to her mind one -when she and Leonard and some others were cruising off the Devonshire -coast in Tom Marshall's yacht; a day on which, with scarcely a breath -of air to be felt, they lay becalmed in Babbicombe Bay; under an -awning, of course, over which the men from time to time worked the -fire-hose; and how absurdly funny Tom Marshall was when the ice ran -short. Leonard said--The gate-bell rang, and her husband's voice was -heard in hearty welcome of his friends. - -In welcome of his friends! Yes, there at least she could do her duty; -there she could give pleasure to her husband. She could not give him -her love; she had tried, and found it utterly impossible; but equally -impossible was it to withhold from him her respect. Day by day she -honoured him more and more; as she watched his patient honesty, his -indomitable energy, his thorough helplessness; as she learned--in spite -of herself as it were--more of himself; for Geoff had always thought -one of the chiefest pleasures of matrimony must be to have some one -capable of receiving all one's confidences. As she, with a certain -love of psychological analysis possessed by some women went through -his character, and discovered loyalty and truth in every thought and -every deed, she felt half angry with herself for her inability to -regard him with that love which his qualities ought to have inspired. -She had been accustomed to tell herself, and half-believed, that she -had no conscience; but this theory, which she had maintained during -nearly all the earlier portion of her life vanished as she learned to -know and to appreciate her husband. She had a conscience, and she felt -it; under its influence she made some struggles, ineffectual indeed, -but greater than she at one time would have attempted. What was it -that prevented her from giving this man his due, her heart's love? His -appearance? No he was not a "girl's man" certainly, not the delicious -military vision which sets throbbing the hearts of sweet seventeen: -by no means romantic-looking, but a thoroughly manly gentleman--big, -strong, and well-mannered. Had he been dwarfed or deformed, vulgar, -dirty--and even in the present days of tubbing and Turkish baths, -there are men who possess genius and are afraid it may come off in hot -water,--had he been "common," an expressive word meaning something -almost as bad as dirt and vulgarity,--Margaret could have satisfied her -newly-found conscience, or at least accounted for her feelings. But he -was none of these, and she admitted it; and so at the conclusion of her -self-examination fell back, not without a feeling of semi-complacency, -to the conviction that it was not he, but she herself who was in fault; -that she did not give him her heart simply because she had no heart to -give; that she had lived and loved, but that, however long she might -yet live, she could never love again. - -These thoughts passed rapidly through her mind, not for the first, nor -even for the hundredth time, as she sat down upon the sofa and took -up the first book which came to hand, not even making a pretence of -reading it, but allowing it to lie listlessly on her lap. Geoffrey came -first, closely followed by Charley Potts, who advanced in a sheepish -way, holding out his hand. Margaret smiled slightly and gave him her -hand with no particular expression, a little dignified perhaps, but -even that scarcely noticeable. Then Bowker, who had kept his keen eyes -upon her from the moment he entered the room, and whom she had seen and -examined while exchanging civilities with Potts, was brought forward -by Geoffrey, and introduced as "one of my oldest and dearest friends." -Margaret advanced as Bowker approached, her face flushed a little, and -her eyes wore their most earnest expression, as she said, "I am very -glad to see you, Mr. Bowker. I have heard of you from Geoffrey. I am -sure we shall be very good friends." She gripped his hand and looked -him straight in the face as she said this, and in that instant William -Bowker divined that Margaret had heard of, and knew and sympathised -with, the story of his life. - -She seemed tacitly to acknowledge that there was a bond of union -between them. She was as polite as could be expected of her to -Charley Potts; but she addressed herself especially to Bowker when -any point for discussion arose. These were not very frequent, for the -conversation carried on was of a very ordinary kind. How they liked -their new house, and whether they had seen much of the people of -the neighbourhood; how they had enjoyed their honeymoon in the Isle -of Wight; and trivialities of a similar character. Charley Potts, -prevented by force of circumstances from indulging in his peculiar -humour, and incapable from sheer ignorance of bearing his share of -general conversation when a lady was present, had several times -attempted to introduce the one subject, which, in any society, he could -discuss at his ease, art--"shop;" but on each occasion had found his -proposition rigorously ignored both by Margaret and Bowker, who seemed -to consider it out of place, and who were sufficiently interested -in their own talk. So Charley fell back Upon Geoff, who, although -delighted at seeing how well his wife was getting on with his friend, -yet had sufficient kindness of heart to step in to Charley's rescue, -and to discuss with him the impossibility of accounting for the high -price obtained by Smudge; the certainty that Scumble's popularity -would be merely evanescent; the disgraceful favouritism displayed by -certain men "on the council;" in short, all that kind of talk which -is so popular and so unfailing in the simple kindly members of the -art-world. So on throughout lunch; and, indeed, until the mention of -Geoffrey's pictures then in progress necessitated the generalising -of the conversation, and they went away (Margaret with them) to the -studio. Arrived within those walls, Mr. Potts, temporarily oblivious -of the presence of a lady, became himself again. The mingled smell of -turpentine and tobacco, the sight of the pictures on the easels, and -Of Geoff's pipe-rack on the wall, a general air of carelessness and -discomfort, all came gratefully to Mr. Potts who opened his chest, -spread out his arms, shook himself as does a dog just emerged from -the water--probably in his case to get rid of any clinging vestige of -respectability--and said in a very hungry tone: - -"Now, Geoff, let's have a smoke, old boy." - -"You might as well wait until you knew whether Mrs. Ludlow made any -objection, Charley," said Bowker, in a low tone. - -"I beg Mrs. Ludlow's pardon," said Potts, scarlet all over; "I had no -notion that she--" - -"Pray don't apologise, Mr. Potts; I am thoroughly accustomed to smoke; -have been for--" - -"Yes, of course; ever since you married Geoff you have been thoroughly -smoke-dried," interrupted Bowker, at whom Margaret shot a short quick -glance, half of interrogation, half of gratitude. - -They said no more on the smoke subject just then, but proceeded to a -thorough examination of the picture which Charley Potts pronounced -"regularly stunning," and which Mr. Bowker criticised in a much less -explosive manner. He praised the drawing, the painting, the general -arrangement; he allowed that Geoffrey was doing every thing requisite -to obtain for himself name, fame, and wealth in the present day; but -he very much doubted whether that was all that was needed. With the -French judge he would very much have doubted the necessity of living, -if to live implied the abnegation of the first grand principles of art, -its humanising and elevated influence. Bowker saw no trace of these -in the undeniable cleverness of the Brighton Esplanade; and though -he was by no means sparing of his praise, his lack of enthusiasm, as -compared with the full-flavoured ecstasy of Charley Potts, struck upon -Margaret's ear. Shortly afterwards, while Geoffrey and Potts were deep -in a discussion on colour, she turned to Mr. Bowker, and said abruptly: - -"You are not satisfied with Geoffrey's picture?" - -He smiled somewhat grimly as he said, "Satisfied is a very strong word, -Mrs. Ludlow. There are some of us in the world who have sufficient good -sense not to be satisfied with what we do ourselves--" - -"That's true, Heaven knows," she interrupted involuntarily. - -"And are consequently not particularly likely to be content with what's -done by other people. I think Geoff's picture good, very good of its -sort; but I don't--I candidly confess--like its sort. He is a man full -of appreciation of nature, character, and sentiment; a min who, in the -expression of his own art, is as capable of rendering poetic feeling -as--By Jove, now why didn't he think of that subject that Charley Potts -has got under weigh just now? That would have suited Geoff exactly." - -"What is it?" - -"Dora--Tennyson's Dora, you know." Margaret bowed in acquiescence. -"There's a fine subject, if you like. Charley's painting it very well, -so far as it goes; but he doesn't feel it. Now Geoff would. A man must -have something more than facile manipulation; he must have the soul of -a poet before he could depict the expression which must necessarily be -on such a face. There are few who could understand, fewer still who -could interpret to others, such heart-feelings of that most beautiful -of Tennyson's creations as would undoubtedly show themselves in her -face; the patient endurance of unrequited love, which 'loves on through -all ills, and loves on till she dies;' which neither the contempt nor -the death of its object can extinguish, but which then flows, in as -pure, if not as strong, a current towards his widow and his child." - -Margaret had spoken at first, partly for the sake of saying something, -partly because her feeling for her husband admitted of great pride in -his talent, which she thought Bowker had somewhat slighted. But now -she was thoroughly roused, her eyes bright, her hair pushed back off -her face, listening intently to him. When he ceased, she looked up -strangely, and said: - -"Do you believe in the existence of such love?" - -"O yes," he replied; "it's rare, of course. Especially rare is the -faculty of loving hopelessly without the least chance of return--loving -stedfastly and honestly as Dora did, I mean. With most people -unrequited love turns into particularly bitter hatred, or into that -sentimental maudlin state of 'broken heart,' which is so comforting -to its possessor and so wearying to his friends. But there _are_ -exceptional cases where such love exists, and in these, no matter how -fought against, it can never be extinguished." - -"I suppose you are right," said Margaret; "there must be such -instances." - -Bowker looked hard at her, but she had risen from her seat and was -rejoining the others. - - -"What's your opinion of Mrs. Ludlow, William?" asked Charley Potts, -as they walked away puffing their pipes in the calm summer night air. -"Handsome woman, isn't she?" - -"Very handsome!" replied Bowker; "wondrously handsome!" Then -reflectively--"It's a long time since your William has seen any thing -like that. All in all--face, figure, manner--wondrously perfect! She -walks like a Spaniard, and--" - -"Yes, Geoff's in luck; at least I suppose he is. There's something -about her which is not quite to my taste. I think I like a British -element, which is not to be found in her. I don't know what it is--only -something--well, something less of the duchess about her. I don't think -she's quite in our line--is she, Bowker, old boy?" - -"That's because you're very young in the world's ways, Charley, -and also because Geoff's wife is not very like Geoff's sister, I'm -thinking." Whereat Mr. Potts grew very red, told his friend to "shut -up!" and changed the subject. - -"That night Mr. Bowker sat on the edge of his truckle-bed in his garret -in Hart Street, Bloomsbury, holding in his left hand a faded portrait -in a worn morocco case. He looked at it long and earnestly, while his -right hand wafted aside the thick clouds of tobacco-smoke pouring over -it from his pipe. He knew every line of it, every touch of colour in -it; but he sat gazing at it this night as though it were an entire -novelty, studying it with a new interest. - -"Yes," said he at length, "she's very like you, my darling, very like -you,--hair, eyes, shape, all alike; and she seems to have that same -clinging, undying love which you had, my darling--that same resistless, -unquenchable, undying love. But that love is not for Geoff; God help -him, dear fellow! that love is not for Geoff!" - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. -MARGARET AND ANNIE. - - -The meeting between Margaret and Annie Maurice, which Geoffrey had so -anxiously desired, had taken place, but could scarcely be said to have -been successful in its result. With the best intention possible, and -indeed with a very earnest wish that these two women should like each -other very much, Geoff had said so much about the other to each, as -to beget a mutual distrust and dislike before they became acquainted. -Margaret could not be jealous of Geoffrey; her regard for him was not -sufficiently acute to admit any such feeling. But she rebelled secretly -against the constant encomiastic mention of Annie, and grew wearied at -and annoyed with the perpetually-iterated stories of Miss Maurice's -goodness with which Geoffrey regaled her. A good daughter! Well, -what of that? She herself had been a good daughter until temptation -assailed her, and probably Miss Maurice had never been tempted.--So -simple, honest, and straightforward! Yes, she detested women of that -kind; behind the mask of innocence and virtue they frequently carried -on the most daring schemes. Annie in her turn thought she had heard -quite enough about Mrs. Ludlow's hair and eyes, and wondered Geoff had -never said any thing about his wife's character or disposition. It -was quite right, of course, that he, an artist, should marry a pretty -person; but he was essentially a man who would require something more -than mere beauty in his life's companion, and as yet he had not hinted -at any accomplishments which his wife possessed. There was a something -in Lord Caterham's tone, when speaking to and of Geoffrey Ludlow, -which had often jarred upon Annie's ear, and which she now called to -mind in connection with these thoughts--a certain tinge of pity more -akin to contempt than to love. Annie had noticed that Caterham never -assumed this tone when he was talking to Geoffrey about his art; then -he listened deferentially or argued with spirit; but when matters of -ordinary life formed the topics of conversation her cousin seemed to -regard Geoffrey as a kind of large-hearted boy, very generous very -impulsive, but thoroughly inexperienced. Could Arthur Caterham's -reading of Geoffrey Ludlow's character be the correct one? Was he, -out of his art, so weak, vacillating, and easily led? and had he been -caught by mere beauty of face? and had he settled himself down to pass -his life with a woman of whose disposition he knew nothing? Annie -Maurice put this question to herself with a full conviction that she -would be able to answer it after her introduction to Mrs. Ludlow. - -About a week after Geoffrey had given his first drawing-lesson in St. -Barnabas Square, Annie drove off one afternoon to Elm Lodge in Lady -Beauport's barouche. She had begged hard to be allowed to go in a cab, -but Lord Caterham would not hear of it; and as Lady Beauport had had -a touch of neuralgia (there were very few illnesses she permitted to -attack her, and those only of an aristocratic nature), and had been -confined to the house, no objection was made. So the barouche, with -the curly-wigged coachman and silver-headed footmen on the box, went -spinning through Camden and Kentish Towns, where the coachman pointed -with his whip to rows of small houses bordering the roadside, and -wondered what sort of people could live "in such little 'oles;" and -the footman expressed his belief that the denizens were "clerks and -poor coves of that kind," The children of the neighbourhood ran out in -admiration of the whole turn-out, and especially of the footman's hair, -which afforded them subject-matter for discussion during the evening, -some contending that his head had been snowed upon; some insisting -that it "grew so;" and others propounding a belief that he was a very -old man, and that his white hair was merely natural. When the carriage -dashed up to the gates of Elm Lodge, the Misses Coverdale next door -were, as they afterwards described themselves, "in a perfect twitter of -excitement;" because, though good carriages and handsome horses were by -no means rare in the pretty suburb, no one had as yet ventured to ask -his servant to wear hair-powder; and the coronet, immediately spied on -the panels, had a wonderful effect. - -The visit was not unexpected by either Margaret or Geoffrey; but the -latter was at the moment closely engaged with Mr. Stompff, who had -come up to make an apparently advantageous proposition; so that when -Annie Maurice was shown into the drawing-room, she found Margaret there -alone. At sight of her, Annie paused in sheer admiration. Margaret was -dressed in a light striped muslin; her hair taken off her face and -twisted into a large roll behind; her only ornaments a pair of long -gold earrings. At the announcement of Miss Maurice's name, a slight -flush came across her face, heightening its beauty. She rose without -the smallest sign of hurry, grandly and calmly, and advanced a few -paces. She saw the effect she had produced and did not intend that it -should be lessened. It was Annie who spoke first, and Annie's hand was -the first outstretched. - -"I must introduce myself, Mrs. Ludlow," said she, "though I suppose you -have heard of me from your husband. He and I are very old friends." - -"O, Miss Maurice?" said Margaret, as though half doubtful to whom she -was talking. "O yes; Geoffrey has mentioned your name several times. -Pray sit down." - -All this in the coldest tone and with the stiffest manner. Prejudiced -originally, Margaret, in rising, had caught a glimpse through the -blinds of the carriage, and regarded it as an assertion of dignity and -superiority on her visitor's part, which must be at once counteracted. - -"I should have come to see you long before, Mrs. Ludlow, but my time is -not my own, as you probably know; and--" - -"Yes, Mr. Ludlow told me you were Lady Beauport's companion." A hit at -the carriage there. - -"Yes," continued Annie with perfect composure, though she felt the -blow, "I am Lady Beauport's companion, and consequently not a free -agent, or, as I said, I should have called on you long ago." - -Margaret had expected a hit in exchange for her own, which she saw had -taken effect. A little mollified by her adversary's tolerance, she said: - -"I should have been very glad to see you, Miss Maurice; and in saying -so I pay no compliment; for I should have been very glad to see any -body to break this fearful monotony." - -"You find it dull here?" - -"I find it dreary in the extreme." - -"And I was only thinking how perfectly charming it is. This sense of -thorough quiet is of all things the most pleasant to me. It reminds -me of the place where the happiest days in my life have been passed; -and now, after the fever and excitement of London, it seems doubly -grateful. But perhaps you have been accustomed to gaiety." - -"Yes; at least, if not to gaiety, to excitement; to having every hour -of the day filled up with something to do; to finding the time flown -before I scarcely knew it had arrived, instead of watching the clock -and wondering that it was not later in the day." - -"Ah, then of course you feel the change very greatly at first; but I -think you will find it wear off. One's views of life alter so after -we have tried the new phase for a little time. It seems strange my -speaking to you in this way, Mrs. Ludlow; but I have had a certain -amount of experience. There was my own dear home; and then I lived with -my uncle at a little country parsonage, and kept house for him; and -then I became--Lady Beauport's companion." - -A bright red patch burned on Margaret's cheek as Annie said these -words. Was it shame? Was the quiet earnestness, the simple courtesy and -candour of this frank, bright-eyed girl getting over her? - -"That was very difficult at first, I confess," Annie continued; "every -thing was so strange to me, just as it may be to you here, but I had -come from the quietude to the gaiety; and I thought at one time it -would be impossible for me to continue there. But I held on, and I -manage to get on quite comfortably now. They are all very kind to me; -and the sight of Mr. Ludlow occasionally insures my never forgetting -the old days." - -"It would be strange if they were not kind to you," said Margaret, -looking fixedly at her. "I understand now what Geoffrey has told me -about you. We shall be friends, shall we not?" suddenly extending her -hand. - -"The very best of friends!" said Annie, returning the pressure; "and, -dear Mrs. Ludlow, you will soon get over this feeling of dulness. These -horrible household duties, which are so annoying at first, become a -regular part of the day's business, and, unconsciously to ourselves, we -owe a great deal to them for helping us through the day. And then you -must come out with me whenever I can get the carriage,--O, Ive brought -Lady Beaupores card, and she is coming herself as soon as she gets out -again,--and we'll go for a drive in the Park. I can quite picture to -myself the sensation you would make." - -Margaret smiled--a strange hard smile--but said nothing. - -"And then you must be fond of reading; and I don't know whether Mr. -Ludlow has changed, but there was nothing he used to like so much as -being read to while he was at work. Whenever he came to the Priory, -papa and I used to sit in the little room where he painted and take it -in turns to read to him. I daresay he hasn't liked to ask you, fearing -it might bore you; and you haven't liked to suggest it, from an idea -that you might interrupt his work." - -"O yes, Ive no doubt it will come right," said Margaret, indisposed -to enter into detail; "and I know I can rely on your help; only one -thing--don't mention what I have said to Geoffrey, please; it might -annoy him; and he is so good, that I would not do that for the world." - -"He will not hear a word of it from me. It would annoy him dreadfully, -I know. He is so thoroughly wrapped up in you, that to think you were -not completely happy would cause him great pain. Yes, he is good. Papa -used to say he did not know so good a man, and--" - -The door opened as she spoke, and Geoff entered the room. His eyes -brightened as he saw the two women together in close conversation; and -he said with a gay laugh: - -"Well, little Annie you've managed to find us out, have you?--come away -from the marble halls, and brought 'vassals and serfs by your side,' -and all the king's horses and all the king's men, up to our little -hut. And you introduced yourself to Margaret, and you're beginning to -understand one another, eh?" - -"I think we understand each other perfectly; and what nonsense you talk -about the vassals and king's horses, and all that! They would make me -have the carriage; and no one but a horrible democrat like you would -see any harm in using it." - -"Democrat?--I?--the stanchest supporter of our aristocracy and our -old institutions. I intend to have a card printed, with 'Instruction -in drawing to the youthful nobility and gentry. References kindly -permitted to the Earl of B., Lord C., &c.'--Well, my child," turning -to Margaret, "you'll think your husband more venerable than ever after -seeing this young lady; and remembering that he used to nurse her in -his arms." - -"I have been telling Miss Maurice that now I have seen her, I can fully -understand all you have said about her; and she has promised to come -and see me often, and to take me out with her." - -"That's all right," said Geoffrey; "nothing will please me -better.--It's dull for her here, Annie, all alone; and I'm tied to my -easel all day." - -"O, that will be all right, and we shall get on capitally together, -shall we not, Annie?" - -And the women kissed one another, and followed Geoffrey into the garden. - -That was the brightest afternoon Margaret had spent for many a day. -The carriage was dismissed to the inn, there to be the admiration -of the ostlers and idlers while the coachman and footman, after -beer, condescended to play skittles and to receive the undisguised -compliments of the village boys. Geoffrey went back to his work; and -Margaret and Annie had a long talk, in which, though it was not very -serious, Annie's good sense perpetually made itself felt, and at the -end of which Margaret felt calmer, happier, and more hopeful than -she had felt since her marriage. After the carriage had driven away, -she sat pondering over all that had been said. This, then, was the -Miss Maurice against whom she had conceived such a prejudice, and -whom "she was sure she could never like?" And now, here, at their -very first meeting, she had given her her confidence, and listened -to her as though she had been her sister! What a calm quiet winning -way she had! with what thorough good sense she talked! Margaret had -expected to find her a prim old-maidish kind of person, younger, of -course, but very much of the same type as the Miss Coverdales next -door, utterly different from the fresh pretty-looking girl full of -spirits and cheerfulness. How admirably she would have suited Geoff as -a wife! and yet what was there in her that she (Margaret) could not -acquire? It all rested with herself; her husband's heart was hers, -firmly and undoubtedly, and she only needed to look her lot resolutely -in the face, to conform to the ordinary domestic routine, as Annie had -suggested, and all would be well. O, if she could but lay the ghosts -of that past which haunted her so incessantly, if she could but forget -_him_, and all the associations connected with him, her life might yet -be thoroughly happy! - -And Annie, what did she think of her new acquaintance? Whatever her -sentiments were, she kept them to herself, merely saying in answer -to questions that Mrs. Geoffrey Ludlow was the most beautiful woman -she had ever seen; that she could say with perfect truth and in all -sincerity; but as to the rest, she did not know--she could scarcely -make up her mind. During the first five minutes of their interview -she hated her, at least regarded her with that feeling which Annie -imagined was hate, but which was really only a mild dislike. There were -few women, Annie supposed, who could in cold blood, and without the -slightest provocation, have committed such an outrage as that taunt -about her position in Lady Beauport's household; but then again there -were few who would have so promptly though silently acknowledged the -fault and endeavoured to make reparation for it. How openly she spoke! -how bitterly she bemoaned the dulness of her life That did not argue -well for Geoffrey's happiness; but doubtless Mrs. Ludlow had reason -to feel dull, as have most brides taken from their home and friends, -and left to spend the day by themselves; but if she had really loved -her husband, she would have hesitated before thus complaining to a -stranger--would for his sake have either endeavoured to throw some -explanatory gloss over the subject, or remained silent about it. She -did not seem, so far as Annie saw, to have made any attempt to please -her husband, or indeed to care to do so. How different she was from -what Annie had expected! how different from all her previous experience -of young married women, who indeed generally "gushed" dreadfully, and -were painfully extravagant in their laudations of their husbands when -they were absent, and in their connubialities when they were present. -Geoffrey's large eloquent eyes had melted into tenderness as he looked -at her; but she had not returned the glance, had not interchanged with -him one term of endearment, one chance pressure of the hand. What did -it all mean? What was that past gaiety and excitement to which she -said she had been accustomed? What were her antecedents? In the whole -of her long talk with Annie, Margaret had spoken always of the future, -never of the past. It was of what she should do that she asked counsel; -never mentioning what she had done; never alluding to any person, -place, or circumstance connected with her existence previously to her -having become Geoffrey Ludlow's wife. What were her antecedents? Once -or twice during their talk she had used an odd word, a strange phrase, -which grated on Annie's ear; but her manner was that of a well-bred -gentlewoman; and in all the outward and visible signs of race, she -might have been the purest aristocrat. - -Meantime her beauty was undeniable, was overwhelming. Such hair and -eyes Annie had dreamed of, but had never seen. She raved about them -until Caterham declared she must puzzle her brain to find some excuse -for his going to Elm Lodge to see this wonderful woman. She described -Margaret to Lady Beauport, who was good enough to express a desire to -see "the young person." She mentioned her to Algy Barford, who listened -and then said, "Nice! nice! Caterham, dear old boy! you and I will -take our slates and go up to--what's the name of the place?--to learn -drawing. Must learn on slates, dear boy. Don't you recollect the house -of our childhood with the singular perspective and an enormous amount -of smoke, like wool, coming out of the chimneys? Must have been a -brewery by the amount of smoke, by Jove! And the man in the cocked-hat, -with no stomach to speak of, and both his arms very thin with round -blobs at the end growing out of one side. Delicious reminiscences of -one's childhood, by Jove!" - -And then Annie took to sketching after-memory portraits of Margaret, -first mere pencil outlines, then more elaborate shaded attempts and -finally a water-colour reminiscence, which was anything but bad. This -she showed to Lord Caterham, who was immensely pleased with it, and -who insisted that Barford should see it. So one morning when that -pleasantest of laughing philosophers was smoking his after-breakfast -cigar (at about noon) in Caterham's room, mooning about amongst the -nick-nacks, and trotting out his little scraps of news in his own odd -quaint fashion, Annie, who had heard from Stephens of his arrival, came -in, bringing the portrait with her. - -"Enter, Miss Maurice!" said Algy; "always welcome, but more especially -welcome when she brings some delicious little novelty, such as I -see she now holds under her arm. What would the world be without -novelty?--Shakespeare. At least, if that delightful person did not make -that remark, it was simply because he forgot it; for it's just one of -those sort of things which he put so nicely. And what is Miss Maurice's -novelty?" - -"O! it's no novelty at all, Mr. Barford. Only a sketch of Mrs. Geoffrey -Ludlow, of whom I spoke to you the other day. You recollect?" - -"Recollect! the Muse of painting! Terps--Clio--no matter! a charming -person from whom we were to have instruction in drawing, and who lives -at some utterly unsearchable place! Of course I recollect! And you -have a sketch of her there? Now, my dear Miss Maurice, don't keep me -in suspense any longer, but let me look at it at once." But when the -sketch was unrolled and placed before him, it had the very singular -effect of reducing Algy Barford to a state of quietude. Beyond giving -one long whistle he never uttered a sound, but sat with parted lips and -uplifted eyebrows gazing at the picture for full five minutes. Then he -said, "This is like, of course, Miss Maurice?" - -"Well, I really think I may say it is. It is far inferior to the -original in beauty, of course; but I think I have preserved her most -delicate features." - -"Just so. Her hair is of that peculiar colour, and her eyes a curious -violet, eh?" - -"Yes." - -"This sketch gives one the notion of a tall woman with a full figure." - -"Yes; she is taller than I, and her figure is thoroughly rounded and -graceful." - -"Ye-es; a very charming sketch, Miss Maurice; and your friend must be -very lovely if she at all resembles it." - -Shortly after, when Mr. Algy Barford had taken his leave, he stopped on -the flags in St. Barnabas Square, thus soliloquising: "All right, my -dear old boy, my dear old Algy! it's coming on fast--a little sooner -than you thought; but that's no matter. Colney Hatch, my dear boy, and -a padded room looking out over the railway. That's it; that's your -hotel, dear boy! If you ever drank, it might be _del. trem_., and would -pass off; but you don't. No, no; to see twice within six months, first -the woman herself; and then the portrait of the woman--just married and -known to credible witnesses--whom you have firmly believed to be lying -in Kensal Green! Colney Hatch, dear old boy; that is the apartment, and -nothing else!" - - - - -CHAPTER IX. -MR. AMPTHILL'S WILL. - - -The acquaintance between Margaret and Annie, which commenced so -auspiciously, scarcely ripened into intimacy. When Lady Beauport's -neuralgia passed away,--and her convalescence was much hurried by the -near approach of a specially-grand entertainment given in honour of -certain Serene Transparencies then visiting London,--she found that she -could not spare Miss Maurice to go so long a distance, to be absent -from her and her work for such a length of time. As to calling at Elm -Lodge in person, Lady Beauport never gave the project another thought. -With the neuralgia had passed away her desire to see that "pretty young -person," Mrs. Geoffrey Ludlow; and in sending her card by Annie, Lady -Beauport thought she had more than fulfilled any promises and vows of -politeness which might have been made by her son in her name. - -Lord Caterham had driven out once to Elm Lodge with Annie, and had been -introduced to Margaret, whom he admired very much, but about whom he -shook his head alarmingly when he and Annie were driving towards home. -"That's an unhappy woman!" he said; "an unhappy woman, with something -on her mind--something which she does not give way to and groan about, -but against which she frets and fights and struggles with as with a -chain. When she's not spoken to, when she's not supposed to be _en -evidence_ there's a strange, half-weary, half-savage gleam in those -wondrous eyes, such as I have noticed only once before, and then among -the patients of a lunatic asylum. There's evidently something strange -in the history of that marriage. Did you notice Ludlow's devotion to -her, how he watched her every movement? Did you see what hard work -it was for her to keep up with the conversation, not from want of -power,--for, from one or two things she said, I should imagine her to -be a naturally clever as well as an educated woman,--but from want of -will? How utterly worn and wearied and _distraite_ she looked, standing -by us in Ludlow's studio, while we talked about his pictures, and -how she only seemed to rouse into life when I compared that Brighton -Esplanade with the Drive in the Park, and talked about some of the -frequenters of each. She listened to all the fashionable nonsense as -eagerly as any country miss, and yet--She's a strange study, that -woman, Annie. I shall take an early opportunity of driving out to see -her again; but I'm glad that the distance will prevent her being very -intimate with you." - -The opportunity of repeating his visit did not, however, speedily -occur. The fierce neuralgic headaches from which Lord Caterham suffered -had become much more frequent of late, and worse in their effect. After -hours of actual torture, unable to raise his head or scarcely to lift -his eyes, he would fall into a state of prostration, which lasted two -or three days. In this state he would be dressed by his servant and -carried to his sofa, where he would lie with half-closed eyes dreaming -the time away,-comparatively happy in being free from pain, quite -happy if; as frequently happened, on looking up he saw Annie Maurice -moving noiselessly about the room dusting his books, arranging his -desk, bringing fresh flowers for his glasses. Looking round at him from -time to time, and finding he had noticed her presence, she would lay -her finger on her lip enjoining silence, and then refresh his burning -forehead and hands with eau-de-cologne, turn and smooth his pillows, -and wheel his sofa to a cooler position. On the second day after an -attack she would read to him for hours in her clear musical voice from -his favourite authors; or, if she found him able to bear it, would -sit down at the cabinet-piano, which he had bought expressly for her, -and sing to him the songs he loved so well--quiet English ballads, -sparkling little French _chansons_, and some of the most pathetic music -of the Italian operas; but every thing for his taste must be soft and -low: all roulades and execution, all the fireworks of music, he held in -utter detestation. - -Then Annie would be called away to write notes for Lady Beauport, or -to go out with her or for her, and Caterham would be left alone again. -Pleasanter his thoughts now: there were the flowers she had gathered -and placed close by him, the books she had read from, the ivory keys -which her dear fingers had so recently touched! Her cheerful voice -still rung in his ear, the touch of her hand seemed yet to linger on -his forehead. O angel of light and almost of hope to this wretched -frame, O sole realisation of womanly love and tenderness and sweet -sympathy to this crushed spirit, wilt thou ever know it all? Yes, he -felt that there would come a time, and that without long delay, when he -should be able to tell her all the secret longings of his soul, to tell -her in a few short words, and then--ay, then! - -Meanwhile it was pleasant to lie in a half-dreamy state, thinking of -her, picturing her to his fancy. He would lie on that sofa, his poor -warped useless limbs stretched out before him, but hidden from his -sight by a light silk _couvrette_ of Annie's embroidering, his eyes -closed, his whole frame n a state of repose. Through the double windows -came deadened sounds of the world outside--the roll of carriages, the -clanging of knockers, the busy hum of life. From the Square-garden -came the glad voices of children, and now and then--solitary fragment -of rusticity--the sound of the Square-gardener whetting his scythe. -And Caterham lay day by day dreaming through it all, unroused even by -the repetition of Czerny's pianoforte-exercises by the children in the -next house; dreaming of his past, his present, and his future. Dreaming -of the old farmhouse where they had sent him when a child to try and -get strength--the quaint red-faced old house with its gable ends and -mullioned windows, and its eternal and omnipresent smell of apples; of -the sluggish black pool where the cattle stood knee-deep; the names of -the fields--the home-croft, and the lea pasture, and the forty acres; -the harvest-home, and the songs that they sung then, and to which he -had listened in wonder sitting on the farmer's knee. He had not thought -of all this from that day forth; but he remembered it vividly now, and -could almost hear the loud ticking of the farmer's silver watch which -fitted so tightly into his fob. The lodgings at Brighton, where he -went with some old lady, never recollected but in connection with that -one occasion, and called Miss Macraw,--the little lodgings with the -bow-windowed room looking sideways over the sea; the happiness of that -time, when the old lady perpetually talked to and amused him, when he -was not left alone as he was at home, and when he had such delicious -tea-cakes which he toasted for himself. The doctors who came to see him -there; one a tall white-haired old man in a long black coat reaching -to his heels, and another a jolly bald-headed man, who, they said, was -surgeon to the King. The King--ay, he had seen him too, a red-faced -man in a blue coat, walking in the Pavilion Gardens. Dreaming of the -private tutor, a master at Charter House, who came on Wednesday and -Saturday afternoons, and who struggled so hard and with such little -success to conceal his hatred to Homer, Virgil, and the other classic -poets, and his longing to be in the cricket-field, on the river, any -where, to shake off that horrible conventional toil of tutorship, and -to be a man and not a teaching-machine. Other recollections he had, of -Lionel's pony and Lionel's Eton school-fellows, who came to see him in -the holidays, and who stared in mute wonder at his wheelchair and his -poor crippled limbs. Recollections of his father and mother passing -down the staircase in full dress on their way to some court-ball, and -of his hearing the servants say what a noble-looking man his father -was, and what a pity that Master Lionel had not been the eldest son. -Recollections of the utter blankness of his life until she came--ah, -until she came! The past faded away, and the present dawned. She was -there, his star, his hope, his love! He was still a cripple, maimed and -blighted; still worse than an invalid, the prey of acute and torturing -disease; but he would be content--content to remain even as he was so -that he could have her near him, could see her, hear her voice, touch -her hand. But that could not be. She would marry, would leave him, and -then--ah then!--Let that future which he believed to be close upon him -come at once. Until he had known hope, his life, though blank enough, -had been supportable; now hope had fled; "the sooner it's over the -sooner to sleep." Let there be an end of it! - -There were but few days that Algy Barford did not come; bright, airy, -and cheerful, bringing sunshine into the sick-room; never noisy or -obtrusive, always taking a cheery view of affairs, and never failing -to tell the invalid that he looked infinitely better than the last -time he had seen him, and that this illness was "evidently a kind -of clearing-up shower before the storm, dear old boy," and was the -precursor of such excellent health as he had never had before. Lord -Caterham, of course, never believed any of this; he had an internal -monitor which told him very different truths; but he knew the feelings -which prompted Algy Barford's hopeful predictions, and no man's visits -were so agreeable to Caterham as were Algy's. - -One day he came in earlier than usual, and looking less serenely happy -than his wont. Lord Caterham, lying on his sofa, observed this, but -said nothing, waiting until Algy should allude to it, as he was certain -to do, for he had not the smallest power of reticence. - -"Caterham, my dear old boy, how goes it this morning? I am seedy, -my friend! The sage counsel given by the convivial bagman, that the -evening's diversion should bear the morning's reflection, has not been -followed by me. Does the cognac live in its usual corner, and is there -yet soda-water in the land?" - -"You'll find both in the sideboard, Algy. What were you doing last -night to render them necessary?" - -"Last night, my dear Caterham, I did what England expected me to do--my -duty, and a most horrible nuisance that doing one's duty is. I dined -with an old fellow named Huskisson, a friend of my governor's, who -nearly poisoned me with bad wine. The wine, sir, was simply infamous; -but it was a very hot night, and I was dreadfully thirsty, so what -could I do but drink a great deal of it? I had some very fiery sherry -with my soup, and some hock. Yes; 'nor did my drooping memory shun the -foaming grape of eastern France;' only this was the foaming gooseberry -of Fulham Fields. And old Huskisson, with great pomp, told his butler -to bring 'the Hermitage.' What an awful swindle!" - -"What was it like?" - -"Well, dear old boy, minds innocent and quiet may take that for a -Hermitage if they like; but I, who have drunk as much wine, good and -bad, as most men, immediately recognised the familiar Beaujolais which -we get at the club for a shilling a pint. So that altogether I'm very -nearly poisoned; and I think I shouldn't have come out if I had not -wanted to see you particularly." - -"What is it, Algy? Some of that tremendously important business which -always takes up so much of your time?" - -"No, no; now you're chaffing, Caterham. 'Pon my word I really do a -great deal in the course of the day, walking about, and talking to -fellows, and that sort of thing: there are very few fellows who think -what a lot I get through; but I know myself." - -"Do you? then you've learned a great thing--'know thyself' one of the -great secrets of life;" and Caterham sighed. - -"Yes, dear old boy," said Algy "'know thyself, but never introduce -a friend;' that I believe to be sterling philosophy. This is a -confoundedly back-slapping age; every body is a deuced sight too fond -of every body else; there is an amount of philanthropy about which is -quite terrible." - -"Yes, and you're about the largest-hearted and most genial -philanthropist in the world; you know you are." - -"I, dear old boy? I am Richard Crookback; I am the uncle of the Babes -in the Wood; I am Timon the Tartar of Athens, or whatever his name was; -I am a ruthless hater of all my species, when I have the _vin triste_, -as I have this morning. O, that reminds me--the business I came to see -you about. What a fellow you are, Caterham! always putting things out -of fellows' heads!" - -"Well, what is it now?" - -"Why, old Ampthill is dead at last. Died last night; his man told my -man this morning." - -"Well, what then?" - -"What then? Why, don't you recollect what we talked about? about his -leaving his money to dear old Lionel?" - -"Yes," said Caterham, looking grave, "I recollect that." - -"I wonder whether any good came of it? It would be a tremendously jolly -thing to get dear old Lionel back, with plenty of money, and in his old -position, wouldn't it?" - -"Look here, my dear Algy," said Lord Caterham; "let us understand -each other once for all on this point. You and I are of course likely -to differ materially on such a subject. You are a man of the world, -going constantly into the world, with your own admirable good sense -influenced by and impressed with the opinions of society. Society, as -you tell me, is pleased to think my brother's--well, crime--there's no -other word!--my brother's crime a venial one, and will be content to -receive him back again, and to instal him in his former position if he -comes back prepared to sacrifice to Society by spending his time and -money on it!" - -"Pardon me, my dear old Caterham,--just two words!" interrupted Algy. -"Society--people, you know, I mean--would shake their heads at poor old -Lionel, and wouldn't have him back perhaps, and all that sort of thing, -if they knew exactly what he'd done. But they don't. It's been kept -wonderfully quiet, poor dear old fellow." - -"That may or may not be; at all events, such are Society's views, are -they not?" Barford inclined his head. "Now, you see, mine are entirely -different. This sofa, the bed in the next room, that wheelchair, form -my world; and these," pointing to his bookshelves, "my society. There -is no one else on earth to whom I would say this; but you know that -what I say is true. Lionel Brakespere never was a brother to me never -had the slightest affection or regard for me, never had the slightest -patience with me. As a boy, he used to mock at my deformity; as a man, -he has perseveringly scorned me, and scarcely troubled himself to hide -his anxiety for my death, that he might be Lord Beauport's heir--" - -"Caterham! I say, my dear, dear old boy Arthur--" and Algy Barford put -one hand on the back of Lord Caterham's chair, and rubbed his own eyes -very hard with the other. - -"You know it, Algy, old friend. He did all this; and God knows I tried -to love him through it all, and think I succeeded. All his scorn, all -his insult, all his want of affection, I forgave. When he committed the -forgery which forced him to fly the country, I tried to intercede with -my father; for I knew the awful strait to which Lionel must have been -reduced before he committed such an act: but when I read his letter, -which you brought me, and the contents of which it said you knew, I -recognised at last that Lionel was a thoroughly heartless scoundrel, -and I thanked God that there was no chance of his further disgracing -our name in a place where it had been known and respected. So you now -see, Algy, why I am not enchanted at the idea of his coming back to us." - -"Of course, of course, I understand you, dear fellow; -and--hem!--confoundedly husky; that filthy wine of old Huskisson's! -better in a minute--there!" and Algy cleared his throat and rubbed his -eyes again. "About that letter, dear old boy! I was going to speak to -you two or three times about that. Most mysterious circumstance, by -Jove, sir! The fact is that--" - -He was interrupted by the opening of the door and the entrance of -Stephens, Lord Caterham's servant, who said that Lady Beauport would be -glad to know if his master could receive her. - -It was a bad day for Caterham to receive any one except his most -intimate friends, and assuredly his mother was not included in that -category. He was any thing but well bodily, and the conversation about -Lionel had thoroughly unstrung his nerves; so that he was just about to -say he must ask for a postponement of the visit, when Stephens said, -"Her ladyship asked me if Mr. Barford wasn't here, my lord, and seemed -particularly anxious to see him." Lord Caterham felt the colour flush -in his cheeks as the cause of his mother's visit was thus innocently -explained by Stephens; but the moment after he smiled, and sent to beg -that she would come whenever she pleased. - -In a very few minutes Lady Beauport sailed into the room, and, after -shaking hands with Algy Barford in, for her, quite a cordial manner, -she touched her son's forehead with her lips and dropped into the chair -which Stephens had placed for her near the sofa. - -"How are you, Arthur, to day?" she commenced. "You are looking quite -rosy and well, I declare. I am always obliged to come myself when I -want to know about your health; for they bring me the most preposterous -reports. That man of yours is a dreadful kill-joy, and seems to have -inoculated the whole household with his melancholy, where you are -concerned. Even Miss Maurice, who is really quite a cheerful person, -and quite pleasant to have about one,--equable spirits, and that sort -of thing, you know, Mr. Barford; so much more agreeable than those -moping creatures who are always thinking about their families and their -fortunes, you know,--even Miss Maurice can scarcely be trusted for what -I call a reliable report of Caterham." - -"It's the interest we take in him, dear Lady Beauport, that keeps us -constantly on the _qui vive_. He's such a tremendously lovable old -fellow, that we're all specially careful about him;" and Algy's hand -went round to the back of Caterham's sofa and his eyes glistened as -before. - -"Of course," said Lady Beauport, still in her hard dry voice. -"With care, every thing may be done. There's Alice Wentworth, Lady -Broughton's grand-daughter, was sent away in the autumn to Torquay, and -they all declared she could not live. And I saw her last night at the -French embassy, well and strong, and dancing away as hard as any girl -in the room. It's a great pity you couldn't have gone to the embassy -last night, Arthur; you'd have enjoyed it very much." - -"Do you think so, mother?" said Caterham with a sad smile. "I scarcely -think it would have amused me, or that they would have cared much to -have me there." - -"O, I don't know; the Duchess de St. Lazare asked after you very -kindly, and so did the Viscomte, who is--" and Lady Beauport stopped -short. - -"Yes, I know--who is a cripple also," said Caterham quietly. "But he -is only lame; he can get about by himself. But if I had gone, I should -have wanted Algy here to carry me on his back." - -"Gad, dear old boy, if carrying you on my back would do you any good, -or help you to get about to any place you wanted to go to, I'd do it -fast enough; give you a regular Derby canter over any course you like -to name." - -"I know you would, Algy, old friend. You see every one is very kind, -and I am doing very well indeed, though I'm scarcely in condition for -a ball at the French embassy.--By the way, mother, did you not want to -speak to Barford about something?" - -"I did, indeed," said Lady Beauport. "I have heard just now, Mr. -Barford, that old Mr. Ampthill died last night?" - -"Perfectly true, Lady Beauport. I myself had the same information." - -"But you heard nothing further?" - -"Nothing at all, except that the poor old gentleman, after a curious -eccentric life, made a quiet commonplace end, dying peacefully and -happily." - -"Yes, yes; but you heard nothing about the way in which his property is -left, I suppose?" - -"Not one syllable. He was very wealthy, was he not?" - -"My husband says that the Boxwood property was worth from twelve -to fifteen thousand a-year; but I imagine this is rather an -under-estimate. I wonder whether there is any chance for--what I talked -to you about the other day." - -"Impossible to say, dear Lady Beauport," said Algy, with an awkward -glance at Caterham, which Lady Beauport observed. - -"O, you needn't mind Caterham one bit, Mr. Barford. Any thing which -would do good to poor Lionel I'm sure you'd be glad of wouldn't you, -Arthur?" - -"Any thing that would do him good, yes." - -"Of course; and to be Mr. Ampthill's heir would do him a great deal -of good. It is that Mr. Barford and I are discussing. Mr. Barford was -good enough to speak to me some time ago, when it was first expected -that Mr. Ampthill's illness would prove dangerous, and to suggest that, -as poor Lionel had always been a favourite with the old gentleman, -something might be done for him, perhaps, there being so few relations. -I spoke to your father, who called two or three times in Curzon Street, -and always found Mr. Ampthill very civil and polite, but he never -mentioned Lionel's name. - -"That did not look particularly satisfactory, did it?" asked Algy. - -"Well, it would have looked bad in any one else; but with such an -extremely eccentric person as Mr. Ampthill, I really cannot say I -think so. He was just one of those oddities who would carefully -refrain from mentioning the person about whom their thoughts were most -occupied.--I cannot talk to your father about this matter, Arthur; he -is so dreadfully set against poor Lionel, that he will not listen to -a word.--But I need not tell you, Mr. Barford, I myself am horribly -anxious." - -Perfectly appreciating Lord Beauport's anger; conscious that it was -fully shared by Caterham; with tender recollections of Lionel, whom he -had known from childhood; and with a desire to say something pleasant -to Lady Beauport, all Algy Barford could ejaculate was, "Of course, of -course." - -"I hear that old Mr. Trivett the lawyer was with him two or three times -about a month ago, which looks as if he had been making his will. I met -Mr. Trivett at the Dunsinanes in the autumn, and at Beauport's request -was civil to him. I would not mind asking him to dine here one day this -week, if I thought it would be of any use." - -Caterham looked very grave; but Algy Barford gave a great laugh, and -seemed immensely amused. "How do you mean 'of any use,' Lady Beauport? -You don't think you would get any information out of old Trivett, do -you? He's the deadest hand at a secret in the world. He never lets -out any thing. If you ask him what it is o'clock, you have to dig the -information out of him with a ripping-chisel. O, no; it's not the -smallest use trying to learn anything from Mr. Trivett." - -"Is there, then, no means of finding out what the will contains?" - -"No, mother," interrupted Caterham; "none at all. You must wait until -the will is read, after the funeral; or perhaps till you see a _résumé_ -of it in the illustrated papers." - -"You are very odd, Arthur," said Lady Beauport; "really sometimes you -would seem to have forgotten the usages of society.--I appeal to you, -Mr. Barford. Is what Lord Caterham says correct? Is there no other way -of learning what I want to know?" - -"Dear Lady Beauport, I fear there is none." - -"Very well, then; I must be patient and wait. But there's no harm in -speculating how the money could be left. Who did Mr. Ampthill know now? -There was Mrs. Macraw, widow of a dissenting minister, who used to read -to him; and there was his physician, Sir Charles Dumfunk: I shouldn't -wonder if he had a legacy." - -"And there was Algernon Barford, commonly known as the Honourable -Algernon Barford, who used to dine with the old gentleman half-a-dozen -times every season, and who had the honour of being called a very good -fellow by him." - -"O, Algy, I hope he has left you his fortune," said Caterham warmly. -"There's no one in the world would spend it to better purpose." - -"Well," said Lady Beauport, "I will leave you now.--I know I may depend -upon you, Mr. Barford, to give me the very first news on this important -subject." - -Algy Barford bowed, rose, and opened the door to let Lady Beauport pass -out. As she walked by him, she gave him a look which made him follow -her and close the door behind him. - -"I didn't like to say any thing before Caterham," she said, "who is, -you know, very odd and queer, and seems to have taken quite a singular -view of poor Lionel's conduct. But the fact is, that, after the last -time you spoke to me, I--I thought it best to write to Lionel, to tell -him that--" and she hesitated. - -"To tell him what, Lady Beauport?" asked Algy, resolutely determined -not to help her in the least. - -"To tell him to come back to us--to me--to his mother!" said Lady -Beauport, with a sudden access of passion. "I cannot live any longer -without my darling son! I have told Beauport this. What does it signify -that he has been unfortunate--wicked if you will! How many others have -been the same! And our influence could get him something somewhere, -even if this inheritance should not be his. O my God! only to see him -again! My darling boy! my own darling handsome boy!" - -Ah, how many years since Gertrude, Countess of Beauport, had allowed -real, natural, hot, blinding tears to course down her cheeks! The -society people, who only knew her as the calmest, most collected, most -imperious woman amongst them, would hardly recognise this palpitating -frame, those tear-blurred features. The sight completely finishes -Algy Barford, already very much upset by the news which Lady Beauport -has communicated, and he can only proffer a seat, and suggest that he -should fetch a glass of sherry. Lady Beauport, her burst of passion -over, recovers all her usual dignity, presses Algy's hand, lays her -finger on her lip to enjoin silence, and sails along as unbending -as before. Algy Barford, still dazed by the tidings he has heard, -goes back to Caterham's room, to find his friend lying with his -eyes half-closed, meditating over the recent discussion. Caterham -scarcely seemed to have noticed Algy's absence; for he said, as if in -continuance of the conversation: "And do _you_ think this money will -come to Lionel, Algy?" - -"I can scarcely tell, dear old boy. It's on the cards, but the betting -is heavily against it. However, we shall know in a very few days." - - -In a very few days they did know. The funeral, to which Earl Beauport -and Algy Barford were invited, and which they attended, was over and -Mr. Trivett had requested them to return with him in the mourning-coach -to Curzon Street. There, in the jolly little dining-room, which had so -often enshrined the hospitality of the quaint, eccentric, warm-hearted -old gentleman whose earthly remains they had left behind them at -Kensal Green, after some cake and wine, old Mr. Trivett took from a -blue bag, which had been left there for him by his clerk, the will -of the deceased, and putting on his blue-steel spectacles, commenced -reading it aloud. The executors appointed were George Earl Beauport -and Algernon Barford, and to each of them was bequeathed a legacy of a -thousand pounds. To Algernon Barford, "a good fellow, who, I know, will -spend it like a gentleman," was also left a thousand pounds. There were -legacies of five hundred pounds each "to John Saunders, my faithful -valet, and to Rebecca, his wife, my cook and housekeeper." There was a -legacy of one hundred pounds to the librarian of the Minerva Club, "to -whom I have given much trouble." The library of books, the statues, -pictures, and curios were bequeathed to "my cousin Arthur, Viscount -Caterham, the only member of my family who can appreciate them;" and -"the entire residue of my fortune, my estate at Boxwood, money standing -in the funds and other securities, plate, wines, carriages, horses, and -all my property, to Anna, only daughter of my second cousin, the late -Ralph Ampthill Maurice, Esq., formerly of the Priory, Willesden, whom I -name my residuary legatee." - - - - -CHAPTER X. -LADY BEAUPORT'S PLOT. - - -Yes; little Annie Maurice, Lady Beauport's companion, was the heiress -of the rich and eccentric Mr. Ampthill, so long known in society. The -fact was a grand thing for the paragraph-mongers and the diners-out, -all of whom distorted it in every possible way, and told the most -inconceivable lies about it. That Annie was Mr. Ampthill's natural -daughter, and had been left on a doorstep, and was adopted by Lady -Beauport, who had found her in an orphan-asylum; that Mr. Ampthill -had suddenly determined upon leaving all his property to the first -person he might meet on a certain day, and that Annie Maurice was the -fortunate individual; that the will had been made purposely to spite -Lady Beauport, with whom Mr. Ampthill, when a young man, had been -madly in love--all these rumours went the round of the gossip-columns -of the journals and of Society's dinner-parties. Other stories there -were, perhaps a little nearer to truth, which explained that it was not -until after Lionel Brakespere's last escapade he had been disinherited; -indeed, that Parkinson of Thavies Inn and Scadgers of Berners Street -had looked upon his inheritance as such a certainty, that they had made -considerable advances on the strength of it, and would be heavily hit: -while a rumour, traceable to the old gentleman's housekeeper, stated -that Annie Maurice was the only one of Mr. Ampthill's connections who -had never fawned on him, flattered him, or in any way intrigued for his -favour. - -Be this as it might, the fact remained that Annie was now the possessor -of a large fortune, and consequently a person of great importance -to all her friends and acquaintance--a limited number, but quite -sufficient to discuss her rise in life with every kind of asperity. -They wondered how she would bear it; whether she would give herself -airs; how soon, and to what member of the peerage, she would be -married. How _did_ she bear it? When Lord Beauport sent for her to his -study, after Mr. Ampthill's funeral, and told her what he had heard, -she burst into tears; which was weak, but not unnatural. Then, with her -usual straightforward common-sense, she set about forming her plans. -She had never seen her benefactor, so that even Mrs. Grundy herself -could scarcely have called on Annie to affect sorrow for his loss; and -indeed remarks were made by Mr. Ampthill's old butler and housekeeper -(who, being provided with mourning out of the estate, were as black and -as shiny as a couple of old rooks) about the very mitigated grief which -Annie chose to exhibit in her attire. - -Then as to her mode of life. For the present, at least, she determined -to make no change in it. She said so at once to Lord Beauport, -expressing an earnest hope that she should be allowed to remain under -his roof, where she had been so happy, until she had settled how and -where she should live; and Lord Beauport replied that it would give -him--and he was sure he might speak for Lady Beauport the greatest -pleasure to have Miss Maurice with them. He brought a message to that -effect from Lady Beauport, who had one of her dreadful neuralgic -attacks, and could see no one, but who sent her kind love to Miss -Maurice, and her heartiest congratulations, and hoped that Miss Maurice -would remain with them as long as she pleased. The servants of the -house, who heard of the good fortune of "the young lady," rejoiced -greatly at it, and suggested that miss would go hout of this at once, -and leave my lady to grump about in that hold carriage by herself. They -were greatly astonished, therefore, the next morning to find Annie -seated at the nine-o'clock breakfast-table, preparing Lady Beauport's -chocolate, and dressed just as usual. They had expected that the -first sign of her independence would be lying in bed till noon, and -then appearing in a gorgeous wrapper, such as the ladies in the penny -romances always wore in the mornings; and they could only account for -her conduct by supposing that she had to give a month's warning and -must work out her time. Lady Beauport herself was astonished when, the -necessity for the neuralgic attack being over, she found Annie coming -to ask her, as usual, what letters she required written, and whether -she should pay any calls for her ladyship. Lady Beauport delicately -remonstrated; but Annie declared that she would infinitely prefer doing -exactly as she had been accustomed to, so long as she should remain in -the house. - -So long as she should remain in the house! That was exactly the point -on which Lady Beauport was filled with hope and dread. Her ladyship -had been cruelly disappointed in Mr. Ampthill's will. She had suffered -herself to hope against hope, and to shut her eyes to all unfavourable -symptoms. The old gentleman had taken so much notice of Lionel when -a boy, had spoken so warmly of him, had made so much of him, that he -could not fail to make him his heir. In vain had Lord Beauport spoken -to her more plainly than was his wont, pointing out that Lionel's was -no venial crime; that Mr. Ampthill probably had heard of it, inasmuch -as he never afterwards mentioned the young man's name; that however -his son's position might be reinstated before the world, the act could -never be forgotten. In vain Algy Barford shook his head, and Caterham -preserved a gloomy silence worse than any speech. Lady Beauport's hopes -did not desert her until she heard the actual and final announcement. -Almost simultaneously with this came Lord Beauport with Annie's request -that she should be permitted to continue an inmate of the house; and -immediately Lady Beauport conceived and struck out a new plan of -action. The heritage was lost to Lionel; but the heiress was Annie -Maurice, a girl domiciled with them, clinging to them; unlikely, at -least for the few ensuing months, to go into the world, to give the -least chance to any designing fortune-hunter. And Lionel was coming -home! His mother was certain that the letter which she had written -to him on the first news of Mr. Ampthill's illness would induce him, -already sick of exile, to start for England. He would arrive soon, and -then the season would be over; they would all go away to Homershams, -or one of Beauport's places; they would not have any company for some -time, and Lionel would be thrown into Annie Maurice's society; and it -would be hard if he, with his handsome face, his fascinating manners, -and his experience of women and the world, were not able to make an -easy conquest of this simple quiet young girl, and thus to secure the -fortune which his mother had originally expected for him. - -Such was Lady Beauport's day-dream now, and to its realisation she gave -up every thought, in reference to it she planned every action. It has -already been stated that she had always treated Annie with respect, -and even with regard: so that the idea of patronage, the notion of -behaving to her companion in any thing but the spirit of a lady, had -never entered her mind. But now there was an amount of affectionate -interest mingled with her regard which Annie could not fail to perceive -and to be gratified with. All was done in the most delicate manner. -Lady Beauport never forgot the lady in the _intrigante_; her advances -were of the subtlest kind; her hints were given and allusions were -made in the most guarded manner. She accepted Annie's assistance as -her amanuensis, and she left to her the usual colloquies on domestic -matters with the housekeeper, because she saw that Annie wished it to -be so; and she still drove out with her in the carriage, only insisting -that Annie should sit by her side instead of opposite on the back-seat. -And instead of the dignified silence of the employer, only speaking -when requiring an answer, Lady Beauport would keep up a perpetual -conversation, constantly recurring to the satisfaction it gave her to -have Annie still with her. "I declare I don't know what I should have -done if you had left me, Annie!" she would say. "I'm sure it was the -mere thought of having to lie left by myself, or to the tender mercies -of somebody who knew nothing about me, that gave me that last frightful -attack of neuralgia. You see I am an old woman now; and though the -Carringtons are proverbially strong and long-lived, yet I have lost -all my elasticity of spirit, and feel I could not shape myself to any -person's way now. And poor Caterham too! I cannot think how he would -ever get on without you. You seem now to be an essential part of his -life. Poor Caterham! Ah, how I wish you had seen my other son, my boy -Lionel! Such a splendid fellow; so handsome! Ah, Lord Beauport was -dreadfully severe on him, poor fellow, that night,--you recollect, when -he had you and Caterham in to tell you about poor Lionel; as though -young men would not be always young men. Poor Lionel!" Poor Lionel! -that was the text of Lady Beauport's discourse whenever she addressed -herself to Annie Maurice. - -It was not to be supposed that Annie's change of fortune had not a -great effect upon Lord Caterham. When he first heard of it--from Algy -Barford, who came direct to him from the reading of the will--he -rejoiced that at least her future was secure; that, come what might -to him or his parents, there would be a provision for her; that no -chance of her being reduced to want, or of her having to consult the -prejudices of other people, and to perform a kind of genteel servitude -with any who could not appreciate her worth could now arise. But with -this feeling another soon mingled. Up to that time she had been all in -all to him--to him; simply because to the outside world she was nobody, -merely Lady Beauport's companion, about whom none troubled themselves; -now she was Miss Maurice the heiress, and in a very different position. -They could not hope to keep her to themselves; they could not hope to -keep her free from the crowd of mercenary adorers always looking out -for every woman with money whom they might devour. In her own common -sense lay her strongest safeguard; and that, although reliable on all -ordinary occasions, had never been exposed to so severe a trial as -flattery and success. Were not the schemers already plotting? even -within the citadel was there not a traitor? Algy Barford had kept his -trust, and had not betrayed one word of what Lady Beauport had told -him; but from stray expressions dropped now and again, and from the -general tenor of his mother's behaviour, Lord Caterham saw plainly -what she was endeavouring to bring about. On that subject his mind was -made up. He had such thorough confidence in Annie's goodness, in her -power of discrimination between right and wrong, that he felt certain -that she could never bring herself to love his brother Lionel, however -handsome his face, however specious his manner; but if, woman-like, she -should give way and follow her inclination rather than her reason, then -he determined to talk to her plainly and openly, and to do every thing -in his power to prevent the result on which his mother had set her -heart. - -There was not a scrap of selfishness in all this. However deeply -Arthur Caterham loved Annie Maurice, the hope of making her his had -never for an instant arisen in his breast. He knew too well that a -mysterious decree of Providence had shut him out from the roll of those -who are loved by woman, save in pity or sympathy; and it was with a -feeling of relief, rather than regret, that of late--within the last -few months--he had felt an inward presentiment that his commerce with -Life was almost at an end, that his connection with that Vanity Fair, -through which he had been wheeled as a spectator, but in the occupation -or amusement of which he had never participated, was about to cease. He -loved her so dearly, that the thought of her future was always before -him, and caused him infinite anxiety. Worst of all, there was no one of -whom he could make a confidant amongst his acquaintance. Algy Barford -would do any thing; but he was a bachelor, which would incapacitate -him, and by far too easy-going, trouble-hating, and unimpressive. Who -else was there? Ah, a good thought!--that man Ludlow, the artist; an -old friend of Annie's, for whom she had so great a regard. He was not -particularly strong-minded out of his profession; but his devotion to -his child-friend was undoubted; and besides, he was a man of education -and common sense, rising, too, to a position which would insure his -being heard. He would talk with Ludlow about Annie's future; so he -wrote off to Geoffrey by the next post, begging him to come and see him -as soon as possible. Yes, he could look at it all quite steadily now. -Heaven knows, life to him had been no such happiness as to make its -surrender painful or difficult It was only as he neared his journey's -end, he thought, that any light had been shed upon his path, and when -that should be extinguished he would have no heart to go further. No: -let the end come, as he knew it was coming, swiftly and surely; only -let him think that _her_ future was secured, and he could die more than -contented--happy. - -Her future secured! ah, that he should not live to see! It could not, -must not be by a marriage with Lionel. His mother had never broached -that subject openly to him, and therefore he had hitherto felt a -delicacy in alluding to it in conversation with her; but he would -before--well, he would in time. Not that he had much fear of Annie's -succumbing to his brother's fascinations; he rated her too highly for -that. It was not--and he took up a photographic album which lay on his -table, as the idea passed through his mind--it was not that careless -reckless expression, that easy insolent pose, which would have any -effect on Annie Maurice's mental constitution. Those who imagine that -women are enslaved through their eyes--true women--women worth winning -at least--are horribly mistaken, he thought, and--And then at that -instant he turned the page and came upon a photograph of himself, in -which the artist had done his best so far as arrangement went, but -which was so fatally truthful in its display of his deformity, that -Lord Caterham closed the book with a shudder, and sunk back on his -couch. - -His painful reverie was broken by the entrance of Stephens, who -announced that Mr. and Mrs. Ludlow were waiting to see his master. -Caterham, who was unprepared for a visit from Mrs. Ludlow, gave orders -that they should be at once admitted. Mrs. Ludlow came in leaning on -her husband's arm, and looking so pale and interesting, that Caterham -at once recollected the event he had seen announced in the _Times_, and -began to apologise. - -"My dear Mrs. Ludlow, what a horrible wretch I am to have asked your -husband to come and see me, when of course he was fully occupied at -home attending to you and the baby!" Then they both laughed; and Geoff -said: - -"This is her first day out, Lord Caterham; but I had promised to take -her for a drive; and as you wanted to see me, I thought that--" - -"That the air of St. Barnabas Square, the fresh breezes from the -Thames, and the cheerful noise of the embankment-people, would be about -the best thing for an invalid, eh?" - -"Well--scarcely! but that as it was only stated that my wife should go -for a quiet drive, I, who have neither the time nor the opportunity for -such things, might utilise the occasion by complying with the request -of a gentleman who has proved himself deserving of my respect." - -"A hit! a very palpable hit, Mr. Ludlow!" said Caterham. "I bow, -and--as the common phrase goes--am sorry I spoke. But we must not talk -business when you have brought Mrs. Ludlow out for amusement." - -"O, pray don't think of me, Lord Caterham," said Margaret; "I can -always amuse myself." - -"O, of course; the mere recollection of baby would keep you -sufficiently employed--at least, so you would have us believe. But -I'm an old bachelor, and discredit such things. So there's a book of -photographs for you to amuse yourself with while we talk.--Now, Mr. -Ludlow, for our conversation. Since we met, your old friend Annie -Maurice has inherited a very large property." - -"So I have heard, to my great surprise and delight. But I live so much -out of the world that I scarcely knew whether it was true, and had -determined to ask you the first time I should see you." - -"O, it's thoroughly true. She is the heiress of old Mr. Ampthill, -who was a second cousin of her father's. But it was about her future -career, as heiress of all this property, that I wanted to speak to you, -you see.--I beg your pardon, Mrs. Ludlow, what did you say?" - -Her face was dead white, her lips trembled, and it was with great -difficulty she said any thing at all; but she did gasp out, "Who is -this?" - -"That," said Lord Caterham, bending over the book; "O, that is the -portrait of my younger brother, Lionel Brakespere; he--" but Caterham -stopped short in his explanation, for Mrs. Ludlow fell backward in a -swoon. - -And every one afterwards said that it was very thoughtless of her to -take such a long drive so soon after her confinement. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. -CONJECTURES. - - -Miss Maurice was not in the house when Geoffrey Ludlow and his wife -made that visit to Lord Caterham which had so plainly manifested -Margaret's imprudence and inexperience. The housekeeper and one of the -housemaids had come to the assistance of the gentlemen, both equally -alarmed and one at least calculated to be, of all men living, the most -helpless under the circumstances. Geoffrey was "awfully frightened," as -he told her afterwards, when Margaret fainted. - -"I shall never forget the whiteness of your face, my darling, and the -dreadful sealed look of your eyelids. I thought in a moment that was -how you would look if you were dead; and what should I do if I ever had -to see _that_ sight!" - -This loving speech Geoffrey made to his wife as they drove -homewards,--she pale, silent, and coldly abstracted; he full of tender -anxiety for her comfort and apprehension for her health,--sentiments -which rendered him, to say the truth, rather a trying companion in a -carriage; for he was constantly pulling the glasses up and down, fixing -them a button-hole higher or lower, rearranging the blinds, and giving -the coachman contradictory orders. These proceedings were productive of -no apparent annoyance to Margaret, who lay back against the cushions -with eyes open and moody, and her underlip caught beneath her teeth. -She maintained unbroken silence until they reached home, and then -briefly telling Geoffrey that she was going to her room to lie down, -she left him. - -"She's not strong," said Geoffrey, as he proceeded to -disembarrass himself of his outdoor attire, and to don his -"working-clothes,"--"she's not strong; and it's very odd she's not more -cheerful. I thought the child would have made it all right; but perhaps -it will when she's stronger." And Geoff sighed as he went to his work, -and sighed again once or twice as he pursued it. - -Meanwhile Lord Caterham was thinking over the startling incident which -had just occurred. He was an observant man naturally, and the enforced -inaction of his life had increased this tendency; while his long -and deep experience of physical suffering and weakness had rendered -him acutely alive to any manifestations of a similar kind in other -people. Mrs. Ludlow's fainting-fit puzzled him. She had been looking -so remarkably well when she came in; there had been nothing feverish, -nothing suggestive of fictitious strength or over-exertion in her -appearance; no feebleness in her manner or languor in the tone of her -voice. The suddenness and completeness of the swoon were strange,--were -so much beyond the ordinary faintness which a drive undertaken a -little too soon might be supposed to produce,--and the expression of -Margaret's face, when she had recovered her consciousness, was so -remarkable, that Lord Caterham felt instinctively the true origin of -her illness had not been that assigned to it. - -"She looked half-a-dozen years older," he thought; "and the few words -she said were spoken as if she were in a dream. I must be more mistaken -than I have ever been, or there is something very wrong about that -woman. And what a good fellow he is!--what a simple-hearted blundering -kind fellow! How wonderful his blindness is! I saw in a moment how he -loved her, how utterly uninterested she is in him and his affairs. I -hope there may be nothing worse than lack of interest; but I am afraid, -very much afraid for Ludlow." - -And then Lord Caterham's thoughts wandered away from the artist and his -beautiful wife to that other subject which occupied them so constantly, -and with which every other cogitation or contemplation contrived to -mingle itself in an unaccountable manner, on which he did not care -to reason, and against which he did not attempt to strive. What did -it matter now? He might be ever so much engrossed, and no effort at -self-control or self-conquest would be called for; the feelings he -cherished unchecked could not harm any one--could not harm himself now. -There was great relief; great peace in that thought,--no strife for him -to enter on, no struggle in which his suffering body and weary mind -must engage. The end would be soon with him now; and while he waited -for it, he might love this bright young girl with all the power of his -heart. - -So Lord Caterham lay quite still upon the couch on which they had -placed Margaret when she fainted, and thought over all he had intended -to say to Geoffrey, and must now seek another opportunity of saying, -and turned over in his mind sundry difficulties which he began to -foresee in the way of his cherished plan, and which would probably -arise in the direction of Mrs. Ludlow. Annie and Margaret had not -hitherto seen much of each other, as has already appeared; and there -was something ominous in the occurrence of that morning which troubled -Lord Caterham's mind and disturbed his preconcerted arrangements. If -trouble--trouble of some unknown kind, but, as he intuitively felt, -of a serious nature--were hanging over Geoffrey Ludlow's head, what -was to become of his guardianship of Annie in the future,--that future -which Lord Caterham felt was drawing so near; that future which would -find her without a friend, and would leave her exposed to countless -flatterers. He was pondering upon these things when Annie entered the -room, bright and blooming, after her drive in the balmy summer air, and -carrying a gorgeous bouquet of crimson roses. - -She was followed by Stephens, carrying two tall Venetian glasses. He -placed them on a table, and then withdrew. - -"Look, Arthur," said Annie; "we've been to Fulham, and I got these fresh -cut, all for your own self, at the nursery-gardens. None of those -horrid formal tied-up bouquets for you, or for me either, with the -buds stuck on with wires, and nasty fluffy bits of cotton sticking to -the leaves. I went round with the man, and made him cut each rose as I -pointed it out; and they're such beauties, Arthur! Here's one for you -to wear and smell and spoil; but the others I'm going to keep fresh for -ever so long." - -She went over to the couch and gave him the rose, a rich crimson -full-formed flower, gorgeous in colour and exquisite in perfume. He -took it with a smile and held it in his hand. - -"Why don't you put it in your button-hole, Lord Caterham?" said Annie, -with a pretty air of pettishness which became her well. - -"Why?" said Lord Caterham. "Do you think I am exactly the style of -man to wear posies and breast-knots, little Annie?" His tone was sad -through its playfulness. - -"Nonsense, Arthur," she began; "you--" Then she looked at him, and -stopped suddenly, and her face changed. "Have you been worse to-day? -You look very pale. Have you been in pain? Did you want me?" - -"No, no, my child," said Lord Caterham; "I am just as usual. Go on -with your flowers, Annie,--settle them up, lest they fade. They are -beautiful indeed, and we'll keep them as long as we can." - -She was not reassured, and she still stood and gazed earnestly at him. - -"I am all right, Annie,--I am indeed. My head is even easier than -usual. But some one has been ill, if I haven't. Your friends the -Ludlows were here to-day. Did no one tell you as you came in?" - -"No, I did not see any one; I left my bonnet in the ante-room and -came straight in here. I only called to Stephens to bring the -flower-glasses. Was Mrs. Ludlow ill, Arthur? Did she come to see me?" - -"I don't think so--she only came, I think, because I wanted to see -Ludlow, and he took advantage of the circumstance to have a drive with -her. Have you seen her since the child was born?" - -"No, I called, but only to inquire. But was she ill? What happened?" - -"Well, she was ill--she fainted. Ludlow and I were just beginning to -talk, and, at her own request, leaving her to amuse herself with the -photographs and things lying about--and she had just asked me some -trifling question, something about Lionel's portrait--whose it was, I -think--when she suddenly fainted. I don't think there could be a more -complete swoon; she really looked as though she were dead." - -"What did you do? was Geoffrey frightened?" - -"Yes, we were both frightened. Stephens came, and two of the women. -Ludlow was terrified; but she soon recovered, and she would persist in -going home, though I tried to persuade her to wait until you returned. -But she would not listen to it, and went away with Ludlow in a dreadful -state of mind; he thinks he made her take the drive too soon, and is -frightfully penitent." - -"Well but, Arthur," said Annie, seriously and anxiously, "I suppose he -did. It must have been that which knocked her up. She has no mother or -sister with her, you know, to tell her about these things." - -"My dear Annie," said Lord Caterham, "she has a doctor and a nurse, -I suppose; and she has common-sense, and knows how she feels, -herself--does she not? She looked perfectly well when she came in, and -handsomer than when I saw her before--and I don't believe the drive had -any thing to do with the fainting-fit." - -Miss Maurice looked at Lord Caterham in great surprise. His manner and -tone were serious, and her feelings, easily roused when her old friend -was concerned, were excited now to apprehension. She left off arranging -the roses; she dried her finger-tips on her handkerchief, and placing -a chair close beside Caterham's couch, she sat down and asked him -anxiously to explain his meaning. - -"I can't do that very well, Annie," he said, "for I am not certain -of what it is; but of this I am certain, my first impression of Mrs. -Ludlow is correct. There is something wrong about her, and Ludlow is -ignorant of it. All I said to you that day is more fully confirmed in -my mind now. There is some dark secret in the past of her life, and the -secret in the present is, that she lives in that past, and does not -love her husband." - -"Poor Geoffrey," said Annie, in whose eyes tears were standing--"poor -Geoffrey, and how dearly he loves her!" - -"Yes," said Lord Caterham, "that's the worst of it; that, and his -unsuspiciousness,--he does not see what the most casual visitor to -their house sees; he does not perceive the weariness of spirit that -is the first thing, next to her beauty, which every one with common -perception must recognise. She takes no pains--she does not make the -least attempt to hide it. Why, to-day, when she recovered, when her -eyes opened--such gloomy eyes they were!--and Ludlow was kneeling -here,"--he pointed down beside the couch he lay on--"bending over -her,--did she look up at him?--did she meet the gaze fixed on her and -smile, or try to smile, to comfort and reassure him? Not she: I was -watching her; she just opened her eyes and let them wander round, -turned her head from him, and let it fall against the side of the couch -as if she never cared to lift it more." - -"Poor Geoffrey!" said Annie again; this time with a sob. - -"Yes, indeed, Annie," he went on; "I pity him, as much as I mistrust -her. He has never told you any thing about her antecedents, has -he?--and I suppose she has not been more communicative?" - -"No," replied Annie; "I know nothing more than I have told you. She has -always been the same when I have seen her--trying, I thought, to seem -and be happier than at first, but very languid still. Geoffrey said -sometimes that she was rather out of spirits, but he seemed to think it -was only delicate health--and I hoped so too, though I could not help -fearing you were right in all you said that day. O, Arthur, isn't it -hard to think of Geoffrey loving her so much, and working so hard, and -getting so poor a return?" - -"It is indeed, Annie," said Lord Caterham, with a strange wistful -look at her; "it is very hard. But I fear there are harder things -than that in store for Ludlow. He is not conscious of the extent of -his misfortune, if even he knows of its existence at all. I fear the -time is coming when he must know all there is to be known, whatever -it may be. That woman has a terrible secret in her life, Annie, and -the desperate weariness within her--how she let it show when she was -recovering from the swoon!--will force it into the light of day before -long. Her dreary quietude is the calm before the storm." - -"I suppose I had better write this evening and inquire for her," said -Annie, after a pause; "and propose to call on her. It will gratify -Geoffrey." - -"Do so," said Lord Caterham; "I will write to Ludlow myself." - -Annie wrote her kind little letter, and duly received a reply. Mrs. -Ludlow was much better, but still rather weak, and did not feel quite -able to receive Miss Maurice's kindly-proffered visit just at present. - -"I am very glad indeed of that, Annie," said Lord Caterham, to whom she -showed the note; "you cannot possibly do Ludlow any good, my child; and -something tells me that the less you see of her the better." - -For some days following that on which the incident and the conversation -just recorded took place, Lord Caterham was unable to make his intended -request to Geoffrey Ludlow that the latter would call upon him, that -they might renew their interrupted conversation. One of those crises in -the long struggle which he maintained with disease and pain, in which -entire prostration produced a kind of truce, had come upon him; and -silence, complete inaction, and almost a suspension of his faculties, -marked its duration. The few members of the household who had access -to him were familiar with this phase of his condition; and on this -occasion it attracted no more notice than usual, except from Annie, who -remarked additional gravity in the manner of the physician, and who -perceived that the state of exhaustion of the patient lasted longer, -and when he rallied was succeeded by less complete restoration to even -his customary condition than before. She mentioned these results of -her close observation to Lady Beauport; but the countess paid very -little attention to the matter, assuring Annie that she knew Caterham -much too well to be frightened; that he would do very well if there -were no particular fuss made about him; and that all doctors were -alarmists, and said dreadful things to increase their own importance. -Annie would have called her attention to the extenuating circumstance -that Lord Caterham's medical attendant had not said any thing at all, -and that she had merely interpreted his looks; but Lady Beauport was so -anxious to tell her something illustrative of "poor Lionel's" beauty, -grace, daring, or dash--no matter which or what--that Annie found it -impossible to get in another word. - -A day or two later, when Lord Caterham had rallied a good deal, and -was able to listen to Annie as she read to him, and while she was so -engaged, and he was looking at her with the concentrated earnestness -she remarked so frequently in his gaze of late,--Algy Barford was -announced. Algy had been constantly at the house to inquire for Lord -Caterham; but to-day Stephens had felt sure his master would be able -and glad to see Algy. Every body liked that genial soul, and servants -in particular--a wonderful test of popularity and its desert. He came -in very quietly, and he and Annie exchanged greetings cordially. She -liked him also. After he had spoken cheerily to Caterham, and called -him "dear old boy" at least a dozen times in as many sentences, the -conversation was chiefly maintained between him and Miss Maurice. She -did not think much talking would do for Arthur just then, and she made -no movement towards leaving the room, as was her usual custom. Algy was -a little subdued in tone and spirits: it was impossible even to him to -avoid seeing that Caterham was looking much more worn and pale than -usual; and he was a bad hand at disguising a painful impression, so -that he was less fluent and discursive than was his wont, and decidedly -ill at ease. - -"How is your painting getting on, Miss Maurice?" he said, when a pause -became portentous. - -"She has been neglecting it in my favour," said Lord Caterham. "She has -not even finished the portrait you admired so much, Algy." - -"O!--ah!--'The Muse of Painting,' wasn't it? It is a pity not to finish -it, Miss Maurice. I think you would never succeed better than in that -case,--you admire the original so much." - -"Yes," said Annie, with rather an uneasy glance towards Caterham, "she -is really beautiful. Arthur thinks her quite as wonderful as I do; -but I have not seen her lately--she has been ill. By the bye, Arthur, -Geoffrey Ludlow wrote to me yesterday inquiring for you; and only think -what he says!--'I hope my wife's illness did not upset Lord Caterham; -but I am afraid it did." Annie had taken a note from the pocket of her -apron, andread these words in a laughing voice. - -"Hopes his wife's illness did not upset Lord Caterham!" repeated Algy -Barford in a tone of whimsical amazement. "What may that mean, dear -old boy? Why are you supposed to be upset by the peerless lady of the -unspeakable eyes and the unapproachable hair?" - -Annie laughed, and Caterham smiled as he replied, "Only because Mrs. -Ludlow fainted here in this room very suddenly, and very 'dead,' one -day lately; and as Mrs. Ludlow's fainting was a terrible shock to -Ludlow, he concludes that it was also a terrible shock to me,--that's -all." - -"Well, but," said Algy, apparently seized with an unaccountable access -of curiosity, "why did Mrs. Ludlow faint? and what brought her here to -faint in your room?" - -"It was inconsiderate, I confess," said Caterham, still smiling; "but I -don't think she meant it. The fact is, I had asked Ludlow to come and -see me; and he brought his wife; and--and she has not been well, and -the drive was too much for her, I suppose. At all events, Ludlow and I -were talking, and not minding her particularly, when she said something -to me, and I turned round and saw her looking deadly pale, and before I -could answer her she fainted." - -"Right off?" asked Algy, with an expression of dismay so ludicrous that -Annie could not resist it, and laughed outright. - -"Right off, indeed," answered Caterham; "down went the photograph-book -on the floor, and down she would have gone if Ludlow had been a second -later, or an inch farther away! Yes; it was a desperate case, I assure -you. How glad you must feel that you wer'n't here, Algy,--eh? What -would you have done now? Resorted to the bellows, like the Artful -Dodger, or twisted her thumbs, according to the famous prescription of -Mrs. Gamp?" - -But Algy did not laugh, much to Lord Caterham's amusement, who believed -him to be overwhelmed by the horrid picture his imagination conjured up -of the position of the two gentlemen under the circumstances. - -"But," said Algy, with perfect gravity, "why did she faint? What did -she say? People don't tumble down in a dead faint because they're a -little tired, dear old boy--do they?" - -"Perhaps not in general, Algy, but it looks like it in Mrs. Ludlow's -case. All I can tell you is that the faint was perfectly genuine and -particularly 'dead,' and that there was no cause for it, beyond the -drive and the fatigue of looking over the photographs in that book. I -am very tired of photographs myself, and I suppose most people are the -same, but I haven't quite come to fainting over them yet." - -Algy Barford's stupefaction had quite a rousing effect on Lord -Caterham, and Annie Maurice liked him and his odd ways more than ever. -He made some trifling remark in reply to Caterham's speech, and took an -early opportunity of minutely inspecting the photograph-book which he -had mentioned. - -"So," said Algy to himself, as he walked slowly down St. Barnabas -Square; "she goes to see Caterham, and faints at sight of dear -old Lionel's portrait, does she? Ah, it's all coming out, Algy; -and the best thing you can do, on the whole is to keep your own -counsel,--that's about it, dear old boy!" - - - - -CHAPTER XII. -GATHERING CLOUDS. - - -"My younger brother Lionel Brakespere;" those were Lord Caterham's -words. Margaret had heard them distinctly before consciousness left -her; there was no mistake, no confusion in her mind,--"my younger -brother Lionel Brakespere." All unconsciously, then, she had been for -months acquainted and in occasional communication with _his_ nearest -relatives! Only that day she had been in the house where he had lived; -had sat in a room all the associations of which were doubtless familiar -to him; had gazed upon the portrait of that face for the sight of which -her heart yearned with such a desperate restless longing! - -Lord Caterham's brother! Brother to that poor sickly cripple, in whom -life's flame seemed not to shine, but to flicker merely,--her Lionel, -so bright and active and handsome! Son of that proud, haughty Lady -Beauport--yes, she could understand that; it was from his mother that -he inherited the cool bearing, the easy assurance, the never-absent -_hauteur_ which rendered him conspicuous even in a set of men where all -these qualities were prized and imitated. She had not had the smallest -suspicion the name she had known him by was assumed, or that he had -an earl for his father and a viscount for his brother. He had been -accustomed to speak of "the governor--a good old boy;" but his mother -and his brother he never mentioned. - -They knew him there, knew him as she had never known him--free, -unrestrained, without that mask which, to a certain extent, he had -necessarily worn in her presence. In his intercourse with them he had -been untrammelled, with no lurking fear of what might happen some day; -no dodging demon at his side suggesting the end, the separation that he -knew must unavoidably come. And she had sat by, ignorant of all that -was consuming their hearts' cores, which, had she been able to discuss -it with them, would have proved to be her own deepest, most cherished, -most pertinacious source of thought. They?--who were they? How many of -them had known her Lionel?--how many of them had cared for him? Lady -Beauport and Lord Caterham, of course--but of the others? Geoffrey -himself had never known him. No; thank God for that! The comparison -between her old lover and her husband which she had so often drawn in -her own mind had never, could never have occurred to him. Geoffrey's -only connection with the Beauport family had been through Annie -Maurice. Ah! Annie Maurice!--the heiress now, whose sudden acquisition -of wealth and position they were all talking of--she had not seen -Lionel in the old days; and even if she had, it had been slight matter. -But Margaret's knowledge of the world was wide and ample, and it needed -very little experience--far less indeed than she had had--to show her -what might have been the effect had those two met under the existent -different circumstances. - -For Margaret knew Lionel Brakespere, and read him like a book. All her -wild infatuation about him,--and her infatuation about him was wilder, -madder than it had ever been before--all the length of time since she -lost him,--all the long, weary, deadening separation, had not had the -smallest effect on her calm matured judgment. She knew that he was at -heart a scoundrel; she knew that he had no stability of heart, no depth -of affection. Had not her own experience of him taught her that? had -not the easy, indifferent, heartless way in which he had slipped out -of her knotted arms, leaving her to pine and fret and die, for all he -cared, shown her that? She had a thorough appreciation of his worship -of the rising sun,--she knew how perfectly he would have sold himself -for wealth and position; and yet she loved him, loved him through all! - -This was her one consolation in the thought of his absence--his exile. -Had he been in England, how readily would he have fallen into those -machinations which she guessed his mother would have been only too -ready to plot! She knew he was thousands of miles away; and the thought -that she was freed from rivalry in a great measure reconciled her to -his absence. She could hold him in her heart of hearts as her own only -love; there was no one, in her thoughts, to dispute her power over him. -He was hers,--hers alone. And he had obtained an additional interest in -her eyes since she had discovered his identity. Now she would cultivate -that acquaintance with his people,--all unknowingly she should be able -to ally herself more closely to him. Casual questions would bring -direct answers--all bearing on the topic nearest her heart: without in -the smallest degree betraying her own secret, she would be able to feed -her own love-flame,--to hear of, to talk of him for whom every pulse of -her heart throbbed and yearned. - -Did it never occur to her to catechise that heart, to endeavour -to portray vividly to herself the abyss on the brink of which she -was standing,--to ask herself whether she was prepared to abnegate -all sense of gratitude and duty, and to persevere in the course -which--not recklessly, not in a moment of passion, but calmly and -unswervingly--she had begun to tread? Yes; she had catechised herself -often, had ruthlessly probed her own heart, had acknowledged her -baseness and ingratitude, yet had found it impossible to struggle -against the pervading thrall. Worse than all, the sight of the man -to whom she owed every thing--comfort, respectability, almost life -itself,--the sight of him patiently labouring for her sake had become -oppressive to her; from calmly suffering it, she had come to loathe and -rebel against it. Ah, what a contrast between the present dull, dreary, -weary round and the bright old days of the past! To her, and to her -alone, was the time then dedicated. She would not then have been left -to sit alone, occupying her time as best she might, but every instant -would have been devoted to her; and let come what might on the morrow, -that time would have been spent in gaiety. - -Was there no element of rest in the new era of her life? Did not the -child which lay upon her bosom bring some alleviating influence, -some new sphere for the absorption of her energies, some new hope, -in the indulgence in which she might have found at least temporary -forgetfulness of self? Alas, none! She had accepted her maternity -as she had accepted her wifehood,--calmly, quietly, without even a -pretence of that delicious folly, that pardonable self-satisfaction, -that silly, lovable, incontrovertible, charming pride which nearly -always accompanies the first experience of motherhood. Old Geoff was -mad about his firstborn--would leave his easel and come crooning and -peering up into the nursery,--would enter that sacred domain in a -half-sheepish manner, as though acknowledging his intrusion, but on -the score of parental love hoping for forgiveness,--would say a few -words of politeness to the nurse, who, inexorable to most men, was won -over by his genuine devotion and his evident humility,--would take -up the precious bundle, at length confided to him, in the awkwardest -manner, and would sit chirrupping to the little putty face, or swing -the shapeless mass to and fro, singing meanwhile the dismallest of -apparently Indian dirges, and all the while be experiencing the -most acute enjoyment. Geoff was by nature a heavy sleeper; but the -slightest cry of the child in the adjoining chamber would rouse him; -the inevitable infantile maladies expressed in the inevitable peevish -whine, so marvellously imitated by the toy-baby manufacturers, would -fill him with horror and fright, causing him to lie awake in an agony -of suspense, resting on his elbow and listening with nervous anxiety -for their cessation or their increase; while Margaret, wearied out in -mental anxiety, either slept tranquilly by his side or remained awake, -her eyes closed, her mind abstracted from all that was going on around -her, painfully occupied with retrospect of the past or anticipation of -the future. She did not care for her baby? No--plainly no! She accepted -its existence as she had accepted the other necessary corollaries of -her marriage; but the grand secret of maternal love was as far removed -from her as though she had never suffered her travail and brought a -man-child into the world. That she would do her duty by her baby she -had determined,--much in the same spirit that she had decided upon -the strict performance of her conjugal duty; but n question of love -influenced her. She did not dislike the child,--she was willing to -give herself up to the inconveniences which its nurture, its care, its -necessities occasioned her; but that was all. - -If Margaret did not "make a fuss" with the child, there were plenty who -did; numberless people to come and call; numberless eyes to watch all -that happened,--to note the _insouciance_ which existed, instead of -the solicitude which should have prevailed; numberless tongues to talk -and chatter and gossip,--to express wonderment, to declare that their -owners "had never seen the like," and so on. Little Dr. Brandmm found -it more difficult than ever to get away from his lady-patients. After -all their own disorders had been discussed and remedies suggested, the -conversation was immediately turned to his patient at Elm Lodge; and -the little medico had to endure and answer a sharp fire of questions -of all kinds. Was it really a fine child? and was it true that Mrs. -Ludlow did not care about it? She was nursing it herself; yes: that -proved nothing; every decent woman would do that, rather than have one -of those dreadful creatures in the house--pints of porter every hour, -and doing nothing but sit down and abuse every one, and wanting so -much waiting on, as though they were duchesses. But was it true? Now, -doctor, you must know all these stories about her not caring for the -child? Caring!--well, you ought to know, with all your experience, what -the phrase meant. People would talk, you know, and that was what they -said; and all the doctor's other patients wanted to know was whether -it was really true. He did his best, the little doctor--for he was a -kindly-hearted little creature, and Margaret's beauty had had its usual -effect upon him,--he did his best to endow the facts with a roseate -hue; but he had a hard struggle, and only partially succeeded. If there -was one thing on which the ladies of Lowbar prided themselves, it was -on their fulfilment of their maternal duties; if there was one bond of -union between them, it was a sort of tacitly recognised consent to talk -of and listen to each other's discussion of their children, either in -existence or in prospect. It was noticed now that Margaret had always -shirked this inviting subject; and it was generally agreed that it -was no wonder, since common report averred that she had no pride in -her firstborn. A healthy child too, according to Dr. Brandram--a fine -healthy well-formed child. Why, even poor Mrs. Ricketts, whose baby had -spinal complaint, loved it, and made the most of it; and Mrs. Moule, -whose little Sarah had been blind from her birth, thought her offspring -unmatchable in the village, and nursed and tended it night and day. No -wonder that in a colony where these sentiments prevailed, Margaret's -reputation, hardly won, was speedily on the decline. It may be easily -imagined too that to old Mrs. Ludlow's observant eyes Margaret's want -of affection for her child did not pass unnoticed. By no one was the -child's advent into the world more anxiously expected than by its -grandmother, who indeed looked forward to deriving an increased social -status from the event, and who had already discussed it with her most -intimate friends. Mrs. Ludlow had been prepared for a great contest for -supremacy when the child was born--a period at which she intended to -assert her right of taking possession of her son's house and remaining -its mistress until her daughter-in-law was able to resume her position. -She had expected that in this act she would have received all the -passive opposition of which Margaret was capable--opposition with -which Geoff, being indoctrinated, might have been in a great measure -successful. But, to her intense surprise, no opposition was made. -Margaret received the announcement of Mrs. Ludlow's intended visit -and Mrs. Ludlow's actual arrival with perfect unconcern; and after -her baby had been born, and she had bestowed on it a very calm kiss, -she suffered it to be removed by her mother-in-law with an expression -which told even more of satisfaction than resignation. This behaviour -was so far different from any thing Mrs. Ludlow had expected, that the -old lady did not know what to make of it; and her daughter-in-law's -subsequent conduct increased her astonishment. This astonishment she at -first tried to keep to herself; but that was impossible. The feeling -gradually vented itself in sniffs and starts, in eyebrow-upliftings for -the edification of the nurse, in suggestive exclamations of "Well, my -dear?" and "Don't you think, my love?" and such old-lady phraseology. -Further than these little ebullitions Mrs. Ludlow made no sign until -her daughter came to see her; and then she could no longer contain -herself, but spoke out roundly. - -"What it is, my dear, I can't tell for the life of me; but there's -something the matter with Margaret. She takes no more notice of the -child than if it were a chair or a table;--just a kiss, and how do you -do? and nothing more." - -"It's because this is her first child, mother. She's strange to it, you -know, and--" - -"Strange to it, my dear! Nonsense! Nothing of the sort. You're a young -girl, and can't understand these things. But not only that,--one would -think, at such a time, she would be more than ever fond of her husband. -I'm sure when Geoff was born I put up with more from your father than -ever I did before or since. His 'gander-month,' he called it; and he -used to go gandering about with a parcel of fellows, and come home -at all hours of the night--I used to hear him, though he did creep -upstairs with his boots off--but he never had cross word or look from -me." - -"Well, but surely, mother, Geoff has not had either cross words or -cross looks from Margaret?" - -"How provoking you are, Matilda! That seems to be my my fate, that no -one can understand me. I never said he had, did I? though it would be -a good thing for him if he had, poor fellow, I should say--any thing -better than what he has to endure now." - -"Don't be angry at my worrying you, dear mother; but for Heaven's sake -tell me what you mean--what Geoff has to endure?" - -"I am not angry, Til; though it seems to be my luck to be imagined -angry when there's nothing further from my thoughts. I'm not angry, my -dear--not in the least." - -"What about Geoff, mother?" - -"O, my dear, that's enough to make one's blood boil! Ive never said a -word to you before about this, Matilda--being one of those persons who -keep pretty much to themselves, though I see a great deal more than -people think for,--Ive never said a word to you before about this; for, -as I said to myself, what good could it do? But I'm perfectly certain -that there's something wrong with Margaret." - -"How do you mean, mother? Something wrong!--is she ill?" - -"Now, my dear Matilda, as though a woman would be likely to be well -when she's just had----. Bless my soul, the young women of the present -day are very silly! I wasn't speaking of her health, of course." - -"Of what then, mother?" said Til, with resignation. - -"Well, then, my dear, haven't you noticed,--but I suppose not: no one -appears to notice these things in the way that I do,--but you might -have noticed that for the last few weeks Margaret has seemed full of -thought, dreamy, and not caring for any thing that went on. If Ive -pointed out once to her about the mite of a cap that that Harriet -wears, and all her hair flying about her ears, and a crinoline as wide -as wide, Ive spoken a dozen times; but she's taken no notice; and now -the girl sets me at defiance, and tells me I'm not her mistress, and -never shall be I That's one thing; but there are plenty of others. I -was sure Geoffrey's linen could not be properly aired--the colds he -caught were so awful; and I spoke to Margaret about it, but she took no -notice; and yesterday, when the clothes came home from the laundress, -I felt them myself, and you might have wrung the water out of them in -pints. There are many other little things too that Ive noticed; and -I'll tell you what it is, Matilda--I'm certain she has got something on -her mind." - -"O, I hope not, poor girl, poor dear Margaret!" - -"Poor dear fiddlestick! What nonsense you talk, Matilda! If there's any -one to be pitied, it's Geoffrey, I should say; though what he could -have expected, taking a girl for his wife that he'd known so little of, -and not having any wedding-breakfast, or any thing regular, I don't -know!" - -"But why is Geoffrey to be pitied, mother?" - -"Why? Why, because his wife doesn't love him, my dear! Now you know it!" - -"O, mother, for Heaven's sake don't say such a thing! You know -you're--you won't mind what I say, dearest mother,--but you're a little -apt to jump at conclusions, and--" - -"O yes, I know, my dear; I know I'm a perfect fool!--I know that well -enough; and if I don't, it's not for want of being reminded of it by my -own daughter. But I know I'm right in what I say; and what's more, my -son shall know it before long." - -"O, mother, you would never tell Geoff!--you would never--" - -"If a man's eyes are not open naturally, my dear, they must be opened -for him. I shall tell Geoffrey my opinion about his wife; and let him -know it in pretty plain terms, I can tell you!" - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. -MR. STOMPFF'S DOUBTS. - - -It is not to be supposed that because Geoffrey Ludlow's married life -offered no very striking points for criticism, it was left uncriticised -by his friends. Those, be they married or single, quiet or boisterous, -convivial or misanthropical, who do not receive discussion at the -hands of their acquaintance, are very few in number. There can be -nothing more charmingly delightful, nothing more characteristic of -this chivalrous age, than the manner in which friends speak of each -other behind, as the phrase goes, "each other's backs." To two sets -of people, having a third for common acquaintance, this pastime -affords almost inexpressible delight, more especially if the two -sets present have been made acquainted with each other through the -medium of the absent third. It is rather dangerous ground at first, -because neither of the two sets present can tell whether the other may -not have some absurd scruples as to the propriety of canvassing the -merits or demerits of their absent friend; but a little tact, a little -cautious dealing with the subject, a few advances made as tentatively -as those of the elephant on the timber bridge, soon show that the -discussion will not be merely endured, but will be heartily welcome; -and straightway it is plunged into with the deepest interest. How they -manage to keep that carriage,--that's what we've always wanted to know! -O, you've noticed it too. Well, is it rouge, or enamel, or what? That's -what Ive always said to George--how that poor man can go on slaving -and slaving as he does, and all the money going in finery for her, is -what I can't understand! What a compliment to our opinion of our powers -of character-reading to find all our notions indorsed by others, more -especially when those notions have been derogatory to those with whom -we have for some time been living on terms of intimacy! To be sure -there is another side to the medal, when we find that those who have -known our dear absents a much shorter time than we have, claim credit -for being far more sharp-sighted than we. They marked at once, they -say, all the shortcomings which we had taken so long to discover; and -they lead the chorus of depreciation, in which we only take inferior -parts. - -It was not often that Mr. Stompff busied himself with the domestic -concerns of the artists who formed his staff: It was generally quite -enough for him provided they "came up to time," as he called it, did -their work well, and did not want too much money in advance. But in -Geoffrey Ludlow Mr. Stompff took a special interest, regarding him as -a man out of whom, if properly worked, great profit and fame were to -be made. He had paid several visits to Elm Lodge, ostensibly for the -purpose of seeing how the Brighton-Esplanade picture was progressing; -but with this he combined the opportunity of inspecting the domestic -arrangements and noting whether they were such as were likely to "suit -his book." No man more readily understood the dispiriting influence of -a slattern wife or a disorderly home upon the work that was to be done. - -"Ive seen 'em," he used to say, "chock-full of promise, and all go to -the bad just because of cold meat for dinner, or the house full of -steam on washing-days. They'd rush away, and go off--public-house or -any where--and then goodbye to my work and the money theyve had of me! -What I like best 's a regular expensive woman,--fond of her dress and -going about, and all that,--who makes a man stick to it to keep her -going. That's when you get the work out of a cove. So I'll just look-up -Ludlow, and see how he's goin' on." - -He did "look-up" Ludlow several times; and his sharp eyes soon -discovered a great deal of which he did not approve, and which did not -seem likely to coincide with his notions of business. He had taken a -dislike to Margaret the first time he had seen her, and his dislike -increased on each subsequent visit. There was something about her which -he could scarcely explain to himself,--a "cold stand-offishness," -he phrased it,--which he hated. Margaret thought Mr. Stompff simply -detestable, and spite of Geoff's half-hints, took no pains to disguise -her feelings. Not that she was ever demonstrative--it was her calm -quiet _insouciance_ that roused Mr. Stompff's wrath. "I can't tell what -to make of that woman," he would say; "she never gives Ludlow a word -of encouragement, but sits there yea-nay, by G--, lookin' as though -she didn't know he was grindin' his fingers off to earn money for her! -She don't seem to take any notice of what's goin' on; but sits moonin' -there, lookin' straight before her, and treatin'me and her husband -as if we was dirt! Who's she, I should like to know, to give herself -airs and graces like that? It was all very well when Ludlow wanted a -model for that Skyllar picture; but there's no occasion for a man to -marry his models, that Ive heard of--leastways it ain't generally done. -She don't seem to know that it's from me all the money comes, by the -way she treats me. She don't seem to think that that pretty house and -furniture, and all the nice things which she has, are paid for by my -money. She's never a decent word to say to me. Damme, I hate her!" - -And Mr. Stompff did not content himself by exploding in this manner. -He let off this safety-valve of self-communion to keep himself from -boiling over; but all the cause for his wrath still remained, and he -referred to it, mentally, not unfrequently. He knew that Geoffrey -Ludlow was one of his greatest cards; he knew that he had obtained a -certain mastery over him at a very cheap rate; but he also knew that -Ludlow was a man impressible to the highest degree, and that if he -were preoccupied or annoyed, say by domestic trouble for instance--and -there was nothing in a man of Geoffrey's temperament more destructive -to work than domestic trouble--he would be incapable of earning his -money properly. Why should there be domestic trouble at Elm Lodge? -Mr. Stompff had his ears wider open than most men, and had heard a -certain something which had been rumoured about at the time of Geoff's -marriage; but he had not paid much attention to it. There were many -_ateliers_ which he was in the habit of frequenting,--and the occupants -of which turned out capital pictures for him,--where he saw ladies -playing the hostess's part whose names had probably never appeared in a -marriage-register; but that was nothing to him. Most of them accepted -Mr. Stompff's compliments, and made themselves agreeable to the great -_entrepreneur_, and laughed at his coarse story and his full-flavoured -joke, and were only too delighted to get them, in conjunction with -his cheque. But this wife of Ludlow's was a woman of a totally -different stamp; and her treatment of him so worried Mr. Stompff that -he determined to find out more about her. Charley Potts was the most -intimate friend of Ludlow's available to Mr. Stompff, and to Charley -Potts Mr. Stompff determined to go. - -It chanced that on the morning which the great picture-dealer had -selected to pay his visit, Mr. Bowker had strolled into Charley -Potts's rooms, and found their proprietor hard at work. Mr. Bowker's -object, though prompted by very different motives from those of Mr. -Stompff, was identically the same. Old William had heard some of those -irrepressible rumours which, originating no one knows how, gather -force and strength from circulation, and had come to talk to Mr. Potts -about them. "Dora in the Cornfield" had progressed so admirably since -Bowker's last visit, that after filling his pipe he stood motionless -before it, with the unlighted lucifer in his hand. - -"'Pon my soul, I think you'll do something some day, young 'un!" were -his cheering words. "That's the real thing! Wonderful improvement since -I saw it; got rid of the hay-headed child, and come out no end. Don't -think the sunlight's _quite_ that colour, is it? and perhaps no reason -why those reaping-parties shouldn't have noses and mouths as well as -eyes and chins. Don't try scamping, Charley,--you're not big enough for -that; wait till you're made an R.A., and then the critics will point -out the beauties of your outline; at present you must copy nature. And -now"--lighting his pipe--"how are you?" - -"O, I'm all right, William," responded Mr. Potts; "all right, and -working like any number of steam-engines. Orson, sir--if I may so -describe myself--Orson is endowed with reason. Orson has begun to find -out that life is different from what he imagined, and has gone in for -something different." - -"Ha!" said old Bowker, eyeing the young man kindly as he puffed at his -pipe; "it's not very difficult to discover what's up now, then. - -"O, I don't want to make any mystery about it," said Charley. "The -simple fact is, that having seen the folly of what is called a life of -pleasure--" - -"At thirty years of age!" interrupted Bowker. - -"Well, what then?--at thirty years of age! One does not want to be a -Methuselah like you before one discovers the vanity, the emptiness, the -heartlessness of life." - -"Of course not, Charley?" said Bowker, greatly delighted. "Go on!" - -"And I intend to--to----to cut it, Bowker, and go in for something -better. It's something, sir, to have something to work for. I have an -end in view, to--" - -"Well, but you've always had that. I thought that your ideas were -concentrated on being President of the Academy, and returning thanks -for your health, proposed by the Prime Minister." - -"Bowker, you are a ribald. No, sir; there is a spur to my ambition -far beyond the flabby presidentship of that collection of dreary old -parties--" - -"Yes, I know and the spur is marked with the initials M.L. That it, -Master Charley?" - -"It may be, Bowker, and it may be not. Meanwhile, my newly-formed but -unalterable resolutions do not forbid the discussion of malt-liquor, -and Caroline yet understands the signal-code." - -With these words, Mr. Potts proceeded to make his ordinary pantomimic -demonstration at the window, and, when the beer arrived, condescended -to give up work for a time; and, lighting a pipe and seating himself in -his easy-chair, he entered into conversation with his friend. - -"And suppose the spur were marked with M.L.," said he, reverting to the -former topic, after a little desultory conversation,--"suppose the spur -were marked with M. L., what would be the harm of that, Bowker?" - -"Harm!" growled old Bowker; "you don't imagine when you begin to speak -seriously of such a thing that I, of all people, should say there was -any harm in it? I thought you were chaffing at first, and so I chaffed; -but I'm about the last man in the world to dissuade a young fellow with -the intention and the power to work from settling himself in life with -a girl such as I know this one to be. So far as I have seen of her, she -has all our Geoff's sweetness of disposition combined with an amount of -common-sense and knowledge of the world which Geoff never had and never -will have." - -"She's A1, old boy, and that's all about it; but we're going a-head -rather too quickly. Ive not said a word to her yet, and I scarcely know -whether--" - -"Nonsense, Chancy! A man who is worth any thing knows right well -whether a woman cares for him or not; and knows in what way she cares -for him too. On this point I go back to my old ground again, and say -that Geoffrey Ludlow's sister could not be dishonest enough to flirt -and flatter and play the deuce with a man. There's too much honesty -about the family; and you would be in a very different state of mind, -young fellow, if you thought there was any doubt as to how your remarks -would be received in that quarter, when you chose to speak." - -Mr. Potts smiled, and pulled his moustache, triumphantly now, not -doubtfully as was his wont. Then his face settled into seriousness, as -he said: - -"You're right, William, I think. I hope so, please God! Ive never said -so much as this to any one, as you may guess; but I love that girl with -all my heart and soul, and if only the dealers will stick by me, I -intend to tell her that same very shortly. But what you just said has -turned my thoughts into another channel--our Geoff." - -"Well, what about our Geoff?" asked Mr. Bowker, twisting round on his -seat, and looking hard at his friend. - -"You must have noticed, Bowker--probably much more than I have, for -you're more accustomed to that sort of thing--that our Geoff's not -right lately. There's something wrong up there at Elm Lodge, that I -can't make out,--that I daren't think, of. You remember our talks both -before and after Geoff's marriage? Well, I must hark back upon them. -He's not happy, William--there, you have the long and the short of it! -I'm a bad hand at explaining these matters, but Geoff's not happy. He's -made a mistake; and though I don't think he sees it himself--or if he -does, he would die sooner than own it--there can be no doubt about it. -Mrs. Ludlow does not understand,--does not appreciate him; and our -Geoff's no more like our crony of old days than I'm like Raffaelle. -There, that's it, as clear as I can put it!" - -Bowker waited for an instant, and then he said: - -"Ive tried hard enough, God knows!--hard enough to prevent myself from -thinking as you think, Charley; but all to no purpose. There is a cloud -over Geoff's life, and I fear it springs from----Some one knocking. -Keep 'em out, if possible; we don't want any one boring in here just -now." - -But the knocker, whoever he was, seemed by no means inclined to be -kept out. He not only obeyed the regular directions and "tugged the -trotter," but he afterwards gave three distinct and loud raps with his -fist on the door, which was the signal to the initiated; and when the -door was opened and the knocker appeared in the person of Mr. Stompff, -further resistance was useless. - -The great man entered the room with a light and airy step and a light -and airy address. "Well, Charley, how are you? Come to give you a -look-up, you see. Hallo! who's this?--Mr. Bowker, how do you do, -sir?" in a tone which meant, "What the devil do you do here?"--"how -are you, sir?--Well, Charley, what are you at? Going to the bad, you -villain,--going to the bad!" - -"Not quite that, I hope, Mr. Stompff--" - -"Working for Caniche, eh? That's the same thing, just the same thing! -Ive heard all about it. You've let that miserable Belgian get old of -you, eh? This is it, is it? Gal in a cornfield and mowers? what you -call 'em--reapers? That's it! reapers, and a little child. Some story, -eh? O, ah! Tennyson; I don't know him--not bad, by Jove! not half bad -it's Caniche's?" - -"Yes; that's Caniche's commission." - -"Give you fifty more than he's given to make it over to me. You won't, -of course not, you silly feller! it's only my joke. But look here, -mind you give me the refusal of the next. I can do better for you than -Caniche. He's a poor paltry chap. I go in for great things,--that's my -way, Mr. Bowker." - -"Is it?" growled old William over his pipe; "then you go in also for -great pay, Mr. Stompff, I suppose?" - -"Ask your friend Ludlow about that. He'll tell you whether I pay -handsomely or not, sir.--By the way, how is your friend Ludlow Potts?" - -"He's all right, I believe." - -"And his wife, how's she?" - -There was something in his tone and in the expression of his eyes which -made Mr. Potts say: - -"Mrs. Ludlow is going on very well, I believe," in a tone of -seriousness very unusual with Charley. - -"That's all right," said Mr. Stompff. "Going on very well, eh? Every -body will be glad to hear that, and Ludlow in partickler. Going on very -well--in a regular domestic quiet manner, eh? That's all right. Hasn't -been much used to the domestic style before her marriage, I should -think, eh?" - -"Whatever you may think, I should advise you not to say much, Mr. -Stompff," said Bowker. "I don't think Geoff would much like hearing -those things said of his wife; I'm sure I should not of mine." - -"N-no; but you have not a wife; I--I mean living, Mr. Bowker," said -Stompff with a sneer. - -William Bowker swallowed down a great lump rising in his throat, and -forcibly restrained the involuntary clenching of his fists, as he -replied, "No, you're right there, Mr. Stompff; but still I repeat my -advice." - -"O, I shall say nothing. People will talk, you know, Whether I'm silent -or not, and people will want to know who Mrs. Ludlow was before she -married Ludlow, and why she's so silent and preoccupied, and why she -never goes into society, and why she faints away when she looks at -photograph-books, and so on. But I didn't come here to talk of Mrs. -Ludlow. Now, Potts, _mon brave_, let us discuss business." - -When the great man took his departure, after proposing handsome terms -to Charley Potts for a three years' engagement, Bowker said; "There's -more in what we were saying when that blatant ruffian came in than I -thought for, Charley. The news of Geoff's domestic trouble has got -wind." - -"I'm afraid so. But what did Stompff mean about the fainting and the -photograph-book?" - -"God knows! probably an invention and a lie. But when people like -Stompff begin to talk in that way, it's bad for those they talk about, -depend upon it." - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. -THREATENING. - - -Geoffrey Ludlow felt considerable anxiety about his wife after the day -of their inauspicious visit to Lord Caterham; and as anxiety was quite -a foreign element in Geoff's placid temperament, it did not sit well -upon him, and it rendered him idle and desultory. He could not make -up his mind as to the true source of his anxiety,--the real spring -of his discomfort. Margaret's health was very good; her naturally -fine physique shook off illness easily and rapidly, and her rare -beauty was once more irradiated with the glow of health and strength. -Yet Geoffrey's inquietude was not lessened. He loved this strange -woman--this woman who compelled admiration, indeed, from others, but -won love only from him with passionate and intense devotion. But he -was ill at ease with her, and he began to acknowledge to himself that -it was so. He knew, he felt, that there was some new element, some -impalpable power in their lives, which was putting asunder those who -had never been very closely united in real bonds of sympathy and -confidence, with an irresistible, remorseless hand,--invisible and sure -as that of Death. - -There are no words to tell what this good fellow suffered in his -kindly, unselfish, simple way, as day by day the conviction forced -itself upon him that the woman he had so loved, the woman for whom he -lived, and worked, and thought, and hoped, was more and more divided -from him by some barrier--all the more impassable because he could -not point to it and demand an explanation of its presence, or utter a -plea for its removal. He would sit in his painting-room quite idle, -and with a moody brow--unlike the Geoff Ludlow of old times--and think -and puzzle himself about his wife; he would sometimes work, in short -desultory fits of industry, desperately, as though putting thought -from him by main force; and then he would meet Margaret, at meals or -other times of association, with so indifferent an assumption of being -just as usual, that it was wonderful she did not notice the change in -her husband. But Geoffrey did not interest her, and Margaret did not -observe him with any curiosity. The state of mind of this ill-assorted -pair at this time was very curious, had there been any one to -understand and analyse it. - -"What can it be?" Geoffrey would ask himself. "I cannot make it out. -She does not take any interest in any thing. I thought all women loved -their children at least, and the coldest warmed to their infants; but -she does not." - -Geoffrey had ceased to wonder at Margaret's coldness to him. She had -always been cold, and latterly her reserve and silence had increased. -She made no effort to hide the _ennui_ which wholly possessed her; she -made no attempt to simulate the interest in his occupations which she -had never felt in more than a lukewarm degree. His perceptions were not -very quick; but when he did see a thing, he was apt to understand and -reason upon it, and he reasoned upon this now; he pondered upon it and -upon his marriage, and he wondered when he remembered the joy and hope -with which he had entered upon the pretty, comfortable new home and the -quiet industrious life. What had come to it all? What had changed it, -and yet left it the same? He had not failed in any duty to this woman; -he had not given her less, but more than he had promised; for he was -much better off than he had hoped to be, and she had the command of -every shilling he earned. Never had an unkind word, a negligent act, -a failure in the tenderest of household kindnesses, recorded itself -in her memory against this man, who was her preserver, her protector, -her husband. Surprise, trouble, vague apprehension, above all, the -bewilderment of inexplicable wrong, were in Geoffrey's mind; but not a -touch of bitterness against her. He remembered the story she had told -him, and the promise he had pledged to her, and his generous heart -rested in the assurance she had then given him, and sought no farther. -His was not the nature which would count up the items in the bargain -between them, and set down the large balance that really existed on -his side. What had he given her? To answer this question aright, -knowledge must have been had of her whole life and all its depths of -suffering, of actual physical want sounded; all her love of luxury, -all her incapacity to bear privation, all her indolence, her artistic -sensuousness, her cultivated power of enjoyment, must have been known -and weighed. - -He had given her ease, security, respectability,--a name, a home -which was comfortable to the verge of luxury, which included all -that any woman could reasonably desire who had voluntarily accepted -a life upon the scale which it implied--a home to which his industry -and his love constantly added new comforts and decorations. Geoffrey -never thought of these things,--he did not appraise them; nor did -his generous heart dwell upon the sacrifice he had made, the risk -he had incurred, in short, upon the extraordinary imprudence of -his marriage. His nature was too magnanimous, and not sufficiently -practical for such considerations he thought of nothing but the love -he had given her,--the love she did not seem to understand, to care -for,--and he wondered, in his simple way, why such love, so deep and -quiet, so satisfied with home and her, could not make her more happy -and cheerful. Poor Geoffrey, calm and peace were the conditions of -life in which alone he could find or imagine happiness, and they were -just those which were detestable to Margaret. It is possible that, -had she been caught from the depths of her degradation and despair -in the grasp of a nature stronger and more violent than her own, the -old thrall might have fallen from her, and she might have been swayed -by the mingled charm and authority, the fierceness, the delight, the -fear of a great passion, so preoccupying that she would have had no -time for retrospect, so entrancing that she would have been forced to -live in the present. But the hand that had raised her from the abyss -was only gentle and tender; it lacked the force which would have wrung -submission from her afterwards, the power to imply that it could wound -as well as caress,--and its touch had no potency for that perverted -nature. What had she given him? Just her beauty,--nothing more. She -was his wife, and she cared for him no more than she cared for the -furniture of her rooms and the trinkets in her jewel-case (poor things, -she thought, which once would have been unworthy of her wearing, but -chosen with all Geoff's humble science, and bought with the guerdon of -many a day of Geoff's hard work); he was her child's father; and the -child bored her a little more unendurably than all the rest. Indeed, -all the rest was quiet--which at least was something--but the child was -not quiet; and Geoffrey made a fuss about it--a circumstance which lent -a touch of impatience to her distaste. He talked about the infant,--he -wanted to know if she thought her boy's eyes were like her own? and -whether she would like him to be an artist like his father? He talked -about the boy's eyes, and Lionel's electric glances were haunting her -troubled soul; he babbled about the boy's future, when she was enduring -the tortures of Tantalus in her terrible longing for the past. - -The child throve, and Geoffrey loved the little creature with a -vigilant affection curious and beautiful to see. When he felt that the -hopes he had built upon the infant, as a new and strong tie between -himself and Margaret, as a fresh source of interest, something to -awaken her from her torpidity, were not destined to be realised, he -turned, in the intensity of his disappointment and discomfiture, to the -child itself; and sought--unconsciously it may be, at least unavowedly -to himself--to fill up the void in his heart, to restore the warmth to -his home, through the innocent medium of the baby. The child did not -resemble his mother, even after the difficult-to-be-discovered fashion -of likenesses in babyhood. When he opened his eyes, in the solemn and -deliberate way in which young children look out upon the mysterious -world, they did not disclose violet tints nor oval-shaped heavy lids; -they were big brown eyes, like Geoffrey's, and the soft rings of downy -hair, which the nurse declared to be "the beautifullest curls she ever -see on an 'ead at 'is age," were not golden but dark brown. Geoffrey -held numerous conferences with the nurse about her charge, and might be -found many times in the day making his way with elaborate caution, and -the noiseless step which is a characteristic of big men, up the nursery -stair; and seen by the curious, had there been any to come there, -gazing at the infant lying in his cradle, or on his nurse's knee, with -a wistful rueful expression, and his hands buried in the pockets of his -painting-coat. - -He never found Margaret in the nursery on any of these occasions, and -she never evinced the slightest interest in the nursery government, -or responded to any of his ebullitions of feeling on the subject. Of -course the servants were not slow to notice the indifference of the -mother, and to comment upon it with unreserved severity. Margaret -was not a favourite at any time--"master" being perfection in their -minds--and her cold reserve and apathy impressing the domestics, who -could not conceive that "a good home" could be despicable in even the -most beautiful eyes, very unfavourably. - -Margaret was arraigned before the domestic tribunal, unknown to -herself; though, had she known it, the circumstance would have made no -impression upon her. Her cold pride would at all times have rendered -her indifferent to opinion; and now that indifference, weariness, -and distaste had entire possession of her, she had not even cared to -hide the dreary truth from her husband's mother and sister. What had -become of her resolutions with regard to them? Where were her first -impulses of gratitude? Gone--sunk in the Dead Sea of her overmastering -passion--utterly lost beneath the tide of her conscienceless -selfishness. She could not strive, she could not pretend, she could not -play any part longer. Why should she, to whom such talk was twaddle -of the trashiest description, try to appear interested because she -had given birth to Geoffrey's child? Well, there was the child; let -them make much of it, and talk nonsense to it and about it. What was -Geoffrey's child to her, or Geoffrey's mother, or--she had gone very -near to saying Geoffrey himself either, but something dimly resembling -a pang of conscience stopped her. He was very good, very honest, very -kind; and she was almost sorry for him,--as nearly sorry as she could -be for any but herself; and then the tide of that sorrow for herself -dashed over and swept all these trifling scraps of vague regret, of -perhaps elementary remorse, away on its tumultuous waves. - -She was cursed with such keen memory, she was haunted with such a -terrible sense of contrast! Had it been more dreadful, more agonising, -when she was a wanderer in the pitiless streets,--starving, homeless, -dying of sheer want; when the bodily suffering she endured was so great -that it benumbed her mind, and deadened it to all but craving for food -and shelter? The time of this terrible experience lay so far in the -past now, that she had begun to forget the reality of the torture; -she had begun to undervalue its intensity, and to think that she had -purchased rescue too dear. Too dead--she, whose glance could not fall -around her without resting on some memorial of the love she had won; -she, whose daily life was sheltered from every breath of ill and care! -She had always been weary; now she was growing enraged. Like the -imprisoned creatures of the desert and the jungle, in whom long spells -of graceful apathetic repose are succeeded by fierce fits of rebellious -struggle, she strove and fought with the gentle merciful fate which -had brought her into this pretty prison and supplied her with dainty -daily fare. It had all been bearable--at least until now--and she had -borne it well, and never turned upon her keeper. But the wind had set -from the lands of sun and fragrance, from the desert whose sands were -golden, whose wells were the sparkling waters of life and love, and she -had scented the old perfume in the breeze. All the former instincts -revived, the slight chain of formal uncongenial habit fell away, and -in the strength of passion and beauty she rebelled against her fate. -Perhaps the man she loved and longed for, as the sick long for health -or the shipwrecked for a sail, had never seen her look so beautiful -as she looked one day, when, after Mrs. Ludlow and her daughter, who -had come to lunch at Elm Lodge, had gone away, and Geoffrey, puzzled -and mortified more than ever, had returned to his painting-room, she -stood by the long window of the drawing-room, gazing out over the trim -little space which bloomed with flowers and glowed in the sunshine, -with eyes which seemed indeed as if their vision cleft distance and -disdained space. Her cheeks, usually colourless, were touched with -a faint rose-tinge; and the hurry and excitement of her thoughts -seemed to pervade her whole frame, which was lighted by the rays of -the afternoon sun, from the rich coils of her red-gold hair to the -restless foot which tapped the carpet angrily. As she stood, varying -expressions flitted over her face like clouds; but in them all there -was an intensity new to it, and which would have told an observer that -the woman who looked so was taking a resolution. - -Suddenly she lifted her hands above her head to the full extent of her -arms, then tore the twisted fingers asunder with a moan, as if of pain -or hunger, and letting them fall by her side, flung herself into a -chair. - -"Have you heard any thing of Lord Caterham lately?" asked Mrs. Geoffrey -Ludlow of her husband, a few days after his mother's visit, just as -Geoffrey, having breakfasted, was about to retire to his painting-room. -She asked the question in the most careless possible manner, and -without removing her eyes from the _Times_, which she was reading; but -Geoffrey was pleased that she should have asked it at all,--any sign of -interest on Margaret's part in any one for whom he cared being still -precious to Geoffrey, and becoming rarer and more rare. - -"No, dear," he replied; "Annie said she would write as soon as Lord -Caterham should be well enough to see me. I suppose I may tell her, -then, that she may come and see you. You are quite well now, Margaret?" - -"O yes, quite well," she replied; and then added, with the faintest -flicker of colour on her cheek, "Lord Caterham's brother is not at -home, I believe. Have you ever seen him?" - -"Captain Brakespere? No, net I. There's something wrong about him. I -don't understand the story, but Annie just mentioned that Lord Caterham -had been in great distress about him. Well, Margaret, I'm off now to -the Esplanade." - -He looked wistfully at her; but she did not speak or lift up her eyes, -and he went out of the room. - -If there was trouble of the silent and secret kind in Geoffrey's -home, there was also discontent of the outspoken sort at his mother's -cheerful house in Brompton. - -Mrs. Ludlow was wholly unprepared to find that Margaret cared so little -for her child. It was with no small indignation that she commented upon -Margaret's demeanour, as she and her daughter sat together; and deeper -than her indignation lay her anxiety, and a vague apprehension of evil -in store for her darling son. - -"She is sulky and discontented,--that's what she is," repeated Mrs. -Ludlow; "and what she can want or wish for that she has not got passes -my comprehension." - -Miss Ludlow said that perhaps it was only accidental. She would be -sorry to think Margaret had such faults of temper to any confirmed -degree. It would be dreadful for dear old Geoff, who was so -sweet-tempered himself, and who never could understand unamiable -persons. But she added she did not think Geoff perceived it. She was -sure he would never think that Margaret was not fond of the child. - -"O yes, he does perceive it," said Mrs. Ludlow; "I can see that very -plainly; I saw it in his face when he came up to the nursery with us, -and she never offered to stir; and did you not notice, Til, that when I -asked her what the doctor said about vaccinating baby, she looked at me -quite vacantly, and Geoffrey answered? Ah, no; he knows it well enough, -poor fellow; and how ever he is to get through life with a woman with a -bad temper and no heart, I'm sure I can't tell." - -Geoffrey had never relaxed in his attention to his mother. In the -early days of his marriage, when he had persuaded himself that there -was nothing in the least disappointing in Margaret's manner, and that -he was perfectly happy; in those days to which he looked back now, in -the chill dread and discomfort of the present, as to vanished hours -of Paradise, he had visited his mother, sent her presents, written -short cheery notes to her and Til, and done every thing in his power -to lesson their sense of the inevitable separation which his marriage -had brought about. His love and his happiness had had no hardening -or narrowing effect upon Geoffrey Ludlow. They had quickened his -perceptions and added delicacy to his sympathies. But there was a -difference now. Geoffrey felt unwilling to see his mother and sister; -he felt that their perception of Margaret's conduct had been distinct, -and their disapproval complete; and he shrank from an interview which -must include avoidance of the subject occupying all their minds. He -would not willingly have had Margaret blamed, even by implication by -others; though there was something more like anger than he had ever -felt or thought he could feel towards her in his gentle heart, as he -yielded to the conviction that she had no love for her child. - -Thus it happened that Geoffrey did not see his mother and sister for a -week just at this time, during which interval there was no change in -the state of affairs at home. He wrote, indeed, to Til, and made cheery -mention of the boy and of his picture, which was getting on splendidly, -and at which he was working so hard that he could not manage to get -so far as Brompton for a day or two yet, but would go very soon; and -Margaret sent her love. So Geoffrey made out a letter which might have -been written by a blundering schoolboy--a letter over which his mother -bent sad and boding looks, and Til had a "good cry." Though Geoffrey -had not visited them lately, the ladies had not been altogether -deprived of the society of men and artists. The constancy with which -Charley Potts paid his respects was quite remarkable; and it fell -out that, seeing Matilda rather out of spirits, and discerning that -something was going wrong, Charley very soon extracted from Til what -that something was, and they proceeded to exchange confidences on the -subject of Geoffrey and his beautiful wife. Charley informed Matilda -that none of "our fellows" who had been introduced to Mrs. Geoffrey -liked her; and as for Stompff, "he hates her all out, you know," said -the plain-spoken Charley; "but I don't mind that, for she's a lady, and -Stompff--he--he's a beast, you know." - -When Geoffrey could no longer defer a visit to his mother without the -risk of bringing about questions and expostulations which must make the -state of things at home openly known, and place him in the embarrassing -position of being obliged to avow an estrangement for which he could -assign no cause, he went to Brompton. The visit was not a pleasant -one, though the mother and sister were even more demonstrative in -their affectionate greeting than usual, and though they studiously -avoided any reference to the subject in their minds and in his. But -this was just what he dreaded; they did studiously avoid it; and by -doing so they confirmed all his suspicions, they realised all his -fears. Geoffrey did not even then say to himself that his marriage was -a mistake, and his mother and sister had discovered it; but had his -thoughts, his misgivings been put into words, they must have taken -some such shape. They talked energetically about the child, and asked -Geoff all sorts of feminine questions, which it would have affected -a male listener rather oddly to have heard Geoff answer with perfect -seriousness, and a thorough acquaintance with details. He had several -little bits of news for them; how Mr. Stompff, reminiscent of his -rather obtrusive promise, had sent the clumsiest, stumpiest, ugliest -lump of a silver mug procurable in London as a present to the child, -but had not presented himself at Elm Lodge; how Miss Maurice had been -so delighted with the little fellow, and had given him a beautiful -embroidered frock, and on Lord Caterham's behalf endowed him with a -salver "big enough to serve himself up upon, mother," said Geoff, with -his jolly laugh: "I put him on it, and carried him round the room for -Annie to see." - -Beyond the inevitable inquiries, there was no mention made of Margaret; -but when his mother kissed him at parting, and when Til lingered a -moment longer than usual, with her arms round his neck, at the door, -Geoffrey felt the depth and bitterness of the trouble that had come -into his life more keenly, more chillingly than he had felt it yet. - -"This shall not last," he said, as he walked slowly towards home, his -head bent downwards, and all his features clouded with the gloom that -had settled upon him. "This shall not last any longer. I have done all -I can; if she is unhappy, it is not my fault; but I must know why. I -cannot bear it; I have not deserved it. I will keep silence no longer. -She must explain what it means." - - - - -CHAPTER XV. -LADY BEAUPORT'S PLOT COLLAPSES. - - -Although the flame of life, at its best a feeble flicker, now -brightened by a little gust of hope, now deadened by an access of -despair,--had begun steadily to lessen in Lord Caterham's breast, -and he felt, with that consciousness which never betrays, that his -interest in this world, small as it had been, was daily growing less, -he had determined to prevent the execution of one act which he knew -would be terribly antagonistic to the welfare of her whom his heart -held dearest. We, fighting the daily battle of life, going forth each -morning to the encounter, returning each eve with fresh dints on our -harness, new notches in our swords, and able to reckon up the cost and -the advantages gained by the day's combat, are unable to appreciate the -anxieties and heart-burnings, the longings and the patience of those -whom we leave behind us as a _corps de reserve_, apparently inactive, -but in reality partaking of all the worst of the contest without the -excitement of sharing it. The conflict that was raging amongst the -Beauport family was patent to Caterham; he saw the positions taken -up by the contending parties, had his own shrewd opinion as to their -being tenable or the reverse, calmly criticised the various points of -strategy, and laid his plans accordingly. In this it was an advantage -to him that he was out of the din and the shouting and the turmoil of -the battle; nobody thought of him, any more than any one in the middle -of an action thinks of the minister in his office at home, by whom the -despatches are written, and who in reality pulls the strings by which -the man in scarlet uniform and gold-laced cocked-hat is guided, and to -whom he is responsible. Lord Caterham was physically unfitted for the -conduct of strategic operations, but he was mentally qualified for the -exercise of diplomacy in the highest degree; and diplomacy was required -in the present juncture. - -In his solitary hours he had been accustomed to recal his past life in -its apparently insignificant, but to him important ramifications;--the -red south wall is the world to the snail that has never known -other resting-place;--and in these days of illness and languor he -reverted more and more to his old means of passing the time. A dull -retrospect--a weary going over and over again of solitude, depression, -and pain. Thoughts long since forgotten recurred to him as in the -silence of the night he passed in review the petty incidents of his -uneventful career. He recollected the burning shame which had first -possessed him at the knowledge of his own deformity; the half envy, -half wonder, with which he had gazed at other lads of his own age; the -hope that had dawned upon him that his parents and friends might feel -for him something of the special love with which Tiny Tim was regarded -in that heartfullest of all stories, _The Christmas Carol_; how that -wondrous book had charmed him, when, a boy of ten or twelve years old, -he had first read it; how, long before it had been seen by either his -father or mother, he had studied and wept over it; how, prompted by a -feeling which he could not analyse, he had induced Lord Beauport to -read it, how he knew--intuitively, he was never told--that it had been -shown to his mother; and how that Christmastide he had been treated -with consideration and affection never before accorded to him--had -been indeed preferred to Lionel, greatly to that young gentleman's -astonishment and disgust. It did not last long, that halcyon time; the -spells of the romancer held the practical father and the fashionable -mother in no lengthened thrall; and when they were dissipated, there -was merely a crippled, deformed, blighted lad as their eldest hope -and the heir to their honours. Tiny Tim borne aloft on his capering -father's shoulders; Tiny Tim in his grave,--these were images to wring -the heart not unpleasantly, and to fill the eyes with tears of which -one was rather proud, as proof of how easily the heart was wrung: but -for a handsome couple--one known as a _beau garçon_, the other as a -beauty--to have to face the stern fact that their eldest son was a -cripple was any thing but agreeable. - -Untrusted--that was it. Never from his earliest days could he recollect -what it was to have trust reposed in him. He knew--he could not help -knowing--how superior he was in ability and common-sense to any in -that household; he knew that his father at least was perfectly aware -of this; and yet that Lord Beauport could not disconnect the idea of -bodily decrepitude and mental weakness; and therefore looked upon his -eldest son as little more than a child in mind. As for Caterham's -mother, the want of any feeling in common between them, the utter -absence of any maternal tenderness, the manifest distaste with which -she regarded him, and the half-wearied, half-contemptuous manner in -which she put aside the attempts he made towards a better understanding -between them, had long since begun to tell upon him. There was a time -when, smarting under her lifelong neglect, and overcome by the utter -sense of desolation weighing him down, he had regarded his mother -with a feeling bordering on aversion; then her presence, occasionally -bestowed upon him--always for her own purposes---awakened in him -something very like disgust. But he had long since conquered that: he -had long since argued himself out of that frame of mind. Self-commune -had done its work; the long, long days and nights of patient reflexion -and self-examination, aided by an inexplicable sense of an overhanging -great change, had softened and subdued all that had been temporarily -hard and harsh in Lord Caterham's nature; and there was no child, -kneeling at its little bedside, whose "God bless dear papa and mamma!" -was more tenderly earnest than the blessing which the crippled man -constantly invoked on his parents. - -He loved them in a grave, steady, reverential, dutiful way--loved them -even with greater warmth, with more complete fondness than he had done -for years; but his love never touched his instinct of justice--never -warped his sense of what was right. He remembered how, years before, -he had been present, a mere boy, sitting perched up in his wheelchair, -apparently forgotten, in an obscure corner of his father's study at -Homershams, while Lord Beauport administered a terrific "wigging," -ending in threats of gaols and magistrates, to an unlucky wretch -accused of poaching by the head-keeper; and he recollected how, when -the man had been dismissed with a severe warning, he had talked to -and argued with his father, first on the offence, and then on Lord -Beauport's administration of justice, with an air of grave and earnest -wisdom which had amused his father exceedingly. He had held the same -sentiments throughout his dreary life--he held them now. He knew that -a plot was formed by his mother to bring his brother Lionel back to -England, with a view to his marriage with Annie Maurice, and he was -determined that that plot should not succeed. Why? He had his reasons, -as they had theirs. To his own heart he confessed that he loved Annie -with all the depth of his soul; but that was not what prompted him in -this matter. He should be far removed from the troubling before that; -but he had his reason, and he should keep it to himself. They had not -trusted in him, though they had been compelled to take allies from the -outside--dear old Algy Barford, for instance--but they had not trusted -him, and he would not reveal his secret. Was Lionel to marry Annie -Maurice, eh? No; that should never be. He might not be there himself -to prevent it; but he would leave behind him instructions with some -one, which would--Ah! he had hit upon the some one at once,--Geoffrey -Ludlow, Annie's oldest and dearest friend, honest as the day, brave -and disinterested; not a clever business man perhaps, but one who, -armed with what he could arm him with, must, with his sheer singleness -of purpose, carry all before him. So far, so good; but there would -be a first step which they would take perhaps before he could bring -that weapon into play. His mother would contrive to get Lionel into -the house, on his return, to live with them, so that he might have -constant opportunities of access to Annie. That was a point in which, -as he gleaned, she placed the greatest confidence. If her Lionel -had not lost all the fascinating qualities which had previously so -distinguished him; if he preserved his looks and his address, this -young girl--so inexperienced in the world's ways, so warm-hearted and -impressible--would have no choice but to succumb. - -Caterham would see about that at once. Lionel should never remain -_en permanence_ in that house again. Lady Beauport would object of -course. She had, when she had set her mind upon an object, a steady -perseverance in its accomplishment; but neither her patience nor her -diplomacy were comparable to his, when he was equally resolved, as she -should find. No; on that point at least he was determined. His darling, -his treasure, should not even be compelled to run the gauntlet of such -a sin-stained courtship as his brother Lionel's must necessarily be. -What might be awaiting her in the future, God alone knew: temptations -innumerable; pursuit by fortune-hunters: all those trials which beset -a girl who, besides being pretty and rich, has no blood-relative on -whom to reckon for counsel and aid. He would do his best to remedy -this deficiency; he would leave the fullest instructions, the warmest -adjurations to good Geoffrey Ludlow--ah! what a pity it was that -Ludlow's wife was not more heartful and reliable!--and he would -certainly place a veto upon the notion that Lionel, on his return, -should become an inmate of the house. He knew that this must be done -quickly, and he determined to take the first opportunity that presented -itself. That opportunity was not long in coining; within ten days after -Margaret's fainting-fit, Lady. Beauport paid one of her rare maternal -visits, and Lord Caterham saw that his chance had arrived. - -There was an extra glow of geniality in Lady Beauport's manner that -morning, and the frosty peck which she had made at her son's cheek -had perhaps a trifle more warmth in it than usual. She seated herself -instead of standing, as was her wont, and chatted pleasantly. - -"What is this I hear about your having a lady fainting in your room, -Arthur?" said she, with one of her shiniest smiles. (What calumny -they spread about enamel! Lady Beauport smiled perpetually, and her -complexion never cracked in the slightest degree.) "You must not bring -down scandal on our extremely proper house. She did faint, didn't she?" - -"O, yes, mother, she did faint undoubtedly--went what you call -regularly 'off,' I believe." - -"Ah! so Stephens told Timpson. Well, sir, don't you think that is -reprehensible enough? A lady comes to call on a bachelor, and is -discovered fainting! Why? Heaven knows--" and her ladyship gave an -unpleasantly knowing chuckle. - -"Well, I must admit that no one knows, or ever will know why, save that -the lady was probably over-fatigued, having only just recovered from a -serious illness. But then, you know, the lady's husband was with her, -so that--" - -"O, yes, I heard all about that. You are a most prudent swain, -Caterham! The lady's husband with her, indeed! Most prudent! You always -remind me of the play--I don't know what it's called--something about a -French milliner and a screen--" - -"'The School for Scandal,' you mean?" - -"Very likely. Ive forgotten the name, but I know I recollect seeing -Farren and Miss Foote and all of them in it. And I so often think of -the two brothers: you so quiet and reserved, like one; and the other -so rackety and buoyant, so full of high spirits and gaiety, like our -Lionel. Ah me!" and Lady Beauport heaved a deep sigh and clasped her -hands sadly in front of her. - -Caterham smiled--rather a sad dreary smile--as he said, "Let us trust -that quiet and reserve don't always have the effect which they produced -on the gentleman to whom you are alluding, mother. But I may as well -let you know the real story of Mrs. Ludlow's fainting-fit, which seems -to have become rather warped in its journey. I had asked her husband -to call upon me on a matter of business; and he foolishly brought -her--only just out of her confinement--with him. The consequence -was, that, as we were talking, and she was looking through a book of -photographs, she fainted away." - -"Ay! I heard something of that sort. She must be a curious person to be -so easily affected, or it was thoughtless of her husband to bring her -out too soon. He is an odd kind of man though, is he not? Absent, and -that kind of thing?" - -"Ye-es; his heart is in his work, and he is generally thinking about -it." - -"So I had imagined. What odd people you know, Arthur! Your -acquaintances all seem such strange people--so different from your -father's and mine!" - -"Yes, mother," said Caterham, with a repetition of the sad smile; -"perhaps you're right generally. Your friends would scarcely care for -me, and I am sure I do not care for them. But Geoffrey Ludlow became -known to me through his old intimacy with Annie--our Annie." - -"Ye-es. I scarcely know why 'our Annie,' though. You see, both your -father and I have many blood-relations, more or less distant, on either -side; and it would not be particularly convenient if the mere fact -of their being blood-relations compelled us to acknowledge them as -'ours.' Not that Ive any thing to say against Miss Maurice, though; -on the contrary, she's a very charming girl. At one time I thought -that--However, let that pass. She holds quite a different position now; -and I think every one will allow that my treatment of her is what it -should be." - -"Of course, mother. No one would dream of doubting it." - -"Well, perhaps not, Arthur; but you're such a recluse, you know, that -you're scarcely a judge of these things--one does not know what people -won't say. The world is so full of envy and jealousy, and all that, I'm -sure my position in regard to the matter is any thing but an agreeable -one. Here I am, having to act _chaperon_ to this girl, who is known -now as an heiress; and all kinds of men paying her attention, simply -on account of her wealth. What I suffer when we're out together, you -can't conceive. Every night, wherever we may be, there is a certain set -of men always hanging about her, waiting for an introduction--persons -whose acquaintance cannot do her the slightest good, and with whom she -is yet quite as willing to talk or to dance as she is with he most -available _parti_ in London." - -Caterham smiled again. "You forget, mother, that she's not accustomed -to the kind of life--" - -"No; I don't forget anything of the kind, Arthur. It is her not being -accustomed to it that is my greatest trouble. She is as raw as a child -of seventeen Aft her first drawing-room. If she had any _savoir faire_, -any knowledge of society, I should be perfectly at ease. A girl of any -appreciation would know how to treat these people in an instant. Why, -I know myself, that when I was far younger than Miss Maurice, I should -have felt a kind of instinctive warning against two-thirds of the men -with whom Annie Maurice is as talkative and as pleasant as though they -were really persons whose acquaintance it was most desirable that she -should make." - -"And yet Annie is decidedly a clever girl." - -"So much the worse, Arthur,--so much the worse. The more reason that -she is utterly unlikely to possess or to be able readily to acquire the -peculiar knowledge which would fit her to act under the circumstances -of which I am speaking. Your clever people--such at least as are called -clever by you and those whom you cultivate--are precisely the people -who act idiotically in worldly affairs, who either know nothing or who -set at defiance the _convenances_ of society, and of whom nothing can -be made. That man--no, let me give you an example--that man who dined -here last Thursday on your invitation--Professor Somebody, wasn't -he?--Ive heard of him at that place where they give the scientific -lectures in Albemarle Street--was any thing ever seen like his cravat, -or his shoes, or the way in which he ate his soup?--he trod on my dress -twice in going down to dinner, and I heard perfectly plainly what Lady -Clanronald said to that odious Mr. Beauchamp Hogg about him." - -"My father spoke to me in the highest terms about--" - -"Of course he did; that's just it. Your father knows nothing about this -sort of thing. It all falls upon me. If Annie Maurice were to make a -_mésalliance_, or, without going so far as that, were to permit herself -to be engaged to some penniless fortune-hunter, and were to refuse--as -she very likely would, for she has an amount of obstinacy in her -composition, I am inclined to think, which one very seldom finds--to -listen to the remonstrances of those whose opinion ought to have weight -with her, it is I, not your father, who would be blamed by the world." - -"Your troubles certainly seem greater, mother, than I, in my bachelor -ignorance, could have imagined." - -"They are not comprehensible, even after my explanation, Arthur, by -those who have not to undergo them. There is scarcely any thing in my -married life which has given me such pleasure as the thought that, -having no daughters, I should be relieved of all duties of chaperonage; -that I should not be compelled to go to certain places unless I wished; -and that I should be able to leave others at what hours I liked. And -now I find this very duty incumbent upon me." - -"Well, but, my dear mother, surely Annie is the very last girl in the -world for whom it is necessary to make any such sacrifices. She does -not care about going out; and when out, she seems, from all she says to -me, to have only one anxiety, and that is--to get home again as soon as -possible." - -"Ay, from all she says to you, Arthur; but then you know, as Ive -said before, you are a regular old bachelor, without the power of -comprehending these things, and to whom a girl certainly would not be -likely to show her real feelings. No; there's only one way to relieve -me from my responsibility." - -"And that is--" - -"And that is by getting her married." - -"A-ah!" Caterham drew a long breath--it was coming now. - -"Married," continued Lady Beauport, "to some one whom we know, and in -whom we could trust; some one who would keep her near us, so that we -could still keep up an interest in her; and you--for I know how very -much attached you are to her, Arthur--could see her constantly, without -trouble to yourself. That is the only manner in which I can see a -conclusion to my anxiety on Annie's account." - -Lady Beauport endeavoured to speak in the same tone in which she had -commenced the conversation; but there was a quiver in her voice and a -tremulous motion in her hands which showed Caterham plainly that she -was ill at ease. - -"And do you think that such a husband would be easily found for Annie, -mother?" said he, looking up at her with one of his steady piercing -glances from under his eyebrows. - -"Not easily, of course; but still to be found, Arthur." - -"From your manner, you seem to have already given the subject some -attention. May I ask if you have any one in prospect who would fulfil -all the conditions you have laid down in the first place, and in the -second would be likely to be acceptable to Annie?" - -"How very singular you are, Arthur! You speak in a solemn tone, as if -this were the most important matter in the world." - -"It is sufficiently important to Annie at least. Would you mind -answering me?" - -Lady Beauport saw that it was useless fighting off the explanation -any further. Her project must be disclosed now, however it might be -received by her eldest son; and she determined to bring her stateliest -and most dignified manner to its disclosure: so she composed her face -to its usual cold statuesque calmness, folded her wandering hands -before her, and in a voice in which there was neither break nor tremor, -said: - -"No: I will answer you quite straightforwardly. I think that it would -be an admirable thing for all parties if a marriage could be arranged -between Annie Maurice and your brother Lionel. Lionel has position, -and is a distinguished-looking man, of whom any woman might be proud; -and the fortune which Mr. Ampthill so oddly left to Miss Maurice will -enable him to hold his own before the world, and--how strangely you -look, Caterham!--what is the matter?--what were you about to say?" - -"Only one thing, mother--that marriage must never be." - -"Must never be!" - -"Never. Hear me out. I have kept accurate account of all you have said, -and will judge you in the first place simply out of your own mouth. -Your first point was that Miss Maurice should be married to some one -whom we knew, and whom we could trust. Could we trust Lionel? Could we -trust the man whose father's head was bowed to the dust, whose mother's -eyes were filled with tears at the mere recital of his deeds of sin -and shame? Could we trust the man who was false to his friend, and -who dragged down into the dirt not merely himself, but all who bore -his name? You spoke of his position--what is that, may I ask? Are we -to plume ourselves on our relationship with an outcast? or are we to -hold out as an inducement to the heiress the fact that her intended -husband's liberty is at the mercy of those whom he has swindled and -defrauded?" - -"Caterham! Arthur! you are mad--you--" - -"No, mother, I am simply speaking the truth. I should not even have -insisted on that in all its bitterness, had I not been goaded to it by -your words. You talk of devoting the fortune which Annie Maurice has -inherited to setting Lionel right before the world, and you expect me -to sit quietly by! Why, the merest instincts of justice would have made -me cry out against such a monstrous proposition, even if Lionel had not -long since forfeited, as Annie has long since won, all my love." - -"A-h!" said Lady Beauport, suddenly pausing in her tears, and looking -up at him,--"long since won all your love, eh? I have often suspected -that, Caterham; and now you have betrayed yourself. It is jealousy -then,--mere personal jealousy,--by which all your hatred of your -younger brother is actuated!" - -Once more the dreary smile came over Lord Caterham's face. "No, -mother," said he, "it is not that. I love Annie Maurice as I love the -sun, as I love health, as I love rest from pain and weariness; and with -about as much hope of winning either. You could confer on me no greater -happiness than by showing me the man deserving of her love; and the -thought that her future would have a chance of being a happy one would -relieve my life of its heaviest anxiety. But marry Lionel she shall -not; nay, more, she shall not be exposed to the chance of communication -with him, so long as I can prevent it." - -"You forget yourself, Lord Caterham! You forget not merely whose house -you are in, but to whom you are speaking." - -"I trust not, mother. I trust I shall never--certainly not now, at -this time--forget my duty to you and to my father; but I know more -than I can ever divulge even to you. Take for granted what I tell you; -let what you know of Lionel's ways and conduct suffice to prove that -a marriage between him and Annie is impossible,--that you would be -culpable in lending yourselves to such a scheme." - -"I have not the least idea of what you are talking about, Arthur," said -Lady Beauport after a minute's pause. "You appear to have conceived -some ridiculous idea about your brother Lionel, into the discussion -of which you must really excuse my following you. Besides, even if -you had good grounds for all you say, you are too late in making the -remonstrance. Lionel arrived in England the day before yesterday." - -Lord Caterham started, and by the help of his stick raised himself for -a moment. - -"Lionel returned! Lionel in England, mother! After all his promises, -after the strict conditions on which my father purchased for him -immunity from the penalties of his crime! How is this? Does Lord -Beauport know it?" - -Lady Beauport hesitated. She had been betrayed by her vexation into -saying more than she had intended, and had placed Lionel in his -brother's power. Lord Caterham, she had hoped, would have received -her confidence in a different spirit,--perhaps she had calculated -on his being flattered by its novelty,--and would assist her in -breaking the fact of the prodigal's return to his father, and winning -him over to her way of thinking. She had by no means forgotten the -painful solemnity with which the Earl had renounced Lionel, and the -formal sentence of exclusion which had been passed against him; but -Lady Beauport understood her husband well, and had managed him with -tolerable success for many years. He had forbidden all mention of their -son to her, as to every other member of the family; but Lady Beauport -had been in the habit of insinuating an occasional mention of him for -some time past; and it had not been badly received. Perhaps neither -the father nor the mother would have acknowledged to themselves or -to each other the share in this change of feeling which belonged to -the unmistakable daily decline of Lord Caterham's health. They never -alluded to the future, but they saw it, and it influenced them both. -Lady Beauport had not looked for Lionel's return so soon; she had -expected more patience--it might have been appropriately called more -decency--from him; she had thought her difficulties would be much -lessened before his return; but he had neglected her injunctions, -and forestalled her instructions: he had arrived,--there was no -help for it; she must meet the difficulty now. She had been meeting -difficulties, originating from the same source, for many years; and -though Caterham's manner annoyed her deeply, she kept her courage up. -Her first instinct was to evade her son's last question, by assuming an -injured tone in reference to his first. So she said, - -"O, it's all very well to talk about his promises, Arthur; but, really, -how you could expect Lionel to remain in Australia I cannot understand." - -"I did not, and I do not, form any expectations whatever concerning -Lionel, mother," her son replied, in a steady voice, and without -releasing her from his gaze; "that is beside the question. Lionel has -broken his pledged word to my father by returning here,--you know he -has,--and he has not given any career a fair trial. I can guess the -expectations with which he has returned," he continued in a bitter -tone; "and God knows I trust they are not unfounded. But my place is -not vacant _yet_; and he has forfeited his own. You cannot restore it -to him. Why has he returned?" - -Lady Beauport did not dare to say, "Because I wrote to him, and told -him to come home, and marry Annie Maurice, and buy the world's fickle -favour over again with her money, while waiting for yours;" but her -silence said it for her; and Caterham let his eyes drop from her face -in disgust, as he coldly said, - -"Once more, madam, I ask you, is my father aware that Lionel is in -London?" - -"No," she replied boldly, seeing things were at the worst; "he is -not. I tell you, Caterham, if you tell him, before I have time and -opportunity to break it to him, and set your father against him, and on -keeping his word just as a point of pride, I will never forgive you. -What good could it do you? What harm has Lionel done you? How could he -stay in that horrid place? He's not a tradesman, I should think; and -what could he _do_ there? nor an Irishman, I hope; so what could he -_be_ there? The poor boy was perfectly miserable; and when I told him -to come lit, me, I thought you'd help me, Arthur,--I did indeed." - -A grave sad smile passed over Lord Caterham's worn face. Here was his -proud mother trying to cajole him for the sake of the profligate son -who had never felt either affection or respect for her. Had a less -object been at stake he might have yielded to the weakness which he -rather pitied than despised; yielded all the more readily that it would -not be for long. But Annie's peace, Annie's welfare was in danger, and -his mother's weakness could meet with no toleration at his hands. - -"Listen to me, mother," he said; "and let this be no more mentioned -between us. I am much exhausted to-day, and have little strength at -any time; but my resolve is unshaken. I will not inform my father of -Lionel's return, if you think you can manage to tell him, and to induce -him to take it without anger more successfully than I can. But while I -live Lionel Brakespere shall never live in the same house with Annie -Maurice; and whether I am living or dead, I will prevent his ever -making her his wife. This is her proper home; and I will do my best -to secure her remaining in it; but how long do you suppose she would -stay, if she heard the plans you have formed?" Lady Beauport attempted -to speak, but he stopped her. "One moment more, mother," he said, -"and I have done. Let me advise you to deceive my father no more for -Lionel. He is easily managed, I have no doubt, by those whom he loves -and admires; but he is impatient of deceit, being very loyal himself. -Tell him without delay what you have done; but do not, if even he takes -it better than you hope, and that you think such a suggestion would -be safe,--do not suggest that Lionel should come here. Let me, for my -little time, be kept from any collision with my father. I ask this -of you, mother." O, how the feeble voice softened, and the light in -the eyes deepened! "And my requests are neither frequent nor hard to -fulfil, I think." - -He had completely fathomed her purpose; he had seen the projects she -had formed, even while he was speaking the first sentences; and had -defeated them. By a violent effort she controlled her temper,--perhaps -she had never made so violent an effort, even for Lionel, before,--and -answered,-- - -"I hardly understand you, Arthur; but perhaps you are right. At all -events, you agree to say nothing to your father,--to leave it to me?" - -"Certainly," said Caterham. He had won the day; but his mother's manner -had no sign of defeat about it, no more than it had sign of softening. -She rose, and bade him goodmorning. He held her hand for a moment, and -his eyes followed her wistfully, as she went out of his room. - -As she passed through the passage, just outside her son's door she saw -a stout keen-looking man sitting on the bench, who rose and bowed as -she passed. - -When Stephens answered the bell, he found his master lying back, -bloodless and almost fainting. After he had administered the usual -restoratives, and when life seemed flowing back again, the valet said, - -"Inspector Blackett, my lord, outside." - -Lord Caterham made a sign with his hand, and the stout man entered. - -"The usual story, Blackett, I suppose?" - -"Sorry to say so, my lord. No news. Two of my men tried Maidstone again -yesterday, and Canterbury, thinking they were on the scent there; but -no signs of her." - -"Very good, Blackett," said Caterham faintly; "don't give in yet." - -Then, as the door closed behind the inspector, the poor sufferer looked -up heavenward and muttered, "O Lord, how long--how long?" - - - - - -Book the Third. - - - - -CHAPTER I. -THE WHOLE TRUTH. - - -No one who knew Geoffrey Ludlow would have recognised him in the -round-shouldered man with the prone head, the earth-seeking eyes, the -hands plunged deeply in his pockets, plodding home on that day on which -he had determined that Margaret should give him an explanation of her -conduct towards him. Although Geoff had never been a roisterer, had -never enlisted in that army of artists whose members hear "the chimes -o'midnight," had always been considered more or less slow and steady, -and was looked upon as one of the most respectable representatives of -the community, yet his happy disposition had rendered him a general -favourite even amongst those ribalds, and his equable temper and kindly -geniality were proverbial among all the brethren of the brush. Ah, that -equable temper, that kindly geniality,--where were they now? Those -expanded nostrils, those closed lips, spoke of very different feelings; -that long steady stride was very different from the joyous step which -had provoked the cynicism of the City-bound clerks; that puckered -brow, those haggard cheeks, could not be recognised as the facial -presentments of the Geoffrey Ludlow of a few short months since. - -In good sooth he was very much altered. The mental worrying so long -striven against in silence had begun to tell upon his appearance; the -big broad shoulders had become rounded; the gait had lost its springy -elasticity, the face was lined, and the dark-brown hair round the -temples and the long full beard were dashed with streaks of silver. -These changes troubled him but little. Never, save perhaps during the -brief period of his courtship of Margaret, had he given the smallest -thought to his personal appearance; yellow soap and cold water had -been his cosmetics, and his greatest sacrifice to vanity had been to -place himself at rare intervals under the hairdresser's scissors. -But there were other changes to which, try as he might, he could not -blind himself. He knew that the very source and fount of his delight -was troubled, if not sullied; he knew that all his happiness, so long -wished for, so lately attained, was trembling in the balance; he felt -that indefinable, indescribable sensation of something impending, -something which would shatter his roof-tree and break up that home -so recently established. As he plunged onward through the seething -streets, looking neither to the right nor to the left, he thought -vaguely of the events of the last few months of his life--thought of -them, regarding them as a dream. How long was it since he was so happy -at home with his old mother and with Til? when the monthly meeting -of the Titians caused his greatest excitement, and when his hopes of -fame were yet visionary and indistinct? How long was it since he had -met _her_ that fearful night, and had drunk of the beauty and the -witchery which had had such results? He was a man now before the world -with a name which people knew and respected, with a wife whose beauty -people admired; but, ah! where was the quietude, the calm unpretending -happiness of those old days? - -What could it mean? Had she a wish ungratified? He taxed his mind to -run through all the expressions of her idle fancy, but could think of -none with which he had not complied. Was she ill? He had made that -excuse for her before her baby was born; but now, not merely the -medical testimony, but his own anxious scrutiny told him that she -was in the finest possible health. There was an odd something about -her sometimes which he could not make out--an odd way of listening -vacantly, and not replying to direct questions, which he had noticed -lately, and only lately; but that might be a part of her idiosyncrasy. -Her appetite too was scarcely as good as it used to be; but in all -other respects she seemed perfectly well. There might have been some -difficulty with his mother and sister, he had at first imagined; but -the old lady had been wonderfully complaisant; and Til and Margaret, -when they met, seemed to get on excellently together. To be sure -his mother had assumed the reins of government during Margaret's -confinement, and held them until the last moment compatible with -decency; but her _régime_ had been over long since; and Margaret was -the last person to struggle for power so long as all trouble was taken -off her hands. Had the neighbours slighted her, she might have had -some cause for complaint; but the neighbours were every thing that was -polite, and indeed at the time of her illness had shown her attention -meriting a warmer term. What could it mean? Was there-- No; he crushed -out the idea as soon as it arose in his mind. There could not be any -question about--any one else--preying on her spirits? The man, her -destroyer--who had abandoned and deserted her--was far away; and she -was much too practical a woman not to estimate all his conduct at its -proper worth. No amount of girlish romance could survive the cruel -schooling which his villany had subjected her to; and there was no -one else whom she had seen who could have had any influence over her. -Besides, at the first, when he had made his humble proffer of love, she -had only to have told him that it could not be, and he would have taken -care that her future was provided for--if not as it had been, at all -events far beyond the reach of want. O, no, that could not be. - -So argued Geoff with himself--brave, honest, simple old Geoff, with -the heart of a man and the guilelessness of a child. So he argued, -determining at the same time that he would pluck out the heart of the -mystery at once, whatever might be at its root; any thing would be -better than this suspense preying on him daily, preventing him from -doing his work, and rendering him moody and miserable. - -But before he reached his home his resolution failed, and his heart -sunk within him. What if Margaret were silent and preoccupied? what -if the occasional gloom upon her face became more and more permanent? -Had not her life been full of sorrow? and was it wonderful that the -remembrance of it from time to time came over her? She had fearlessly -confided her whole story to him; she had given him time to reflect -on it before committing himself to her; and would it be generous, -would it be even just, to call her to account now for freaks of -behaviour engendered doubtless in the memory of that bygone time? -After all, what was the accusation against her? None. Had there been -the smallest trace of levity in her conduct, how many eyebrows were -there ready to be lifted--how many shoulders waiting to be shrugged! -But there was nothing of the kind; all that could be said about her -was that,--all that could be said about her--now he thought it over, -nothing was said about her; all that was hinted was that her manner -was cold and impassable; that she took no interest in what was going -on around her, and that therefore there must be something wrong. -There is always something to be complained of. If her manner had been -light and easy, they would have called her a flirt, and pitied him -for having married a woman so utterly ill-suited to his staid habits. -He knew so little of her when he married her, that he ran every kind -of risk as to what she might really prove to be; and on reflection -he thought he had been exceedingly lucky. She might have been giddy, -vulgar, loud, presuming, extravagant; whereas she was simply reserved -and undemonstrative,--nothing more. He had been a fool in thinking -of her as he had done during the last few weeks; he had,--without -her intending it doubtless, for she was an excellent woman,--he had -taken his tone in this matter from his mother, with whom Margaret was -evidently no favourite, and--there, never mind--it was at an end now. -She was his own darling wife, his lovely companion, merely to sit and -look at whom was rapturous delight to a man of his keen appreciation of -the beauty of form and colour; and as to her coldness and reserve, it -was but a temporary mannerism, which would soon pass away. - -So argued Geoffrey Ludlow with himself,--brave, honest, simple old -Geoff, with the heart of a man, and the guilelessness of a child. - -So happy was he under the influence of his last thought, that he longed -to take Margaret to his heart at once, and without delay to make trial -of his scheme for dissipating her gloom; but when he reached home, -the servant told him that her mistress had gone out very soon after -he himself had left that morning, and had not yet returned. So he -went through into the studio, intending to work at his picture; but -when he got there he sunk down into a chair, staring vacantly at the -lay-figure, arranged as usual in a preposterous attitude, and thinking -about Margaret. Rousing himself, he found his palette, and commenced -to set it; but while in the midst of this task, he suddenly fell -a-thinking again, and stood there mooning, until the hope of doing any -work was past, and the evening shadows were falling on the landscape. -Then he put up his palette and his brushes, and went into the -dining-room. He walked to the window, but had scarcely reached it, when -he saw a cab drive up. The man opened the door, and Margaret descended, -said a few hasty words to the driver, who touched his hat and fastened -on his horse's nosebag, and approached the house with rapid steps. - -From his position in the window, he had noticed a strange light in her -eyes which he had never before seen there, a bright hectic flush on -her cheek, a tight compression of her lips. When she entered the room -he saw that in his first hasty glance he had not been deceived; that -the whole expression of her face had changed from its usual state of -statuesque repose, and was now stern, hard, and defiant. - -He was standing in the shadow of the window-curtain, and she did not -see him at first; but throwing her parasol on the table, commenced -pacing the room. The lamp was as yet unlit, and the flickering -firelight--now glowing a deep dull red, now leaping into yellow -flame--gave an additional weirdness to the set intensity of her -beautiful face. Gazing at her mechanically walking to and fro, her head -supported by one hand, her eyes gleaming, her hair pushed back off her -face, Geoffrey again felt that indescribable sinking at his heart; and -there was something of terror in the tone in which, stepping forward, -he uttered her name--"Margaret!" - -In an instant she stopped in her walk, and turning towards the place -whence the voice came, said, "You there, Geoffrey?" - -"Yes, darling,--who else? I was standing at the window when the cab -drove up, and saw you get out. By the way, you've not sent away the cab, -love; is he paid?" - -"No, not yet,--he will--let him stay a little." - -"Well, but why keep him up here, my child, where there is no chance of -his getting a return-fare? Better pay him and let him go. I'll go and -pay him!" and he was leaving the room. - -"Let him stay, please," said Margaret in her coldest tones; and -Geoffrey turned back at once. But as he turned he saw a thrill run -through her, and marked the manner in which she steadied her hand on -the mantelpiece on which she was leaning. In an instant he was by her -side. - -"You are ill, my darling?" he exclaimed. "You have done too much again, -and are over-fatigued----" - -"I am perfectly well," she said; "it was nothing--or whatever it was, -it has passed. I did not know you had returned. I was going to write to -you." - -"To write to me!" said Geoff in a hollow voice,--"to write to me!" - -"To write to you. I had something to tell you--and--and I did not know -whether I should ever see you again!" - -For an instant the table against which Geoffrey Ludlow stood seemed -to spin away under his touch, and the whole room reeled. A deadly -faintness crept over him, but he shook it off with one great effort, -and said in a very low tone, "I scarcely understand you--please -explain." - -She must have had the nature of a fiend to look upon that large-souled -loving fellow, stricken down by her words as by a sudden blow, and with -his heart all bleeding, waiting to hear the rest of her sentence. She -had the nature of a fiend, for through her set teeth she said calmly -and deliberately: - -"I say I did not know whether I should ever see you again. That cab is -detained by me to take me away from this house, to which I ought never -to have come--which I shall never enter again." - -Geoff had sunk into a chair, and clutching the corner of the table with -both hands, was looking up at her with a helpless gaze. - -"You don't speak!" she continued; "and I can understand why you are -silent. This decision has come upon you unexpectedly, and you can -scarcely realise its meaning or its origin. I am prepared to explain -both to you. I had intended doing so in a letter, which I should have -left behind me; but since you are here, it is better that I should -speak." - -The table was laid for dinner, and there was a small decanter of sherry -close by Geoff's hand. He filled a glass from it and drank it eagerly. -Apparently involuntarily, Margaret extended her hand towards the -decanter; but she instantly withdrew it, and resumed: - -"You know well, Geoffrey Ludlow, that when you asked me to become your -wife, I declined to give you any answer until you had heard the story -of my former life. When I noticed your growing interest in me--and -I noticed it from its very first germ--I determined that before you -pledged yourself to me--for my wits had been sharpened in the school -of adversity, and I read plainly enough that love from such a man as -you had but one meaning and one result,--I determined that before you -pledged yourself to me you should learn as much as it was necessary -for you to know of my previous history. Although my early life had -been spent in places far away from London, and among persons whom it -was almost certain I should never see again, it was, I thought, due to -you to explain all to you, lest the gossiping fools of the world might -some day vex your generous heart with stories of your wife's previous -career, which she had kept from you. Do you follow me?" - -Geoffrey bowed his head, but did not speak. - -"In that story I told you plainly that I had been deceived by a -man under promise of marriage; that I had lived with him as his -wife for many months; that he had basely deserted me and left me to -starve,--left me to die--as I should have died had you not rescued me. -You follow me still?" - -She could not see his face now,--it was buried in his hands; but there -was a motion of his head, and she proceeded: - -"That man betrayed me when I trusted him, used me while I amused him, -deserted me when I palled upon him. He ruined, you restored me; he -left me to die, you brought me back to life; he strove to drag me to -perdition, you to raise me to repute. I respected, I honoured you; but -I loved him! yes, from first to last I loved him; infatuated, mad as I -knew it to be, I loved him throughout! Had I died in those streets from -which you rescued me, I should have found strength to bless him with my -last breath. When I recovered consciousness, my first unspoken thought -was of him. It was that I would live, that I would make every exertion -to hold on to life, that I might have the chance of seeing him again. -Then dimly, and as in a dream, I saw you and heard your voice, and -knew that you were to be a portion of my fate. Ever since, the image -of that man has been always present before me; his soft words of love -have been always ringing in my ears; his gracious presence has been -always at my side. I have striven and striven against the infatuation. -Before Heaven I swear to you that I have prayed night after night that -I might not be led into that awful temptation of retrospect which beset -me; that I might be strengthened to love you as you should be loved, to -do my duty towards you as it should be done. All in vain, all in vain! -That one fatal passion has sapped my being, and rendered me utterly -incapable of any other love in any other shape. I know what you have -done for me--more than that, I know what you have suffered for me. You -have said nothing; but do you think I have not seen how my weariness, -my coldness, the impossibility of my taking interest in all the little -schemes you have laid for my diversion, have irked and pained you? Do -you think I do not know what it is for a full heart to beat itself into -quiet against a stone? I know it all; and if I could have spared you -one pang, I swear I would have done so. But I loved this man; ah, how -I loved him! He was but a memory to me then; but that memory was far, -far dearer than all reality! He is more than a memory to me now; for he -lives, and he is in London and I have seen him!" - -Out Of Geoffrey Ludlow's hands came, raised up suddenly, a dead -white face with puckered lips, knit brows, and odd red streaks and -indentations round the eyes. - -"Yes, Geoffrey Ludlow," she continued, not heeding the apparition, -"I have seen him,--now, within this hour,--seen him, bright, well, -and handsome--O, so handsome!--as when I saw him first; and that has -determined me. While I thought of him as perhaps dead; while I knew -him to be thousands of miles away, I could bear to sit here, to drone -out the dull monotonous life, striving to condone the vagrancy of -my thoughts by the propriety of my conduct,--heart-sick, weary, and -remorseful. Yes, remorseful, so far as you are concerned; for you are -a true and noble man, Geoffrey. But now that he is here, close to me, -I could not rest another hour,--I must go to him at once. Do you hear, -Geoffrey,--at once?" - -He tried to speak, but his lips were parched and dry, and he only made -an inarticulate sound. There was no mistaking the flash of his eyes, -however. In them Margaret had never seen such baleful light; so that -she was scarcely astonished when, his voice returning, he hissed out "I -know him!" - -"You know him?" - -"Yes; just come back from Australia--Lord Caterham's brother! I had a -letter from Lord Caterham to-day,--his brother--Lionel Brakespere!" - -"Well," she exclaimed, "what then? Suppose it be Lionel Brakespere, -what then, I ask--what then?" - -"Then!" said Geoffrey, poising his big sinewy arm--"then, let him look -to himself; for, by the Lord, I'll kill him!" - -"What!" and in an instant she had left her position against the -mantelpiece, and was leaning over the table at the corner where he -sat, her face close to his, her eyes on his eyes, her hot breath -on his cheeks--"You dare to talk of killing him, of doing him the -slightest injury! You dare to lift your hand against my Lionel! Look -here, Geoffrey Ludlow: you have been good and kind and generous to -me,--have loved me, in your fashion--deeply, I know; and I would let us -part friends; but I swear that if you attempt to wreak your vengeance -on Lionel Brakespere, who has done you no harm--how has he injured -you?--I will be revenged on you in a manner of which you little dream, -but which shall break your heart and spirit, and humble your pride to -the dust. Think of all this, Geoffrey Ludlow--think of it. Do nothing -rashly, take no step that will madden me, and drive me to do something -that will prevent your ever thinking of me with regret, when I am far -away." - -There was a softness in her voice which touched a chord in Geoffrey -Ludlow's breast. The fire faded out of his eyes; his hands, which had -been tight-clenched, relaxed, and spread out before him in entreaty; -he looked up at Margaret through blinding tears, and in a broken voice -said, - -"When you are far away! O, my darling, my darling, you are not going to -leave me? It cannot be,--it is some horrible dream. To leave me, who -live but for you, whose existence is bound up in yours! It cannot be. -What have I done?--what can you charge me with? Want of affection, of -devotion to you? O God, it is hard that I should have to suffer in this -way! But you won't go, Margaret darling? Tell me that--only tell me -that." - -She shrank farther away from him, and seemed for a moment to cower -before the vehemence and anguish of his appeal; but the next her face -darkened and hardened, and as she answered him, the passion in her -voice was dashed with a tone of contempt. - -"Yes, I will leave you," she said,--"of course I will leave you. Do you -not hear me? Do you not understand me? I have seen him, I tell you, and -every thing which is not him has faded out of my life. What should I do -here, or any where, where he is not? The mere idea is absurd. I have -only half lived since I lost him, and I could not live at all now that -I have seen him again. Stay here! not leave _you!_ stay _here!_" She -looked round the room with a glance of aversion and avoidance, and went -on with increasing rapidity: "You have never understood me. How should -you? But the time has come now when you must try to understand me, for -your own sake; for mine it does no matter--nothing matters now." - -She was standing within arm's-length of him, and her face was turned -full upon him: but she did not seem to see him. She went on as though -reckoning with herself, and Geoffrey gazed upon her in stupefied -amazement; his momentary rage quenched in the bewilderment of his -anguish. - -"I don't deny your goodness--I don't dispute it--I don't think about it -at all; it is all done with, all past and gone; and I have no thought -for it or you, beyond these moments in which I am speaking to you for -the last time. I have suffered in this house torments which your slow -nature could neither suffer nor comprehend--torments wholly impossible -to endure longer. I have raged and rebelled against the dainty life of -dulness and dawdling, the narrow hopes and the tame pleasures which -have sufficed for you. I must have so raged and rebelled under any -circumstances; but I might have gone on conquering the revolts, if I -had not seen him. Now, I tell you, it is no longer possible, and I -break with it at once and for ever. Let me go quietly, and in such -peace as may be possible: for go I must and I will. You could as soon -hold a hurricane by force or a wave of the sea by entreaty." - -Geoffrey Ludlow covered his face with his hands, and groaned. Once -again she looked at him--this time as if she saw him--and went on: - -"Let me speak to you, while I can, of yourself--while I can, I say, -for his face is rising between me and all the world beside, and I can -hardly force myself to remember any thing, to calculate any thing, to -realise any thing which is not him. You ask me not to leave you; you -would have me stay! Are you mad, Geoffrey Ludlow? Have you lived among -your canvases and your colours until you have ceased to understand -what men and women are, and to see facts? Do you know that I love -him, though he left me to what you saved me from, so that all that -you have done for me and given me has been burdensome and hateful to -me, because these things had no connection with him, but marked the -interval in which he was lost to me? Do you know that I love him so, -that I have sickened and pined in this house, even as I sickened and -pined for hunger in the streets you took me from, for the most careless -word he ever spoke and the coldest look he ever gave me? Do you know -the agonised longing which has been mine, the frantic weariness, the -unspeakable loathing of every thing that set my life apart from the -time when my life was his? No, you don't know these things! Again I -say, how should you? Well, I tell them to you now, and I ask you, are -you mad that you say, 'Don't leave me'? Would you have me stay with -_you_ to think of _him_ all the weary hours of the day, all the wakeful -hours of the night? Would you have me stay with you to feel, and make -you know that I feel, the tie between us an intolerable and hideous -bondage, and that with every pang of love for him came a throb of -loathing for you? No, no! you are nothing to me now,--nothing, nothing! -My thoughts hurry away from you while I speak; but if any thing so -preposterous as my staying with you could be possible, you would be the -most hateful object on this earth to me." - -"My God!" gasped Geoffrey. That was all The utter, unspeakable horror -with which her words, poured out in a hard ringing voice, which -never faltered, filled him overpowered all remonstrance. A strange -feeling, which was akin to fear of this beautiful unmasked demon, came -over him. It was Margaret, his wife, who spoke thus! The knowledge -and its fullest agony were in his heart; and yet a sense of utter -strangeness and impossibility were there too. The whirl within him -was not to be correctly termed thought; but there was in it something -of the past, a puzzled remembrance of her strange quietude, her -listlessness, her acquiescent, graceful, wearied, compliant ways; and -this was she,--this woman whose eyes burned with flames of passion and -desperate purpose--on those ordinarily pale cheeks two spots of crimson -glowed,--whose lithe frame trembled with the intense fervour of the -love which she was declaring for another man! Yes, this was she! It -seemed impossible; but it was true. - -"I waste words," she said; "I am talking of things beside the question, -and I don't want to lie to you. Why should I? There has been nothing in -my life worth having but him, nothing bearable since I lost him, and -there is nothing else since I have found him again. I say, I must leave -you for your sake, and it is true; but I would leave you just the same -if it was not true. There is nothing henceforth in my life but him." - -She moved towards the door as she spoke, and the action seemed to rouse -Geoffrey from the stupefaction which had fallen upon him. She had her -hand upon the door-handle though, before he spoke. - -"You are surely mad!" he said "I think so.--I hope so; but even mad -women remember that they are mothers. Have you forgotten your child, -that you rave thus of leaving your home?" - -She took her hand from the door and leaned back against it--her head -held up, and her eyes turned upon him, the dark eyebrows shadowing them -with a stern frown. - -"I am not mad," she said; "but I don't wonder you think me so. Continue -to think so, if you needs must remember me at all. Love is madness to -such as you; but it is life, and sense, and wisdom, and wealth to such -as I and the man I love. At all events it is all the sanity I ask for -or want. As for the child--" she paused for one moment, and waved her -hand impatiently. - -"Yes," repeated Geoffrey hoarsely,--"the child!" - -"I will tell you then, Geoffrey Ludlow," she said, in a more deliberate -tone than she had yet commanded,--"I care nothing for the child! Ay, -look at me with abhorrence now; so much the better for _you_, and not -a jot the worse for me. What is your abhorrence to me?--what was your -love? There are women to whom their children are all in all. I am not -of their number; I never could have been. They are not women who love -as I love. Where a child has power to sway and fill a woman's heart, -to shake her resolution, and determine her life, love is not supreme. -There is a proper and virtuous resemblance to it, no doubt, but not -love--no, no, not love. I tell you I care nothing for the child. -Geoffrey Ludlow, if I had loved you, I should have cared for him almost -as little; if the man I love had been his father, I should have cared -for him no more, if I know any thing of myself. The child does not need -me. I suppose I am not without the brute instinct which would lead me -to shelter and feed and clothe him, if he did; but what has he ever -needed from me? If I could say without a lie that any thought of him -weighs with me--but I cannot--I would say to you, for the child's sake, -if for no other reason, I must go. The child is the last and feeblest -argument you can use with me--with whom indeed there are none strong or -availing." - -She turned abruptly, and once more laid her hand upon the door-handle. -Her last words had roused Geoffrey from the inaction caused by his -amazement. As she coldly and deliberately avowed her indifference -to the child, furious anger once more awoke within him. He strode -hastily towards her and sternly grasped her by the left arm. She made -a momentary effort to shake off his hold; but he held her firmly at -arm's-length from him, and said through his closed teeth: - -"You are a base and unnatural woman--more base and unnatural than I -believed any woman could be. As for me, I can keep silence on your -conduct to myself; perhaps I deserved it, seeing where and how I -found you." She started and winced. "As for the child, he is better -motherless than with such a mother; but I took you from shame and -sin, when I found you in the street, and married you; and you shall -not return to them if any effort of mine can prevent it. You have no -feeling, you have no conscience, you have no pride; you glory in a -passion for a man who flung you away to starve! Woman, have you no -sense of decency left, that you can talk of resuming your life of -infamy and shame?" - -The husband and wife formed a group which would have been awful to -look upon, had there been any one to witness that terrible interview, -as they stood confronting one another, while Geoffrey spoke. As his -words came slowly forth, a storm of passion shook Margaret's frame. -Every gleam of colour forsook her face; she was transformed into a -fixed image of unspeakable wrath. A moment she stood silent, breathing -quickly, her white lips dry and parted. Then, as a faint movement, -something like a ghastly smile, crept over her face, she said: - -"You are mistaken, Geoffrey Ludlow; I leave my life of infamy and shame -in leaving _you!_" - -"In leaving me! Again you are mad!" - -"Again I speak the words of sanity and truth. If what I am going to -tell you fills you with horror, I would have spared you; you have -yourself to thank. I intended to have spared you this final blow,--I -intended to have left you in happy ignorance of the fact--which you -blindly urge me to declare by your taunts. What did I say at the -commencement of this interview? That I wanted us to part friends. But -you will not have that. You reproach me with ingratitude; you taunt me -with being an unnatural mother; finally, you fling at me my life of -infamy and shame; I repeat that no infamy, no shame could attach to me -until I became--your mistress!" - -The bolt had shot home at last. Geoffrey leapt to his feet, and stood -erect before her; but his strength must have failed him in that -instant; for he could only gasp, "My mistress!" - -"Your mistress. That is all I have been to you, so help me Heaven!" - -"My wife! my own--married--lawful wife!" - -"No, Geoffrey Ludlow, no! In that wretched lodging to which you had -me conveyed, and where you pleaded your love, I told you--the truth -indeed, but not the whole truth. Had you known me better then,--had you -known me as you--as you know me now, you might have guessed that I was -not one of those trusting creatures who are betrayed and ruined by fair -words and beaming glances, come they from ever so handsome a man. One -fact I concealed from you, thinking, as my Lionel had deserted me, and -would probably never be seen again, that its revelation would prevent -me from accepting the position which you were about to offer me; but -the day that I fled from my home at Tenby I was married to Lionel -Brakespere; and at this moment I am his wife, not merely in the sight -of God, but by the laws of man!" - -For some instants he did not speak, he did not move from the chair into -which he had again fallen heavily during her speech: he sat gazing at -her, his breathing thickened, impeded, gasping. At length he said: - -"You're--you're speaking truth?" - -"I am speaking gospel-truth, Geoffrey Ludlow. You brought it upon -yourself: I would have saved you from the knowledge of it if I could, -but you brought it upon yourself." - -"Yes--as you say--on myself;" still sitting gazing vacantly before him, -muttering to himself rather than addressing her. Suddenly, with a wild -shriek, "The child! O God, the child!" - -"For the child's sake, no less than for your own, you will hold your -tongue on this matter," said Margaret, in her calm, cold, never-varying -tone. "In this instance at least you will have sense enough to perceive -the course you ought to take. What I have told you is known to none but -you and me, and one other--who can be left with me to deal with. Let it -be your care that the secret remains with us." - -"But the child is a----" - -"Silence, man!" she exclaimed, seizing his arm,--"silence now,--for -a few moments at all events. When I am gone, proclaim your child's -illegitimacy and your own position if you will, but wait till then. Now -I can remain here no longer. Such things as I absolutely require I will -send for. Goodbye, Geoffrey Ludlow." - -She gathered her shawl around her, and moved towards the door. In an -instant his lethargy left him; he sprang up, rushed before her, and -stood erect and defiant. - -"You don't leave me in this way, Margaret. You shall not leave me thus. -I swear you shall not pass!" - -She looked at him for a moment with a half-compassionate, -half-interested face. This assumption of spirit and authority she had -never seen in him before, and it pleased her momentarily. Then she said -quietly: - -"O yes, I shall. I am sure, Mr. Ludlow, you will not prevent my going -to my husband!" - -When the servant, after waiting more than an hour for dinner to be rung -for, came into the room to see what was the cause of the protracted -delay, she found her master prostrate on the hearth-rug, tossing and -raving incoherently. The frightened girl summoned assistance; and when -Dr. Brandram arrived, he announced Mr. Ludlow to be in the incipient -stage of a very sharp attack of brain-fever. - - - - -CHAPTER II. -THE REVERSE OF THE MEDAL. - - -It was one of those cheerless days not unfrequent at the end of -September, which first tell us that such fine weather as we have had -has taken its departure, and that the long dreary winter is close at -hand. The air was moist and "muggy;" there was no freshening wind to -blow away the heavy dun clouds which lay banked up thick, and had -seemed almost motionless for days; there was a dead faint depression -over all things, which weighed heavily on the spirits, impeded the -respiration, and relaxed the muscles. It was weather which dashed and -cowed even the lightest-hearted, and caused the careworn and the broken -to think self-destruction less extraordinary than they had hitherto -considered it. - -About noon a man was looking out of one of the upper-windows of -Long's Hotel on the dreary desert of Bond Street. He was a tall man; -who with straight-cut features, shapely beard, curling light hair, -and clear complexion, would have been generally considered more than -good-looking, notwithstanding that his eyes were comparatively small -and his mouth was decidedly sensual. That he was a man of breeding -and society one could have told in an instant--could have told it by -the colour and shape of his hands, by his bearing, by the very manner -in which he, leaving the window from time to time, lounged round the -room, his hands plunged in his pockets or pulling at his tawny beard. -You could have told it despite of his dress, the like of which had -surely never been seen before on any visitor to that select hostelry; -for he wore a thick jacket and trousers of blue pilot-cloth, a blue -flannel-shirt, with a red-silk handkerchief knotted round the collar, -and ankle jack-boots. When he jumped out of the cab at the door on -the previous day, he had on a round tarpaulin-hat, and carried over -his arm an enormous pea-jacket with horn buttons; and as he brought -no luggage with him save a small valise, and had altogether the -appearance of the bold smugglers who surreptitiously vend cigars and -silk-handkerchiefs, the hall-porter at first refused him admittance; -and it was not until the proprietor had been summoned, and after a -close scrutiny and a whispered name had recognised his old customer, -that the strange-looking visitor was ushered upstairs. He would have a -private room, he said; and he did not want it known that he was back -just yet--did Jubber understand? If any body called, that was another -matter: he expected his mother and one or two others; but he did not -want it put in the papers, or any thing of that kind. Jubber did -understand, and left Captain Lionel Brakespere to himself. - -Captain Lionel Brakespere, just at that time, could have had no worse -company. He had been bored to death by the terrible monotony of a -long sea-voyage, and had found on landing in England that his boredom -was by no means at an end. He had heard from his mother that "that -awkward business had all been squared," as he phrased it; and that it -was desirable he should return home at once, where there was a chance -of a marriage by which "a big something was to be pulled off," as he -phrased it again. So he had come back, and there he was at Long's; but -as yet he was by no means happy. He was doubtful as to his position in -society, as to how much of his escapade was known, as to whether he -would be all right with his former set, or whether he would get the -cold shoulder, and perhaps be cut. He could only learn this by seeing -Algy Barford, or some other fellow of the _clique_; and every fellow -was of course out of town at that infernal time of year. He must wait, -at all events, until he had seen his mother, to whom he had sent word -of his arrival. He might be able to learn something of all this from -her. Meantime he had taken a private room; not that there was much -chance of his meeting any one in the coffee-room, but some fellow -might perhaps stop there for the night on his way through town; and he -had sent for the tailor, and the hair-cutter fellow, and that sort of -thing, and was going to be made like a Christian again--not like the -cad he'd looked like in that infernal place out there. - -He lounged round the room, and pulled his beard and yawned as he -looked out of the window; pulling himself together afterwards by -stretching out his hands and arms, and shrugging his shoulders and -shaking himself, as if endeavouring to shake off depression. He _was_ -depressed; there was no doubt about it. Out there it was well enough. -He had been out there just long enough to have begun to settle down -into his new life, to have forgotten old ties and old feelings; but -here every thing jarred upon him. He was back in England certainly, but -back in England in a condition which he had never known before. In the -old days, at this time of year, he would have been staying down at some -country-house, or away in some fellow's yacht, enjoying himself to the -utmost; thoroughly appreciated and highly thought of,--a king among -men and a favourite among women. Now he was cooped up in this deserted -beastly place, which every one decent had fled from, not daring even -to go out and see whether some old comrade, haply retained in town by -duty, were not to be picked up, from whom he could learn the news, with -whom he might have a game of billiards, or something to get through the -infernally dragging wearisome time. He expected his mother. She was -his truest and stanchest friend, after all, and had behaved splendidly -to him all through this terrible business. It was better that she -should come down there, and let him know exactly how the land lay. He -would have gone home, but he did not know what sort of a reception -he might have met with from the governor; and from all he could make -out from his mother's letters, it was very likely that Caterham might -cut up rough, and say or do something confoundedly unpleasant. It -was an infernal shame of Caterham, and just like his straightlaced -nonsense--that it was. Was not he the eldest son, and what did he want -more? It was all deuced well for him to preach and moralise, and all -that sort of thing; but his position had kept him out of temptation, -else he might not be any better than other poor beggars, who had fallen -through and come to grief. - -So he reasoned with himself as he lounged round and round the room; and -at last began to consider that he was a remarkably ill-used person. -He began to hate the room and its furniture, altered the position of -the light and elegant little couch, flung himself into the arm-chair, -drumming his heels upon the floor, and rose from itleaving the chintz -covering all tumbled, and the antimacassar all awry, drummed upon -the window, stared at the prints already inspected--the "Hero and -his Horse," which led him into reminiscences of seeing the old Duke -with his white duck trousers and his white cravat, with the silver -buckle gleaming at the back of his bowed head, at Eton on Montem -days--glanced with stupid wonderment at Ward's "Dr. Johnson reading -the Manuscript of the _Vicar of Wakefield_," which conveyed to him -no idea whatsoever--looked at a proof of "Hogarth painting the Muse -of Comedy," and wondered "who was the old cock with the fat legs, -drawing." He watched the few people passing through the streets, the -very few hansom-cabs with drivers listlessly creeping up and down, as -though conscious that the chances of their being hired were dismally -remote, the occasional four-wheelers with perambulators and sand-spades -on the top, and bronzed children leaning out of the windows, talking of -the brief holiday over and the work-a-day life about to recommence--he -watched all this, and, watching, worked himself up to such a pitch -of desperation that he had almost determined to brave all chances of -recognition, and sally forth into the streets, when the door opened and -a waiter entering, told him that a lady was waiting to speak with him. - -His mother had come at last, then? Let her be shown up directly. - -Of all things Lionel Brakespere abhorred a "scene;" and this was likely -to be an uncommonly unpleasant meeting. The Mater was full of feeling -and that sort of thing, and would probably fling herself into his arms -as soon as the waiter was gone, and cry, and sob, and all that sort of -thing, and moan over him--make a fellow look so confoundedly foolish -and absurd, by Jove! Must get that over as soon as possible--all -the hugging and that--and then find out how matters really stood. -So he took up his position close to the door; and as the footsteps -approached, was a little astonished to hear his heart thumping so -loudly. - -The door opened, and passing the bowing waiter, who closed it behind -her, a lady entered. Though her veil was down, Lionel saw instantly -that it was not his mother. A taller, younger woman, with step graceful -though hurried, an eager air, a strange nervous manner. As the door -closed, she threw up her veil and stood revealed--Margaret! - -He fell back a pace or two, and the blood rushed to his heart, leaving -his face as pale as hers. Then, recovering himself, he caught hold of -the table, and glaring at her, said hoarsely, "You here!" - -There was something in his tone which jarred upon her instantly. She -made a step forward, and held out her hand appealingly--"Lionel," she -said, quite softly, "Lionel, you know me?" - -"Know you?" he repeated. "O yes--I--I have that honour. I know you fast -enough--though what you do here I _don't_ know. What do you do here?" - -"I came to see you." - -"Devilish polite, I'm sure. But--now you have seen me--" he hesitated -and smiled. Not a pleasant smile by any means: one of those smiles in -which the teeth are never shown. A very grim smile, which slightly -wrinkled the lips, but left the eyes hard and defiant; a smile which -Margaret knew of old, the sight of which recalled the commencement of -scenes of violent passion and bitter upbraiding in the old times; a -smile at sight of which Margaret's heart sank within her, only leaving -her strength enough to say: "Well!" - -"Well!" he repeated--"having seen me--having fulfilled the intention of -your visit--had you not better--go?" - -"Go!" she exclaimed--"leave you at once, without a look, without a -word! Go! after all the long weary waiting, this hungering to see and -speak with you to pillow my head on your breast, and twine my arms -round you as I used to do in the dear old days! Go! in the moment -when I am repaid for O such misery as you, Lionel, I am sure, cannot -imagine I have endured--the misery of absence from you; the misery of -not knowing how or where you were--whether even you were dead or alive; -misery made all the keener by recollection of joy which I had known and -shared with you. Go! Lionel, dearest Lionel, you cannot mean it! Don't -try me now, Lionel; the delight at seeing you again has made me weak -and faint. I am not so strong as I used to be. Lionel, dearest, don't -try me too much." - -Never had she looked more beautiful than now. Her arms were stretched -out in entreaty, the rich tones of her voice were broken, tears stood -in her deep-violet eyes, and the dead-gold hair was pushed off the -dead-white brow. Her whole frame quivered with emotion--emotion which -she made no attempt to conceal. - -Lionel Brakespere had seated himself on the corner of the table, and -was looking at her with curiosity. He comprehended the beauty of the -picture before him, but he regarded it as a picture. On most other men -in his position such an appeal from such a woman would have caused at -least a temporary rekindling of the old passion; on him it had not the -slightest effect, beyond giving him a kind of idea that the situation -was somewhat ridiculous and slightly annoying. After a minute's -interval he said, with his hands in his pockets, and his legs swinging -to and fro: - -"It's deuced kind of you to say such civil things about me, and I -appreciate them--appreciate them, I assure you. But, you see the fact -of the matter is, that I'm expecting my mother every minute, and if she -were to find you here, I should be rather awkwardly situated." - -"O," cried Margaret, "you don't think I would compromise you, Lionel? -You know me too well for that. You know too well how I always submitted -to be kept in the background--only too happy to live on your smiles, to -know that you were feted and made much of." - -"O, yes," said Lionel, simply; "you were always a deuced sensible -little woman." - -"And I sha'n't be in the way, and I sha'n't bore you. They need know -nothing of my existence, if you don't wish it, any more than they used. -And we shall lead again the dear old life--eh, Lionel?" - -"Eh!" repeated he in rather a high key,--"the dear old life!" - -"Ah, how happy I was!" said Margaret. "You, whose intervening time has -been passed in action, can scarcely imagine how I have looked back on -those days,--how eagerly I have longed for the time to come when I -might have them again." - -"Gad!" said he, "I don't exactly know about my time being passed -in action. It's been horribly ghastly and melancholy, and deuced -unpleasant, if you mean that." - -"Then we will both console ourselves for it now, Lionel, We will forget -all the misery we have suffered, and--" - -"Y-es!" said he, interrupting her, swinging his leg a little more -slowly, and looking quietly up into her face; "I don't exactly follow -you in all this." - -"You don't follow me?" - -"N-no! I scarcely think we can be on the same tack, somehow." - -"In what way?" - -"In all this about leading again the old life, and living the days over -again, and consoling ourselves, and that kind of thing." - -"You don't understand it?" - -"Well, I don't know about understanding it. All I mean to say is, I'm -not going to have it." - -But for something in his tone, Margaret might not have entirely -comprehended what he sought to convey in his words, so enraptured was -she at seeing him again. But in his voice, in his look, there was a -bravado that was unmistakable. She clasped her hands together in front -of her; and her voice was very low and tremulous, as she said, - -"Lionel, what do you mean?" - -"What do I mean? Well, it's a devilish awkward thing to say--I can't -conceive how it came about--all through your coming here, and that sort -of thing; but it appears to me that, as I said before, you're on the -wrong tack. You don't seem to see the position." - -"I don't indeed. For God's sake speak out!" - -"There, you see!--that's just it; like all women, taking the thing so -much in earnest, and--" - -"So much in earnest? Is what would influence one's whole life a thing -to be lightly discussed or laughed over? Is--" - -"There you are again! That's exactly what I complain of. What have I to -do with influencing your life?" - -"All--every thing!" - -"I did not know it, then, by Jove,--that's all Ive got to say. You're -best out of it, let me tell you. My influence is a deuced bad one, at -least for myself." - -Once again the tone, reckless and defiant, struck harshly on her ear. -He continued, "I was saying you did not seem to see the position. You -and I were very good friends once upon a time, and got on very well -together; but that would never do now." - -She turned faint, sick, and closed her eyes; but remained silent. - -"Wouldn't do a bit," he continued. "You know Ive been a tremendous -cropper--must have thought deuced badly of me for cutting off in that -way; but it was my only chance, by Jove; and now Ive come back to try -and make all square. But I must keep deuced quiet and mind my p's and -q's, or I shall go to grief again, like a bird." - -She waited for a moment, and then she said faintly and slowly, "I -understand you thoroughly now. You mean that it would be better for us -to remain apart for some time yet?" - -"For some time?--yes. Confound it all, Margaret!--you won't take a -hint, and you make a fellow speak out and seem cruel and unkind, and -all that kind of thing, that he does not want to. Look here. You ought -never to have come here at all. It's impossible we can ever meet again." - -She started convulsively; but even then she seemed unable to grasp -the truth. Her earnestness brought the colour flying to her cheeks as -she said hurriedly, "Why impossible, Lionel,--why impossible? If you -are in trouble, who has such a right to be near you as I? If you want -assistance and solace, who should give it you before me? That is the -mistake you made, Lionel. When you were in your last trouble you should -have confided in me: my woman's wit might have helped you through it; -or at the worst, my woman's love would have consoled you in it." - -She was creeping closer to him, but stopped as she saw his face darken -and his arms clasp themselves across his breast. - -"D--n it all!" said he petulantly; "you won't understand, I think. This -sort of thing is impossible. Any sort of love, or friendship, or trust -is impossible. Ive come back to set myself straight, and to pull out of -all the infernal scrapes I got myself into before I left; and there's -only one way to do it." - -"And that is--" - -"Well, if you will have it, you must. And that is--by making a good -marriage." - -She uttered a short sharp cry, followed by a prolonged wail, such as a -stricken hare gives. Lionel Brakespere looked up at her; but his face -never relaxed, and his arms still remained tightly folded across his -breast. Then she spoke, very quietly and very sadly: - -"By making a good marriage! Ah! then I see it all. That is why you are -annoyed at my having come to you. That is why you dread the sight of -me, because it reminds you that I am in the way; reminds you of the -existence of the clog round your neck that prevents your taking up -this position for which you long; because it reminds you that you once -sacrificed self to sentiment, and permitted yourself to be guided by -love instead of ambition. That is what you mean?" - -His face was darker than ever as he said, "No such d--d nonsense. I -don't know what you're talking about; no more do you I should think, by -the way in which you are going on. What _are_ you talking about?" - -He spoke very fiercely; but she was not cowed or dashed one whit. In -the same quiet voice she said: "I am talking about myself--your wife!" - -Lionel Brakespere sprung from the corner of the table on which he had -been sitting, and stood upright, confronting her. - -"O, that's it, is it?" in a hard low voice. "That's your game, eh? I -thought it was coming to that. Now, look here," shaking his fist at -her,--"drop that for good and all; drop it, I tell you, or it will be -the worse for you. Let me hear of your saying a word about your being -my wife, and, so help me God, I'll be the death of you! That's plain, -isn't it? You understand that?" - -She never winced; she never moved. She sat quietly under the storm of -his rage; and when he had finished speaking, she said: - -"You can kill me, if you like,--you very nearly did, just before you -left me,--but so long as I am alive I shall be your wife!" - -"Will you, by George?--not if there's law in the land, I can tell -you. What have you been doing all this time? How have you been living -since Ive been away? How do you come here, dressed like a swell as you -are, when I left you without money? I shall want to know all that; -and I'll find out, you may take your oath. There are heaps of ways of -discovering those things now, and places where a fellow has only to pay -for it, and he may know any thing that goes on about any body. I don't -think you would particularly care to have those inquiries made about -_you_, eh?" - -She was silent. He waited a minute; then, thinking from her silence -that he had made a point, went on: - -"You understand me at last, don't you? You see pretty plainly, I should -think, that being quiet and holding your tongue is your best plan -don't you? If you're wise you'll do it; and then, when I'm settled, I -may make you some allowance--if you want it, that's to say,--if your -friends whove been so kind to you while Ive been away don't do it. But -if you open your mouth on this matter, if you once hint that you've any -claim on me, or send to me, or write to me, or annoy me at all, I'll -go right in at once, find out all you've been doing, and then see what -they'll say to you in the Divorce Court. You hear?" - -Still she sat perfectly silent. He was apparently pleased with his -eloquence and its effect, for he proceeded: - -"This is all your pretended love for me, is it? This is what you call -gratitude to a fellow, and all that kind of thing? Turning up exactly -when you're not wanted, and coolly declaring that you're going in to -spoil the only game that can put me right and bring me home! And this -is the woman who used to declare in the old days that she'd die for me, -and all that! I declare I didn't think it of you, Madge!" - -"Don't call me by that name!" she screamed, roused at last; -"don't allude to the old days, in God's name, or I shall go mad! -The recollection of them, the hope of their renewal, has been my -consolation in all sorts of misery and pain. I thought that to hear -them spoken of by you would have been sufficient recompense for all my -troubles: now to hear them mentioned by your lips agonises and maddens -me; I--" - -"This is the old story," he interrupted; "you haven't forgotten that -business, I see. This is what you used to do before, when you got into -one of these states. It frightened me at first, but I got used to it; -and Ive seen a great deal too much of such things to care for it now, I -can tell you. If you make this row, I'll ring the bell--upon my soul I -will!" - -"O, Lionel, Lionel!" said Margaret, stretching out her hands in -entreaty towards him--"don't speak so cruelly! You don't know all I -have gone through for you--you don't know how weak and ill I am. But it -is nothing to what I will do. You don't know how I love you, Lionel, my -darling! how I have yearned for you; how I will worship and slave for -you, so that I may only be with you. I don't want to be seen, or heard -of, or known, so long as I am near you. Only try me and trust me, only -let me be your own once more." - -"I tell you it's impossible," said he petulantly. "Woman, can't you -understand? I'm ruined, done, shut up, cornered, and the only chance -of my getting through is by my marriage with some rich woman, who will -give me her money in exchange for--There, d--n it all,--it's no use -talking any more about it. If you can't see the position, I can't show -it you any stronger; and there's an end of it. Only, look here!--keep -your mouth shut, or it will be the worse for you. You understand -that?--the worse for you." - -"Lionel!" She sprang towards him and clasped her hands round his arm. -He shook her off roughly, and moved towards the door. - -"No more foolery," he said in a low deep voice. "Take my warning now, -and go. In a fortnight's time you can write to me at the Club, and say -whether you are prepared to accept the conditions I have named. Now, -go." - -He held the door open, and she passed by him and went out. She did -not shrink, or faint, or fall. Somehow, she knew not how, she went -down the stairs and into the street. Not until she had hailed a cab, -and seated herself in it, and was being driven off, did she give way. -Then she covered her face with her hands, and burst into a passionate -fit of weeping, rocking herself to and fro, and exclaiming, "And it -is for this that I have exiled myself from my home, and trampled upon -a loving heart! O my God! my God; if I could only have loved Geoffrey -Ludlow!--O, to love as I do, such a man as this!" - - - - -CHAPTER III. -GONE TO HIS REST. - - -The last-mentioned interview between Lord Caterham and his mother, -though productive of good in a certain way--for Lady Beauport, however -bravely she succeeded in bearing herself at the time, was in reality -not a little frightened at her son's determination--had a visibly bad -effect on Caterham's health. The excitement had been too much for him. -The physician had enjoined perfect rest, and an absence of all mental -effort, in the same way in which they prescribe wine and nourishing -food to the pauper, or Turkish baths to the cripple on the outskirts -of Salisbury Plain. Perfect rest and absence of all mental effort were -utterly impossible to Caterham, whose mind was on the rack, who knew -that he had pitted himself against time for the accomplishment of his -heart's desire, and who felt that he must either fulfil his earnest -intention, or give up it and life simultaneously. Life was so thin and -faint and feeble within him, that he needed all of it he could command -to bear him up merely through "the fever called living,"--to keep him -together sufficiently to get through the ordinary quiet routine of his -ever-dull day. When there was an exceptional occasion--such as the -interview with his mother, for instance, where he had gone through a -vast amount of excitement--it left him exhausted, powerless, incapable -of action or even of thought, to an extent that those accustomed only -to ordinary people could never have imagined. - -The next day he was too ill to leave his bed; but that made little -difference to the rest of the household. Lord Beauport was away in -Wales looking after some mines on one of his estates, which had -suddenly promised to be specially productive. Lady Beauport, detained -in town for the due carrying out of her plans with respect to Lionel, -sent down her usual message of inquiry by Timpson, her maid, who -communicated with Stephens, and gave the reply to her mistress. Lady -Beauport repeated the message, "Very unwell indeed, eh?" and adding, -"this weather is so horribly depressing," proceeded with her toilette. -Miss Maurice sent grapes and flowers and some new perfume to the -invalid; and--it revived him more than any thing else--a little hurried -note, bidding him not give way to depression, but rouse sufficiently to -get into his easy-chair by the morrow, and she would spend all the day -with him, and read to him, and play to him whatever he wanted. - -He had strength enough to raise that little note to his lips so soon as -he heard the door shut behind the outgoing Stephens; to kiss it over -and over again, and to place it beneath his pillow ere he sunk into -such imitation of rest as was vouchsafed to him. A want of sleep was -one of the worst symptoms of his malady, and the doctors had all agreed -that if they could only superinduce something like natural sleep, it -might aid greatly in repairing the little strength which had been given -to him originally, and which was so gradually and imperceptibly, and -yet so surely, wearing away. But that seemed to be impossible. When he -was first assisted to bed he was in a sufficiently drowsy state, partly -from the fatigue of the day, partly from the effect of the wine, of -which the doctors insisted on his taking a quantity which would have -been nothing to an ordinary man, but was much to one feeble in frame, -and unable to take any exercise to carry off its strength. Then, after -a short slumber--heavy, stertorous, and disturbed--he would wake, -bright and staring, without the smallest sign of sleep in his head or -in his eye. In vain would he toss from side to side, and try all the -known recipes for somnolence--none were of the slightest avail. He -could not sleep, he could not compose himself in the least degree, he -could not empty his mind as it were; and the mind must be, or at all -events must seem, empty before sleep will take possession of it. Lord -Caterham's mind in the dead silence of the night was even more active -than it was in the daytime. Before him rose up all the difficulties -which he had to surmount, the dangers which he had to avoid, the hopes -and fears and triumphs and vexations which made up the sum of his -bitter life. They were not many now,--they never had been diffuse at -any time; so little had Caterham been a citizen of the world, that all -his aspirations had lain within a very small compass, and now they -centred in one person--Annie Maurice. To provide for her safety when -he was not there to look after it in person; to leave such records as -would show what action he had taken in her behalf, and on what grounds -that action had been undertaken; to arm some competent and willing -person so thoroughly to bestir himself at the necessary juncture as -to prevent the chance of the conspiracy against Annie's future being -carried into effect:--these were the night-thoughts which haunted -Caterham's couch, and rendered him sleepless. - -Sleeplessness had its usual effect. The following day he was quite -worn out in mind and body,--felt it, knew it, could not deny the fact -when it was suggested to him mildly by Stephens, more firmly by his -doctors,--but yet persevered in his intention of getting up. He was -sure he should be so much better out of bed; he was certain that a -change--were it only to his easy-chair--would do him so much good. He -could be very positive--"obstinate" was the phrase by which the doctors -distinguished it, "arbitrary" was Stephen's phrase--when he chose; and -so they let him have his way, wondering why he preferred to leave the -calm seclusion of his bed. They little knew that the contents of that -little note which the valet had seen protruding from the corner of his -master's pillow when he went in to call him in the morning had worked -that charm; they did not know that she had promised to spend the day -with him and read and play to him. But he did; and had he died for it, -he could not have denied himself that afternoon of delight. - -So he was dressed, and wheeled into his sitting-room, and placed by -his desk and among his books. He had twice nearly fainted during the -process and Stephens, who knew his every look, and was as regardful of -his master's health as the just appreciation of a highly-paid place -could make him, had urged Lord Caterham to desist and return to his -bed. But Caterham was obstinate; and the toilette was performed and the -sitting-room gained, and then he desired that Miss Maurice might be -told he was anxious to see her. - -She came in an instant. Ah, how radiant and fresh she looked as -she entered the room! Since the end of the season, she had so far -assumed her heiress position as to have a carriage of her own and a -saddle-horse; and instead of accompanying Lady Beauport in her set -round of "airing," Annie had taken long drives into country regions, -where she had alighted and walked in the fresh air, duly followed by -the carriage; or on horseback, and attended by her groom, had galloped -off to Hampstead and Highgate and Willesden and Ealing in the early -morning, long before Lady Beauport had thought of unclosing her eyes. -It was this glorious exercise, this enjoyment of heaven's light and air -and sun, that had given the rose to Annie's cheeks and the brilliance -to her eyes. She was freckled here and there; and there was a bit -of a brown mark on her forehead, showing exactly how much was left -unshaded by her hat. These were things which would have distressed -most well-regulated Belgravian damsels; but they troubled Annie not -one whit; and as she stood close by his chair, with her bright eyes -and her pushed-off brown hair, and the big teeth gleaming in her fresh -wholesome mouth, Caterham thought he had never seen her look more -charming, and felt that the distance between her, brimming over with -health, and him, gradually succumbing to disease, was greater than ever. - -Annie Maurice was a little shocked when she first glanced at Caterham. -The few days which had intervened since she had been to his room had -made a great difference in his appearance. His colour had not left -him--on the contrary, it had rather increased--but there was a tight -look about the skin, a dull glassiness in his eyes, and a pinched -appearance in the other features, which were unmistakable. Of course -she took no notice of this: but coming in, greeted him in her usual -affectionate manner. Nor was there any perceptible difference in his -voice as he said: - -"You see I have kept you to your word, Annie. You promised, if I were -in my easy-chair, that you would play and read to me; and here I am." - -"And here I am to do your bidding, Arthur! and too delighted to do it, -and to see you sufficiently well to be here. You're not trying too -much, are you, Arthur?" - -"In what, Annie?" - -"In sitting up and coming into this room. Are you strong enough to -leave your bed?" - -"Ah, I am so weary and wretched alone, Annie. I long so for -companionship, for--" he checked himself and said, "for some one to -talk, to read, to keep me company in all the long hours of the day. I'm -not very bright just now, and even I have been stronger--which seems -almost ridiculous--but I could keep away no longer, knowing you would -come to lighten my dreariness." - -Though his voice was lower and more faint than usual, there was an -impassioned tone in it which she had never heard before, and which -jarred ever so slightly on her ear. So she rose from her seat, and -laughingly saying that she would go at once and perform part of her -engagement, sat down at the piano, and played and sang such favourite -pieces of his as he had often been in the habit of asking for. They -were simple ballads,--some of Moore's melodies, Handel's "Harmonious -Blacksmith," and some of Mendelssohn's _Lieder ohne Wörte_,--all calm, -soft, soothing music, such as Caterham loved; and when Annie had been -playing for some time he said: - -"You don't know how I love to hear you, Annie! you're getting tired -now, child." - -"Not in the least degree, Arthur. I could go on singing all day, if it -amused you." - -"It does more than amuse me, Annie. I cannot describe to you the -feeling that comes over me in listening to your singing; nothing else -has such a calm, holy, sanctifying influence on me. Listening to you, -all the petty annoyances, the carking cares of this world fade away, -and--" - -He ceased speaking suddenly; and Annie looking round, saw the tears on -his cheek. She was about to run to him, but he motioned her to keep her -seat, and said: "Annie dear, you recollect a hymn that I heard you sing -one night when you first came here?--one Sunday night when they were -out, and you and I sat alone in the twilight in the drawing-room? Ah, I -scarcely knew you then, but that hymn made a great impression on me." - -"You mean-- - 'Abide with me! fast falls the eventide - The darkness deepens: Lord, with me abide!'" - - -"Yes, that is it. How lovely it is!--both words and music, I think." - -"Yes, it is lovely. It was written by a Mr. Lyte, when he was--" - -She checked herself, but he finished the sentence for her,--"When he -was dying. Yes; I recollect your telling me so that night. Sing it for -me, dear." - -She turned to the piano at once, and in an instant the rich deep tones -of her voice were ringing through the room. Annie Maurice sang ballads -sweetly, but she sang hymns magnificently. There was not the slightest -attempt at ornamentation or _bravura_ in her performance, but she threw -her whole soul into her singing; and the result was rich and solemn -melody. As she sang, she seemed to embody the spirit of the composer, -and her voice vibrated and shook with the fervour which animated her. - -Half leaning on his stick, half reclining in his chair, Caterham -watched her in rapt delight; then when she had finished, and ere -the thrilling music of her voice had died away, he said: "Thanks, -dear--again a thousand thanks! Now, once more a request, Annie. I shall -not worry you much more, my child." - -"Arthur,"--and in an instant she was by his side,--"if you speak like -that, I declare I will not sing to you." - -"O yes, you will, Annie dear!---O yes, you will. You know as well -as I do that--Well, then"--obedient to a forefinger uplifted in -warning--"I'll say no more on that point. But I want you now to sing -me the old-fashioned Evening Hymn. Ive a very ancient love for dear -old Bishop Ken, and I don't like to think of his being set aside -for any modern hymnologist,--even for such a specimen as that you -have just sung. Sing me 'Glory to Thee,' Annie,--that is, if you are -old-fashioned enough to know it." - -She smiled, and sang. When she ceased, finding that he remained -speechless and motionless, she went up to him, fearing that he had -fainted. He was lying back in his chair perfectly quiet, with his eyes -closed. When she touched him, he opened them dreamily, saying, "'That -I may dread the grave as little as my bed.' Yes, yes!--Ah, Annie dear, -you've finished!--and to think that you, a modern young lady, should be -able to sing old Bishop Ken without book! Where did you learn him?" - -"When I was a very little child,--at the Priory, Arthur. Geoffrey -Ludlow--as Ive told you, I think--used to come out to us every Sunday; -and in the evening after dinner, before I went to bed, he used to ask -for his little wife to sing to him. And then poor papa used to tell me -to sit on Geoff's knee, and I used to sing the Evening Hymn." - -"Ay," said Caterham in an absent manner, "Geoffrey Ludlow's little -wife! Geoffrey Ludlow's little wife!--ay, ay! 'That so I may, rise -glorious at Thine awful day!' In Thy mercy, in Thy mercy!" and saying -this, he fainted away. - -That evening Algy Barford, at Lord Dropmore's in Lincolnshire, on his -return from shooting, found a telegram on his dressing-room table. It -was from Annie Maurice, and begged his immediate return to town. - -Lord Caterham was better the next day. Though still very weak, -he insisted on being dressed and wheeled into his sitting-room. -Once there, he had his despatch-box placed before him, and the -writing-materials put ready to his hand. Of late he had occasionally -been in the habit of employing an amanuensis. Annie Maurice had -frequently written from his dictation; and when she had been engaged, a -son of the old housekeeper, who was employed at a law-stationer's, and -who wrote a hand which was almost illegible from its very clearness, -had sometimes been pressed into the service. But now Lord Caterham -preferred writing for himself. Annie had sent to beg him to rest; and -in reply he had scrawled two lines, saying that he was ever so much -better, and that he had something to do which must be done, and which -when done would leave him much happier and easier in mind. So they left -him to himself; and Stephens, looking in from time to time, as was his -wont, reported to the servants'-hall that his master was "at it as hard -as ever--still a-writin'!" They wondered what could thus occupy him, -those curious domestics. They knew exactly the state in which he was, -the feeble hold that he had on life;--what do they not know, those -London servants?--and they thought that he was making his will, and -speculated freely among themselves as to what would be the amount of -Stephens's inheritance; and whether it would be a sum of money "down," -or an annuity; and whether Stephens would invest it after the usual -fashion of their kind--in a public-house, or whether, from excessive -gentility, he was not "a cut above that." Lord Caterham would not hold -out much longer, they opined; and then Mr. Lionel would come in for -his title; and who Mr. Lionel was--inquired about by the new servants, -and the description of Mr. Lionel by the old servants--and mysterious -hints as to how, in the matter of Mr. Lionel, there had been a "screw -loose" and a "peg out;" how he was a "regular out-and-out fast lot," -and had had to "cut it;"--all this occasioned plenty of talk in the -servants'-hall, and made the dreary autumn-day pass quite pleasantly. -And still the sick man sat at his desk, plying his pen, with but rare -intervals of rest--intervals during which he would clasp his poor -aching head, and lift his shrivelled attenuated hands in earnest silent -prayer. - - -The Beauport household was sunk in repose the next morning, when a -sharp ring at the bell, again and again repeated, aroused the young -lady who as kitchen-maid was on her preferment, and whose dreams -of being strangled by the cook for the heaviness of her hand in an -omelette were scared by the shrill clanging of the bell which hung -immediately over her head. The first notion of "fire" had calmed -down into an idea of "sweeps" by the time that she had covered her -night-attire with a dingy calico robe known to her as her "gownd;" and -she was tottering blindly down stairs before she recollected that no -sweeps had been ordered, and thought that it was probably a "runaway." -But lured perhaps by a faint idea that it might be the policeman, she -descended; and after an enormous amount of unbolting and unchaining, -found herself face-to-face with a fresh-coloured, light-bearded, cheery -gentleman, who wore a Glengarry cap, had a travelling-rug in his hand, -was smoking a cigar, and had evidently just alighted from a hansom-cab -which was standing at the door, and the driver of which was just -visible behind a big portmanteau and a gun-case. The fresh-coloured -gentleman was apparently rather startled at the apparition of the -kitchen-maid, and exclaimed, apparently involuntarily, "Gad!" in -a very high key. Recovering himself instantly, he asked how Lord -Caterham was. Utterly taken aback at discovering that the visitor was -not the policeman, the kitchen-maid was floundering about heavily for -an answer, when she was more than ever disconcerted at seeing the -fresh-coloured gentleman tear off his Glengarry-cap and advance up -the steps with outsretched hand. These demonstrations were not made in -honour of kitchen-maid, but of Annie Maurice, who had been aroused from -her usual light sleep by the ring, and who, guessing at the visitor, -had come down in her dressing-gown to see him. - -They passed into the dining-room, and then he took her hand and -said: "I only got your telegram at dinner-time last night, my dear -Miss Maurice, and came off just as I was. Dropmore--deuced civil of -him--drove me over to the station himself hard as he could go, by Jove! -just caught mail-train, and came on from King's Cross in a cab. It's -about Caterham, of course. Bad news,--ay, ay, ay! He--poor--I can't -say it--he's in danger, he--" And brave old Algy stopped, his handsome -jolly features all tightened and pinched in his anxiety. - -"He is very, very ill, dear Mr. Barford,--very ill; and I wanted you to -see him. I don't know--I can't tell why--but I think he may possibly -have something on his mind--something which he would not like to tell -me, but which he might feel a relief in confiding to some one else; and -as you, I know, are a very dear and valued friend of his, I think we -should all like you to be that some one. That was what made me send for -you." - -"I'm--I'm not a very good hand at eloquence, Miss Maurice--might put -pebbles in my mouth and shout at the sea-shore and all that kind of -thing, like the--the celebrated Greek person, you know--and wouldn't -help me in getting out a word; but though I can't explain, I feel very -grateful to you for sending for me, to see--dear old boy!" The knot -which had been rising in Algy Barford's throat during this speech -had grown nearly insurmountable by this time, and there were two big -tears running down his waistcoat. He tried to pull himself together as -he said: "If he has any thing to say, which he would like to say to -me--of course--I shall--any thing that would--God bless him, my dear -old boy!--good, patient, dear darling old boy, God bless him!" The -thought of losing his old friend flashed across him in all its dread -heart-wringing dreariness, and Algy Barford fairly broke down and wept -like a child. Recovering himself after a moment, he seized Annie's -hand, and muttering something to the effect that he would be back as -soon as he had made himself a little less like an Esquimaux, he dashed -into the cab and was whirled away. - -You would scarcely have thought that Algy Barford had had what is -called sleep, but what really is a mixture of nightmare and cramp in -a railway-carriage, had you seen him at eleven o'clock, when he next -made his appearance at St. Barnabas Square, so bright and fresh and -radiant was he. He found Annie Maurice awaiting his arrival, and had -with her a short earnest conversation as to Caterham's state. From that -he learned all. The doctors had a very bad opinion of their patient's -state: it was--hum--ha!--Yes--you know!--general depression--a want of -vitality, which--just now--looking at his normal lack of force, of what -we call professionally _vis vita_, might--eh? Yes, no doubt, serious -result. Could not be positively stated whether he would not so far -recover--pull through, as it is called--rally, as we say, as to--remain -with us yet some time; but in these cases there was always--well, yes, -it must be called a risk. This was the decision which the doctors -had given to Annie, and which she, in other words, imparted to Algy -Barford, who, coupling it with his experience of the guarded manner -in which fashionable physicians usually announced their opinions, -felt utterly hopeless, and shook his head mournfully. He tried to -be himself; to resume his old smile and old confident buoyant way; -he told his dear Miss Maurice that she must hope for the best; that -these doctor-fellows, by Jove, generally knew nothing; half of them -died suddenly themselves, without even having anticipated their own -ailments; "physician, heal thyself," and all that sort of thing; that -probably Caterham wanted a little rousing, dear old boy; which rousing -he would go in and give him. But Annie marked the drooping head and the -sad despondent manner in which he shrugged his shoulders and plunged -his hands into his pockets when he thought she had retired--marked also -how he strove to throw elasticity into his step and light into his face -as he approached the door of Caterham's room. - -It had been arranged between Algy and Annie Maurice that his was to -have the appearance of a chance visit, so that when Stephens had -announced him, and Lord Caterham had raised his head in wonder, Algy, -who had by this time pulled himself together sufficiently, said: "Ah, -ha Caterham!--dear old boy!--thought you had got rid of us all out of -town, eh?--and were going to have it all to yourself! Not a bit of -it, dear boy! These doctor-fellows tell you one can't get on without -ozone. Don't know what that is--daresay they're right. All I know -is, I can't get on without a certain amount of chimney-pot. Country, -delicious fresh air, turf; heather, peat-bog, stubble, partridge, -snipe, grouse--all deuced good! cows and pigs, and that kind of thing; -get up early, and go to bed and snore; get red face and double-chin -and awful weight--then chimney-pot required. I always know, bless you! -Too much London season, get my liver as big as Strasburg goose's, you -know--_foie gras_ and feet nailed to a board, and that kind of thing; -too much country, tight waistcoat, red face--awfully British, in point -of fact. Then, chimney-pot. I'm in that state now; and Ive come back -to have a week's chimney-pot and blacks and generally cabbage-stalky -street--and then I shall go away much better." - -"You keep your spirits, Algy, wherever you are." The thin faint voice -struck on Algy Barford's ear like a knell. He paused a minute and -took a short quick gulp, and then said: "O yes, still the same stock -on hand, Caterham. I could execute country orders, or supply colonial -agencies even, with promptitude and despatch, I think. And you, -Arthur--how goes it with you?" - -"Very quietly, Algy,--very, very quietly, thank God! Ive had no return -of my old pain for some time, and the headache seems to have left me." - -"Well, that's brave! We shall see you in your chair out on the lawn at -the hunt-breakfast at Homershams again this winter, Arthur. We shall--" - -"Well, I scarcely think that. I mean, not perhaps as you interpret me; -but--I scarcely think--However, there's time enough to think of that. -Let's talk of nearer subjects. I'm so glad you chanced to come to town, -Algy--so very glad. Your coming seems predestined; for it was only -yesterday I was wishing I had you here." - -"Tremendously glad I came, dear old boy! Chimney-pot attack fell in -handy this time, at all events. What did you want, Arthur, old fellow? -Not got a new leaning towards dogginess, and want me to go up to Bill -George's? Do you recollect that Irish deerhound I got for you?" - -"I recollect him well--poor old Connor. No, not a dog now. I want you -to--just raise me a bit, Algy, will you?--a little bit: I am scarcely -strong enough to--that's it. Ah, Algy, old fellow, how often in the -long years that we have been chums have you lifted this poor wretched -frame in your strong arms!" - -It was a trial for a man of Algy Barford's big heart; but he made head -against it even then, and said in a voice harder and drier than usual -from the struggle, "How often have I brought my bemuddled old brains -for you to take them out and pick them to pieces and clean them, and -put them back into my head in a state to be of some use to me!--that's -the question, dear old boy. How often have you supplied the match to -light the tow inside my head--Ive got deuced little outside now--and -sent me away with some idea of what I ought to do when I was in a deuce -of a knot! Why, I recollect once when Lionel and I--what is it, dear -old boy?" - -"You remind me--the mention of that name--I want to say something to -you Algy, which oddly enough had--just reach me that bottle, Algy; -thanks!--which--" - -"Rest a minute, dear old boy; rest. You've been exerting yourself too -much." - -"No; I'm better now--only faint for a minute. What was I saying?--O, -about Lionel. You recollect a letter which--" his voice was growing -again so faint that Algy took up the sentence. - -"Which I brought to you; a letter from Lionel, after he had, you know, -dear old boy--board ship and that kind of thing?" - -"Yes, that is the letter I mean. You--you knew its contents, Algy?" - -"Well, Arthur, I think I did--I--you know Lionel was very fond of me, -and--used to be about with him, you know, and that kind of thing--" - -"You knew his--his wife?" - -"Wife, Gad, did he say?--Jove! Knew you were--dear me!--charming -person--lady. Very beautiful--great friend of Lionel's; but not his -wife, dear old boy--somebody else's wife." - -"Somebody else's wife?" - -"Yes; wonderful story. Ive wanted to tell you, and, most extraordinary -thing, something always interrupted. Friend of yours too; tall woman -red hair, violet eyes--wife of painter-man--Good God, Arthur!" - -Well might he start; for Lord Caterham threw his hands wildly above -his head, then let them fall helplessly by his side. By the time Algy -Barford had sprung to his chair, and passed his arms around him, the -dying man's head had drooped on to his right shoulder, and his eyes -were glazing fast. - -"Arthur! dear Arthur! one instant! Let me call for help." - -"No, Algy; leave us so; no one else. Only one who could--and -she--better not--bless her! better not. Take my hand, Algy, old -friend--tried, trusted, dear old friend--always thoughtful, always -affectionate--God bless you--Algy! Yes, kiss my forehead again. Ah, so -happy! where the wicked cease from troubling and the--Yes, Lord, with -me abide, with me abide!--the darkness deepens: Lord, with me abide!" - -And as the last words fell faintly on Algy Barford's ears, the slight -form which was lying in Algy Barford's arms, and on which the strong -man's tears were falling like rain, slipped gradually out of his -grasp--dead. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. -THE PROTRACTED SEARCH. - - -Annie Maurice was aroused from the brooding loneliness in which she -had sought refuge, in the first bewilderment and stupefaction of her -grief, by a communication from Lord Beauport. All was over now; the -last sad ceremonial had taken place; and the place which had known -Arthur, in his patient suffering, in his little-appreciated gentleness -and goodness, should know him no more for ever. The crippled form -was gone, and the invalid-chair which had for so long supported it -had been removed, by order of the housekeeper, to a receptacle for -discarded articles of use or ornament. Lord and Lady Beauport were -not likely to notice the circumstance, or to object to it if they -did. The blinds were decorously drawn; the rooms were scrupulously -arranged; every thing in them in its place, as though never to be used -or handled any more. The books, the objects of art, the curious things -which the dead man alone of all the house had understood and valued, -had a staring lifeless look about them in the unaccustomed precision -of their distribution; the last flowers which Annie ha placed in the -Venetian glasses had withered, and been thrown away by the notable -housemaids. A ray of sunlight crept in at one side of the blind, and -streamed upon the spot where Arthur's head had fallen back upon his -friend's arm,--ah, how short a time ago!--and yet all looked strange -and changed, not only as if he had gone away for ever, but as if he had -never been there at all. Annie had not gone into the rooms since he had -left them for the last time; she had an instinctive feeling of how it -would be, and she could not bear it yet; she knew that in nothing would -there be so sharp a pang as in seeing the familiar things which had -been so like him, grown so unlike. So, when her maid told her that Lord -Beauport wished to see her immediately, she asked nervously where he -was. - -"In the library, Miss Annie," said her maid, and looked very pityingly -at the purple eyelids and white face. - -"Alone?" - -No, his lordship was not alone; one of the lawyer gentlemen and her -ladyship were with him. - -Annie went slowly and reluctantly to the library. She did not think -for a moment that Lord and Lady Beauport were indifferent to the -death of their eldest son; on the contrary, she knew that the event -had come upon them with a mighty shock, and that they had felt it, if -not deeply, at least violently and keenly. But she had the faculty -of vivid perception, and she used it intuitively; and in this case -it told her that shame, self-detection, and remorse,--the vague -uneasiness which besets all who cannot reckon with themselves to the -full in the daylight of conscience, but, like the debtor called to -an account, kept something back,--mingled largely with their grief. -It was not wholehearted, lavish, sacred, like hers; it was not the -grief which takes the spontaneous form of prayer, and chastens itself -into submission, elevating and sanctifying the mind and character of -the mourner. Annie knew, by that keen unreasoning instinct of hers, -that while her sole and earnest desire was to keep the memory of her -dead cousin green, recalling his words, his counsels, his -wishes,--dwelling on his views of life and its duties, and -preserving him in her faithful heart, for ever near her, as a living -friend,--while her chosen thoughts would be of him, and her best -consolation in memory,--his father and mother would forget him if -they could. They mourned for him, but it was with captious impatient -grief; there was a sting in every remembrance, every association, which -they could not yet escape from, but would have put away if they had had -the power. To them, sorrow for the dead was as a haunting enemy, to -be outwitted and left behind as speedily as might be; to her it was a -friend, cherished and dear, solemnly greeted, and piously entertained. - -When Annie entered the library, she found that the "lawyer gentleman," -whom her maid had mentioned, was the family solicitor, Mr. Knevitt, -who was well known to her, and for whom Caterham had had much liking -and respect. Lord Beauport and he were standing together beside a long -table, strewn with papers, and on which stood a large despatch-box -open, and, as she saw while she walked up the room, also full of -papers. At some distance from the table, and in the shade, Lady -Beauport was seated, her hands clasped together in her lap, and her -figure leaning completely back in the deep arm-chair she occupied. She -looked very pale and worn, and her deep mourning was not becoming to -her. Sharp contention of thought and feeling was going on under that -calm exterior,--bitter pangs, in which vexation had a large share, as -well as regret, and a sense that she was to be baffled in the future -as she had been defeated in the past. Ay, the future,--she had begun -to think of it already, or rather she had begun (when had she ever -ceased?) to think of _him_. Lionel was the future to her. What if there -were more trouble and opposition in store for her? What if Arthur (ah, -poor fellow! he had never understood young men different from himself, -and he was always hard on Lionel) had left any communication for his -father, had written any thing touching the particulars of Lionel's -career which he knew, and had warned her not to ask? Hitherto nothing -of the sort had been found in the examination of Lord Caterham's -papers instituted by Lord Beauport and Mr. Knevitt. There was a packet -for Annie Maurice, indeed; they had found it an hour ago, and Lord -Beauport had just sent for Annie in order to hand it over to her. Lady -Beauport had, however, no apprehensions connected with this matter; -the virtues of the dead and the vices of the living son (though she -would not have given them their true name) secured her from feeling -any. Whatever Lionel had done she felt convinced was not of a nature -to be communicated to Annie, and Caterham would have guarded her -with the utmost caution from hearing any thing unfit for her ears. -No, no; there was no danger in that quarter. Had she not felt sure, -before this "dreadful thing"--as she called Lord Caterham's death to -herself--happened, that the scrupulous delicacy of her son, where -Annie was concerned, would be her best aid and defence against his -defeat of her projects? The letter, the packet--whatever it might be -called--was probably an effusion of feeling, a moral lecture on life, -or a posthumous guide to studies, in which Arthur had desired to see -his gentle and interesting cousin proficient. - -So Lady Beauport looked at the packet as it lay on the table, close to -the despatch-box, without the least anxiety, and fixed her impatient -attention on the further investigation of the papers, continued by Lord -Beauport and Mr. Knevitt. It was not until they had concluded as much -of their melancholy task as they proposed to undertake that day, that -the Earl sent the summons which brought Annie to the library. - -He took up the packet as she drew near, and said, very sadly: - -"This is for you my dear." - -"From--from Arthur?" she asked, in a trembling voice. "Yes, Annie,--we -found it among his papers." - -She took it from him, looked at it, and sat down in a chair beside the -table, but made no attempt to break the seal. Lady Beauport did not -speak. The Earl resumed his conversation with Mr. Knevitt, and Annie -sat still and silent for a few minutes, Then she interrupted Lord -Beauport by asking him if he required her for any thing further. - -"No, my dear," he said kindly; "you may go away if you like. How weary -you look!" he added, with a deep sigh. Still Lady Beauport spoke no -word; but her keen unsympathetic eyes followed the girl's graceful -figure and drooping head as she left the library. - -Arrived at her own room, Annie opened the packet, which she felt was -a sacred thing. Her departed friend had written to her, then, words -which he intended her to read only when he should be no more; solemn -counsel, very precious affection, a priceless legacy from the dead -would no doubt be in the letter, whose folds felt so thick and heavy -in her hand. She removed the outer cover, placing it carefully by her -side, and found an enclosure directed to Geoffrey Ludlow, and merely a -few lines to herself, in which the writer simply directed her to place -the accompanying letter in Geoffrey's hands _herself_, and privately, -as soon after it came into hers as possible. - -Surprise and disappointment were Annie's first feelings. She looked -forlornly enough at the meagre scrap of writing that was her share, -and with some wonder at the letter--no doubt voluminous--which was -Geoffrey's. What could it be about? Arthur and Ludlow had been good -friends, it is true, and had entertained strong mutual respect; but she -could not account for this solemn communication, implying so strange -and absolute a confidence. She turned the letter over in her hands, she -scrutinised the address, the paper, the seal; then she rose and locked -it carefully away, together with the note to herself in which it had -been: enclosed. "Give this letter _privately_ to Ludlow," were Arthur's -words; then, if he did not wish its delivery to be known, it was plain -he wished to conceal its existence. If Lady Beauport should question -her as to the contents of the packet? Well, she must either give an -evasive answer, or refuse to answer at all; the alternative should -be decided by the terms of the question. She could venture to refuse -an answer to a question of Lady Beauport's now; her heiress-ship had -secured her many immunities, that one among the rest. - -Lord Beauport was right; Annie was weary, and looking so. The sickness -and dreariness of a great grief were upon her, and she was worn out. -The stillness of the great house was oppressive to her; and yet -she shrank from the knowledge that that stillness was soon to pass -away, that life would resume its accustomed course, and the dead be -forgotten. By all but her; to her his memory should be ever precious, -and his least wish sacred. Then she debated within herself how she -should fulfil his last request. There were difficulties in the way. -She could not tell Geoffrey to call on her yet, nor could she go to -his house. Then she remembered that he had not written to her. She had -forgotten, until then, that there had been no answer to the letter in -which she told Geoffrey Ludlow of Caterham's death. Could a letter have -come, and been overlooked? She rang for her maid and questioned her, -but she was positive no letter had been mislaid or forgotten. Several -papers lay on her writing-table; she turned them over, to satisfy -herself, though nothing could be more improbable than that she should -have overlooked a letter from her dear old friend. There was no such -thing. Puzzled and vaguely distressed, Annie stood looking at the heap -of notes, with her hands pressed on her throbbing temples; and her -maid entreated her to lie down and rest, commenting, as Lord Beauport -had done, upon her appearance. Annie complied; and the girl carefully -darkened the room and left her. For a while she lay still, thinking how -she was to convey the letter to Geoffrey, without delay, "as soon as -possible," Arthur had said; but she soon dropped into the dull heavy -sleep of grief and exhaustion. - -It was late in the evening when she awoke, and she again eagerly -inquired for letters. There were none, and Annie's surprise grew into -uneasiness. She resolved to write to Ludlow again, to tell him that -she had something of importance to communicate, without indicating -its character. "He may tell Margaret, or not, as he pleases," she -thought "that is for him to decide. I daresay, if she sees my note, -she will not feel any curiosity or interest about it. Poor Geoffrey!" -And then the girl recalled all that Arthur had said of his suspicion -and distrust of Ludlow's beautiful wife, and thought sorrowfully how -large was his share in the loss they had sustained of such a friend. -Something must be wrong, she thought, or Geoffrey would surely have -written. In her sore grief she yearned for the true and ready sympathy -which she should have from him, and him alone. Stay; she would not only -write, she would send her maid to inquire for Geoffrey, and Margaret, -and the child. She could go early next morning in a cab, and be back -before breakfast-hour. So Annie made this arrangement, wrote her note, -got through a short hour or two in the great dreary drawing-room as -best she could, and once more cried herself to the merciful sleep which -in some degree strengthened her for the intelligence which awaited her -in the morning. - -She was aroused by her maid, who came hurriedly to her bedside, holding -in her hand Annie's note to Ludlow. She started up, confused, yet -sufficiently awake to be startled at the look in the girl's face. - -"What is it?" she said faintly. - -"O Miss Annie, dreadful, dreadful news Mrs. Ludlow has gone away, -nobody knows where, and Mr. Ludlow is raving mad, in brain-fever!" - - -Lord Caterham's letter lay for many days undisturbed in the receptacle -in which Annie Maurice had placed it. Not yet was the confidence of -the dead to be imparted to the living. He was to read that letter in -time, and to learn from it much that the writer had never dreamed it -could convey. Little had the two, who had lived in so near and pleasant -an intimacy, dreamed of the fatal link which really, though unseen, -connected them. This was the letter which, in due time, Annie Maurice -deposited in Geoffrey's hands: - - -"MY DEAR LUDLOW,--I have felt for some time that for me 'the long -disease called life' is wearing toward its cure. Under this conviction -I am 'setting my house in order;' and to do so thoroughly, and enjoy -peace of mind for the brief space which will remain to me when that is -done, I must have recourse to your honest and trusty friendship. I have -to bequeath to you two services to be done for me, and one confidence -to be kept, until your discretion shall judge it expedient that it -should be divulged. These two services are distinct, but cognate; and -they concern one who is the dearest of all living creatures to me, and -for whom I know you entertain a sincere and warm affection--I allude -to Annie Maurice. The confidence concerns my unworthy brother, Lionel -Brakespere. - -"In the fortune left her by Mr. Ampthill, Annie has security against -material ills, and is safe from the position of dependence, in which -I never could bear to feel she must remain. This is an immense relief -to my mind; but it has substituted a source of uneasiness, though of -considerably less dimensions, for that which it has removed. When -I wrote to you lately, asking you to come to me, it was with the -intention of speaking to you on this subject; but as our interview has -been accidentally prevented, I made up my mind to act in the matter -myself, as long as I live, and to bequeath action after my death to -you, as I am now doing. My brother is as worthless a man as there is on -the face of the earth--heartless, depraved, unprincipled to an almost -incredible degree, considering his early association with men and women -of character. You have, I daresay, heard vaguely of certain disgraceful -circumstances which forced him to leave the country, and which brought -immeasurable distress upon us all. - -"I need not enter into these matters: they have little to do with -the thing that is pressing on my mind. If Lionel's vices had been -hidden from society ever so discreetly, I was sufficiently aware of -their existence to have shrunk with as much horror as I feel now from -the idea of his becoming Annie's husband. Let me preface what I am -about to say by assuring you that I do not entertain any such fear. -I know Annie; and I am perfectly assured that for her pure, upright, -intelligent, and remarkably clear-sighted nature such a man as -Lionel,--whose profound and cynical selfishness is not to be hidden by -external polish, and whose many vices have left upon him the _cachet_ -which every pure woman feels instinctively, even though she does not -understand theoretically,--will never have any attraction. She knows -the nature of the transaction which drove him from England; and such a -knowledge would be sufficient protection for her, without the repulsion -which I am satisfied will be the result of association with him. I -would protect her from such association if I could, and while I live -I do not doubt my power to do so. It will be painful to me to use it; -but I do not mind pain for Annie's benefit. A sad estrangement always -existed between Lionel and me; an estrangement increased on his side by -contempt and dislike--which he expressed in no measured terms--but on -my part merely passive. The power which I possess to hinder his return -to this house was put into my hands by himself--more, I believe, to -wound me, and in the wanton malice and daring of his evil nature, than -for the reason he assigned; but it is effectual, and I shall use it, -as I can, without explanation. When I am gone, it needs be, some one -must be enabled to use this power in my stead; and that person, my dear -Ludlow, is you. I choose you for Annie's sake, for yours, and for my -own. My mother designs to marry Lionel to Annie, and thus secure to him -by marriage the fortune which his misconduct lost him by inheritance. -With this purpose in view, she has summoned Lionel to England, and she -proposes that he should return to this house. She and I have had a -painful explanation, and I have positively declared that it cannot and -shall not be. In order to convince her of the necessity of yielding -the point, I have told her that I am in possession of particulars of -Lionel's conduct, unknown to her and my father, which perfectly justify -me in my declaration; and I have entreated her, for the sake of her own -peace of mind, not to force me, by an attempt which can have no issue -but failure, to communicate the disgraceful particulars. Lady Beauport -has been forced to appear satisfied for the present; and matters are in -a state of suspense. - -"But this cannot last, and with my life it will come to an end. -Lionel will return here, in my place, and bearing my name--the heir -to an earldom; and the follies and crimes of the younger son will be -forgotten. Still Annie Maurice will be no less a brilliant match, and -my mother will be no less anxious to bring about a marriage. I foresee -misery to Annie--genteel persecution and utter friendlessness--unless -you, Ludlow, come to her aid. With all its drawbacks, this is her -fitting home; and you must not propose that she should leave it without -very grave cause. But you must be in a position to preserve her from -Lionel; you must hold the secret in your hand, as I hold it, which -makes all schemes for such an accursed marriage vain--the secret which -will keep the house she will adorn free from the pollution of his -presence. When you hear that Lionel Brakespere is paying attention to -Annie under his father's roof, go to Lord Beauport, and tell him that -Lionel Brakespere is a married man. - -"And now, my dear Ludlow, you know one of the services you are to do me -when I am gone; and you are in possession of the confidence I desire to -repose in you. To explain the other, I must give you particulars. When -my brother left England, he sent me, by the hands of a common friend, a -letter which he had written at Liverpool, and which, when I have made -you acquainted with its contents, I shall destroy. I do not desire to -leave its low ribaldry, its coarse contempt, its cynical wickedness, to -shock my poor father's eyes, or to testify against my brother when I am -gone. - -"I enable you to expose him, in order to prevent unhappiness to one -dear to us both; but I have no vindictive feeling towards him, and -no eyes but mine must see the words in which he taunts me with the -physical afflictions to which he chooses to assign my 'notions of -morality' and 'superiority to temptation.' Enough--the facts which the -letter contains are these: As nearly as I can make out, four years -ago he met and tried to seduce a young lady, only eighteen years old, -at Tenby. Her virtue, I hope--he says her ambition--foiled him, and -he ran away with the girl and married her. He called himself Leonard -Brookfield; and she never knew his name or real position. He took her -abroad for a time; then brought her to London, where she passed for -his mistress among the men to whom he introduced her, and who were -aware that she had no knowledge of his identity. He had left the army -then, or of course she would have discovered it. When the crash came, -he had left her, and he coolly told me, as he had next to nothing for -himself, he had nothing for her. His purpose in writing to me was -to inform me, as especially interested in the preservation of the -family, that not only was there a wife in the case, but, to the best -of his belief, child also, to be born very soon; and as no one could -say what would become of him, it might be as well to ascertain where -the heir of the Beauports might be found, if necessary. He supposed I -would keep the matter a secret, until it should become advisable, if -ever, to reveal it. Mrs. Brakespere had no knowledge of her rights, -and could not, therefore, make herself obnoxious by claiming them. -If I chose to give her some help, I should probably be rewarded by -the consciousness of charity; but he advised me to keep the secret of -our relationship for my own sake: she was perfectly well known as his -mistress; and as they were both under a cloud at present, the whole -thing had better be kept as dark as possible. I read this letter with -the deepest disgust; the personal impertinence to myself I could afford -to disregard, and was accustomed to; but the utter baseness and villany -of it sickened me. This was the man who was to bear my father's name -and fill my father's place. I determined at once to afford assistance -to the wretched forsaken wife, and to wait and consider when and how -it would be advisable to bring about the acknowledgment of the truth -and her recognition. I thought of course only of simple justice. The -circumstances of the marriage were too much against the girl to enable -me to form any favourable opinion of her. I turned to the letter to -find her name and address; they were not given: of course this was only -an oversight; he must have intended to subjoin them. My perplexity was -extreme. How was I to discover this unhappy woman? I knew too well the -code of honour, as it is called, among men, to hope for help from any -of his dissolute friends; they would keep his evil secret--as they -believed it--faithfully. - -"Algy Barford had brought me the letter, and on that occasion had -referred to his being 'no end chums' with Lionel. But he had also -declared that he knew nothing whatever of the contents of the letter. -Still he might know something of her. I put a question or two to him, -and found he did not. He had known a woman who lived with Lionel -for a short time, he believed, but she was dead. Clearly this was -another person. Then I determined to have recourse to the professional -finders-out of secrets, and I sent for Blackett. You have often seen -him leaving me as you came in, or waiting for me as you went out. The -day Mrs. Ludlow fainted, you remember, he was in the hall as you took -her to the carriage, and he asked me so many questions about her, that -I was quite amused at the idea of a detective being so enthusiastic. -The materials he had to work on were sparing indeed, and the absence of -all clue by name was very embarrassing. He went to work skilfully, I -am sure, though he failed. He went to Tenby, and there he ascertained -the name of the girl who had deserted her widowed mother for Leonard -Brookfield. The mother had been many months dead. This was little help, -for she had doubtless discarded the Christian name; and the personal -description was probably coloured by the indignation her conduct had -excited. Blackett learned that she was handsome, with red hair and blue -eyes,--some said black. He could get no certain information on that -point. - -"But I need not linger over these details. No efforts were spared, yet -our search proved vain. When some time had elapsed, their direction -changed, and a woman and child were sought for: in every part of -London where destitution hides, in all the abodes of flaunting sin, in -hospitals, in refuges, in charitable institutions,--in vain. Sometimes -Blackett suggested that she might have taken another protector and -gone abroad; he made all possible inquiry. She had never communicated -with her home, or with any one who had formerly known her. I began to -despair of finding her; and I had almost made up my mind to relinquish -the search, when Blackett came to me one day, in great excitement for -him, and told me he was confident of finding her in a day or two at -the farthest. 'And the child?' I asked. No, he knew nothing of the -child; the woman he had traced, and whom he believed to be my brother's -deserted wife, had no child, had never had one, within the knowledge -of the people from whom he had got his information; nevertheless he -felt sure he was right this time, and the child might have died before -she came across them. She must have suffered terribly. Then he told -me his information came through a pawnbroker, of whom he had frequent -occasion to make inquiries. This man had shown him a gold locket, which -had evidently held a miniature, on the inside of which was engraved -'From Leonard to Clara,' and which had been pawned by a very poor but -respectable person, whose address, in a miserable lane at Islington, -he now gave to Blackett. He went to the place at once and questioned -the woman, who was only too anxious to give all the information in her -power in order to clear herself. She had received the locket in the -presence of two persons, from a young woman who had lodged with her, -and who had no other means of paying her. The young woman had gone away -a week before, she did not know where; she had no money, and only a -little bundle of clothes--a handkerchief full. She had no child, and -had never said any thing about one. The woman did not know her name. -She had taken a picture out of the locket She had red hair and dark -eyes. This was all. I shall never forget the wretched feeling which -came over me as I thought of the suffering this brief story implied, -and of what the wretched woman might since have undergone. I remember -so well, it was in January,--a dirty, wet, horrible day,--when Blackett -told me all this; and I was haunted with the idea of the woman dying -of cold and want in the dreadful streets. Blackett had no doubt of -finding her now; she had evidently fallen to the veriest pauperism, -and out of the lowest depths she would be drawn up, no doubt. So he -set to work at once, but all in vain. Dead or living, no trace of her -has ever been found; and the continuous search has been abandoned. -Blackett only 'bears it in mind' now. Once he suggested to me, that as -she was no doubt handsome, and not over particular, she might have got -a living by sitting to the painters, and 'I'll try that lay,' he said; -but nothing came of that either. I thought of it the day Annie and I -met you f, at the Private View, and if I had had the opportunity, would -have asked you if you knew such a face as the one we were only guessing -at, after all; but you were hurried, and the occasion passed; and when -we met again, Blackett had exhausted all sources of information in that -direction, and there was nothing to be learned. - -"This is the story I had to tell you, Ludlow, and to leave to your -discretion to use when the time comes. Within the last week Blackett -has made further attempts, and has again failed. Lionel is in London; -but while I live he does not enter this house. I shall, after a while, -when I am able, which I am not now, let him know that search has been -unsuccessfully made for his wife, and demand that he shall furnish -me with any clue in his possession, under the threat of immediate -exposure. This, and every other plan, may be at any moment rendered -impossible by my death; therefore I write this, and entreat you to -continue the search until this woman be found, dead or living. So only -can Annie's home be made happy and reputable for her when I shall have -left it for ever. You will receive this from Annie's hands; a packet -addressed to her will not be neglected or thrown aside; and if it -becomes necessary for you to act for her, she will have the knowledge -of the confidence I repose in you to support her in her acceptance of -your interference and obedience to your advice. I confide her to you, -my dear Ludlow--as I said before--as the dearest living thing in all -the world to me.--Yours ever, - -"CATERHAM." - - - - -CHAPTER V. -DISMAY. - - -Mrs. Ludlow and Til had concluded the meal which is so generally -advanced to a position of unnatural importance in a household devoid of -the masculine element _en permanence_; and, the tea-things having been -removed, the old lady, according to the established order, was provided -with a book, over which she was expected to fall comfortably asleep. -But she did not adhere to the rule of her harmless and placid life on -this particular occasion. The "cross" was there--no doubt about it; and -it was no longer indefinite in its nature, but very real, and beginning -to be very heavy. Under the pressure of its weight Geoffrey's mother -was growing indifferent to, even unobservant of, the small worries -which had formerly occupied her mind, and furnished the subject-matter -of her pardonable little querulousness and complaints--a grievance -in no way connected with the tradespeople, and uninfluenced by the -"greatest plagues in life"--which no reduction of duties involving -cheap groceries, and no sumptuary laws restraining servant-gal-ism -within limits of propriety in respect of curls and crinoline, had any -power to assuage,--had taken possession of her now, and she fidgeted -and fumed no longer, but was haunted by apprehension and sorely -troubled. - -A somewhat forced liveliness on Til's part, and a marked avoidance of -the subject of Geoffrey, of whom, as he had just left them, it would -have been natural that the mother and daughter should talk, bore -witness to the embarrassment she felt, and increased Mrs. Ludlow's -depression. She sat in her accustomed arm-chair, but her head drooped -forward and her fingers tapped the arms in an absent manner, which -showed her pre-occupation of mind. Til at length took her needle-work, -and sat down opposite her mother, in a silence which was interrupted -after a considerable interval by the arrival of Charley Potts, who -had not altogether ceased to offer clumsy and violently-improbable -explanations of his visits, though such were rapidly coming to be -unnecessary. - -On the present occasion Charley floundered through the preliminaries -with more than his usual impulsive awkwardness, and there was that in -his manner which caused Til (a quick observer, and especially so in his -case) to divine that he had something particular to say to her. If she -were right in her conjecture, it was clear that the opportunity must be -waited for,--until the nap, in which Mrs. Ludlow invariably indulged in -the evening, should have set in. The sooner the conversation settled -into sequence, the sooner this desirable event might be expected to -take place; so Til talked vigorously, and Charley seconded her efforts. -Mrs. Ludlow said little, until, just as Charley began to think the nap -was certainly coming, she asked him abruptly if he had seen Geoffrey -lately. Miss Til happened to be looking at Charley as the question was -put to him, and saw in a moment that the matter he had come to speak to -her about concerned her brother. - -"No, ma'am," said Chancy; "none of us have seen Geoff lately. Bowker -and I have planned a state visit to him; he's as hard to get at as a -swell in the Government--with things to give away--what do you call -it?--patronage; but we're not going to stand it. We can't do without -Geoff. By the bye, how's the youngster, ma'am?" - -"The child is very well, I believe," said Mrs. Ludlow, with a shake of -the head, which Charley Potts had learned to recognise in connection -with the "cross," but which he saw with regret on the present occasion. -"I'm afraid theyve heard something," he thought. "But," continued the -old lady querulously, "I see little of him, or of Geoffrey either. -Things are changed; I suppose it's all right, but it's not easy for -a mother to see it; and I don't think any mother would like to be -a mere visitor at her own son's house,--not that I am even much of -that now, Mr. Potts; for I am sure it's a month 'or more since ever I -have darkened the doors of Elm Lodge,--and I shouldn't so much mind -it, I hope, if it was for Geoffrey's good; but I can't think it's -that--" Here the old lady's voice gave way, and she left off with a -kind of sob, which went to Charley's soft heart and filled him with -inexpressible confusion. Til was also much taken aback, though she saw -at once that her mother had been glad of the opportunity of saying her -little say, under the influence of the mortification she had felt at -Geoffrey's silence on the subject of her future visits to Elm Lodge. He -had, as we have seen, made himself as delightful as possible in every -other respect; but he had been strictly reticent about Margaret, and -he had not invited his mother and sister to his house. She had been -longing to say all this to Til; and now she had got it out, in the -presence of a third party, who would "see fair" between her justifiable -annoyance and Til's unreasonable defence of her brother. Til covered -Charley's embarrassment by saying promptly, in a tone of extreme -satisfaction, - -"Geoffrey was here to-day; he paid us quite a long visit." - -"Did he?" said Charley; "and is he all right?" - -"O yes," said Til, "he is very well; and he told us all about his -pictures; and, do you know, he's going to put baby and the nurse into -a corner group, among the people on the Esplanade,--only he must wait -till baby's back is stronger, and his neck leaves off waggling, so -as to paint him properly, sitting up nice and straight in nurse's -arms." And then Miss Til ran on with a great deal of desultory talk, -concerning Geoffrey, and his description of the presents, and what he -had said about Lord Caterham and Annie Maurice. Charley listened to her -with more seriousness than he usually displayed; and Mrs. Ludlow sighed -and shook her head at intervals, until, as the conversation settled -into a dialogue, she gradually dropped asleep. Then Til's manner -changed, and she lowered her voice, and asked Charley anxiously if he -had come to tell her any bad news. - -"If you have," she said, "aid that it can be kept from mamma, tell it -at once, and let me keep it from her." - -With much true delicacy and deep sympathy, Charley then related to -Til the scene which had taken place between himself, Bowker, and -Stompff,--and told her that Bowker had talked the matter over with -him and they had agreed that it was not acting fairly by Geoffrey to -allow him to remain in ignorance of the floating rumours, injurious -to his wife's character, which were rife among their friends. How -Stompff had heard of Margaret's having fainted in Lord Caterham's -room, Charley could not tell; that he had heard it, and had heard a -mysterious cause assigned to it, he knew. That he could have known -any thing about an incident apparently so trivial proved that the -talk had become tolerably general, and was tending to the injury of -Geoffrey, not only in his self...respect and in his feelings, but in -his prospects. Charley was much more alarmed and uneasy, and much more -grieved for Geoffrey, than even Bowker; for he had reason to fear that -no supposition derogatory to Margaret's antecedents could surpass the -reality. He alone knew where and how the acquaintance between Geoffrey -and Margaret had begun, and he was therefore prepared to estimate the -calamity of such a marriage correctly. He did not exactly know what -he had intended to say to Matilda Ludlow; he had come to the house -with a vague idea that something ought to be done;--that Til ought to -speak to her sister-in-law,--a notion which in itself proved Charley -Potts to be any thing but a wise man,--ought to point out to her -that her indifference to her husband was at once ungrateful to him -and shortsighted to her own interest; and that people, notably his -employer, were talking about it. Charley Potts was not exactly an adept -in reading character, and the real Margaret was a being such as he -could neither have understood nor believed in; therefore the crudity, -wildness, and inapplicability of this scheme were to be excused. - -A very few words on his part served to open the susceptible heart -of Miss Til, especially as they had spoken on the subject, though -generally, before; and they were soon deep in the exchange of mutual -confidences. Til cried quietly, so as not to wake her mother; and it -distressed Charley very keenly to see her tears and to hear her declare -that her sister-in-law had not the slightest regard for her opinion; -that though perfectly civil to her, Margaret had met all her attempts -at sisterly intimacy with most forbidding coldness; and that she felt -sure any attempt to put their relation on a more familiar footing would -be useless. - -"She must have been very badly brought up, I am sure," said Til. "We -don't know anything about her family; but I am sure she never learned -what the duties of a wife and mother are." - -Charley looked admirably at Til as she sadly uttered this remark, and -his mind was divided between a vision of Til realising in the most -perfect manner the highest ideal of conjugal and maternal duty, and -speculating upon what might have been the polite fiction presented by -Geoffrey to his mother and sister as an authentic history of Margaret's -parentage and antecedents. - -"Did Geoffrey seem cheerful and happy to-day?" he asked, escaping off -the dangerous ground of questions which he could have answered only too -completely. - -"Well," replied Til, "I can't say he did. He talked and laughed, and -all that; but I could see that he was uneasy and unhappy. How much -happier he was when we were all together, in the days which seem so far -off now!" - -At this point the conversation became decidedly sentimental; for -Charley, while carefully maintaining that true happiness was only -to be found in the married state, was equally careful to state his -opinion that separation from Til must involve a perfectly incomparable -condition of misery; and altogether matters were evidently reaching -a climax. Matilda Ludlow was an unaffected honest girl: she knew -perfectly well that Charley loved her, and she had no particular -objection to his selecting this particular occasion on which to tell -her so. But Til and Charley were not to part that evening in the -character of affianced lovers; for in one of those significant pauses -which precede important words, cab-wheels rolled rapidly up to the -little gate, hurried footsteps ran along the flagged path, and a loud -knock and ring at the door impatiently demanded attention. - -Mrs. Ludlow awoke with a violent start: Charley and Til looked at each -other. The door was opened, and a moment later the cook from Elm Lodge -was in the room, and had replied to Charley's hurried question by the -statement that her master was very ill, and she had been sent to fetch -Miss Ludlow. - -"Very ill! has any accident happened?" they all questioned the woman, -who showed much feeling--all his dependents loved Geoffrey--and the -confusion was so great, that it was some minutes before they succeeded -in learning what actually had happened. That Geoffrey had returned home -as usual; had gone to the nursery, and played with the child and talked -to the nurse as usual; had gone to his painting-room; and had not again -been seen by the servants, until the housemaid had found him lying on -the hearth-rug an hour before, when they had sent for Dr. Brandram, and -that gentleman had despatched the cook to bring Miss Ludlow. - -"Did Mrs. Ludlow tell you to come?" asked Til. - -To this question the woman replied that her mistress was not at home. -She had been out the greater part of the day, had returned home some -time later than Mr. Ludlow, and had kept the cab waiting for an hour; -then she had gone away again, and had not returned when the cook had -been sent on her errand. Charley Potts exchanged looks of undisguised -alarm with Til at this portion of the woman's narrative, and, seeing -that reserve would now be wholly misplaced, he questioned her closely -concerning Mrs. Ludlow. She had nothing to tell, however, beyond that -the housemaid had said her master and mistress had been together in the -dining-room, and, surprised that dinner had not been ordered up, she -had gone thither; but hearing her mistress speaking "rather strangely," -she had not knocked at the door. The servants had wondered at the -delay, she said, not understanding why their master should go without -his dinner because Mrs. Ludlow was not at home, and had at length found -him as she described. - -"Did Mrs. Ludlow often go out in this way?" asked Mr. Potts. - -"No, sir, never," said the woman. "I never knew my mistress leave my -master alone before, sir; and I am afraid something has took place -between them." - -The distress and bewilderment of the little party were extreme. -Manifestly there was but one thing to be done; Til must obey the -doctor's summons, and repair immediately to her brother's house. He was -very ill indeed, the cook said, and quite "off his head;" he did not -talk much, but what he did say was all nonsense; and Dr. Brandram had -said it was the beginning of brain-fever. Charley and Til were both -surprised at the firmness and collectedness manifested by Mrs. Ludlow -under this unexpected trial. She was very pale and she trembled very -much, but she was quite calm and quiet when she told Til that she must -put up such articles of clothing as she would require for a few days, -as it was her intention to go to her son and to remain with him. - -"I am the fittest person, my dear," said the old lady. "If it be only -illness that ails him, I know more about it than you do; if it is -sorrow also, and sorrow of the kind I suspect, I am fitter to hear it -and act in it than you." - -It was finally agreed that they should both go to Geoffrey's house -and that Til should return home in the morning; for even in this -crisis Mrs. Ludlow could not quite forget her household gods, and to -contemplate them bereft at once of her own care and that of Til would -have been too grievous; so they started--the three women in the cab, -and Charley Potts on the box, very silent, very gloomy, and not even in -his inmost thoughts approaching the subject of a pipe. - -It was past ten when Geoffrey Ludlow's mother and sister reached the -house which had seen such terrible events since they had visited it -last. Already the dreary neglected air which settles over every room -in a dwelling invaded by serious illness, except the one which is the -scene of suffering, had come upon it. Four hours earlier all was bright -and cheerful, well cared for and orderly; now, though the disarray was -not material, it was most expressive. Mrs. Geoffrey Ludlow had not -returned; the doctor had gone away, but was coming back as soon as -possible, having left one of the servants by Geoffrey's bedside, with -orders to apply wet linen to his temples without intermission. Geoffrey -was quiet now--almost insensible, they thought. Mrs. Ludlow and Til -went to the sick-room at once, and Charley Potts turned disconsolately -into the dining-room, where the cloth was still laid, and the chairs -stood about in disorder--one, which Geoffrey had knocked down, lay -unheeded on the ground. Charley picked it up, sat down upon it, and -leaned his elbows disconsolately on the table. - -"It's all up, I'm afraid," said he to himself; "and she's off with the -other fellow, whoever he is. Well, well, it will either kill Geoff -outright or break his heart for the rest of his life. At all events, -there couldn't have been much good in her if she didn't like Til." - -After some time Dr. Brandram arrived, and Charley heard him ask the -servant whether Mrs. Ludlow had returned, and heard her reply that her -mistress was still absent, but Mrs. Ludlow and her daughter had come, -and were in her master's room. The doctor went upstairs immediately, -and Charley still waited in the parlour, determined to waylay him has -he came down. - -Geoffrey was dangerously ill, there was no doubt of that, though his -mother's terror magnified danger into hopelessness, and refused to be -comforted by Dr. Brandram's assurance that no living man for certain -could tell how things would be. She met the doctor's inquiry about -Margaret with quiet reserve: she did not expect her daughter-in-law's -return that evening, she said; but she and Miss Ludlow were prepared -to remain. It was very essential that they should do so, Dr. Brandram -assured her; and on the following day he would procure a professional -nurse. Then he made a final examination of his patient, gave the ladies -their instructions, observed with satisfaction the absence of fuss, and -the quiet self-subduing alacrity of Til, and went downstairs, shaking -his head and wondering, to be pounced upon in the little hall by the -impulsive Charley, who drew him into the dining-room, and poured out a -torrent of questions. Dr. Brandram was disposed to be a little reserved -at first, but unbent when Charley assured him that he and Geoffrey -were the most intimate friends--"Brothers almost," said Mr. Potts in -a conscious tone, which did not strike the doctor. Then he told his -anxious interlocutor that Geoffrey was suffering from brain-fever, -which he supposed to be the result of a violent shock, but of what kind -he could form no idea; and then he said something, in a hesitating sort -of way, about "domestic affairs." - -"It is altogether on the mind, then," said Charley. "In that case, no -one can explain any thing but himself." - -"Precisely so," said Dr. Brandram; "and it may, it most probably -will, be a considerable time before he will be able to give us any -explanation of any thing, and before it would be safe to ask him for -any. In the mean time,--but no doubt Mrs. Ludlow will return, and--" - -"I don't think she will do any thing of the kind," said Charley Potts -in a decisive tone; "and, in fact, doctor, I think it would be well to -say as little as possible about her." - -Dr. Brandram looked at Mr. Potts with an expression intended to be -knowing, but which was in reality only puzzled, and assuring him of his -inviolable discretion, departed. Charley remained at Elm Lodge until -after midnight, and then, finding that he could be of no service to the -watchers, sorrowfully wended his way back to town on foot. - -Wearily dragged on the days in the sick man's room, where he lay racked -and tormented by fever, and vaguely oppressed in mind. His mother and -sister tended him with unwearied assiduity, and Dr. Brandram called -in further medical advice. Geoffrey's life hung in the balance for -many days--days during which the terror his mother and Til experienced -are not to be told. The desolate air of he house deepened; the -sitting-rooms were quite deserted now. All the bright pretty furniture -which Geoff had bought for the delectation of his bride, all the little -articles of use and ornament peculiarly associated with Margaret, -were dust-covered, and had a ghostly seeming. Charley Potts--who -passed a great deal of his time moping about Elm Lodge, too thankful -to be permitted on the premises, and occasionally to catch a glimpse -of Til's figure, as she glided noiselessly from the sick-room to the -lower regions in search of some of the innumerable things which are -always being wanted in illness and are never near at hand--occasionally -strolled into the painting-room, and lifting the cover which had been -thrown over it, looked sadly at "The Esplanade at Brighton," and -wondered whether dear old Geoff would ever paint baby's portrait among -that group in the left-hand corner. - -The only member of the household who pursued his usual course of -existence was this same baby. Unconscious alike of the flight of his -mother and the illness, nigh unto death, of his father, the child -throve apace, and sometimes the sound of his cooing, crowing voice, -coming through the open doors into the room where his grandmother sat -and looked into the wan haunted face of her son, caused her unspeakable -pangs of sorrow and compassion. The child "took to" Til wonderfully, -and it is impossible to tell the admiration with which the soul of -Charley Potts was filled, as he saw the motherly ways of the young lady -towards the little fellow, happily unconscious that he did not possess -a mother's love. - -Of Margaret nothing was heard. Mrs. Ludlow and Til were utterly -confounded by the mystery which surrounded them. She made no sign from -the time she left the house. Their ignorance of the circumstances -of her departure was so complete, that they could not tell whether -to expect her to do so or not. Her dresses and ornaments were all -undisturbed in the drawers in the room where poor Geoffrey lay, and -they did not know whether to remove them or not. She had said to -Geoffrey, "Whatever I actually require I will send for;" but they -did not know this, and she never had sent. The centre of the little -system--the chief person in the household--the idolised wife--she had -disappeared as utterly as if her existence had been only a dream. The -only person who could throw any light on the mystery was, perhaps, -dying--at all events, incapable of recollection, thought, or speech. It -"got about" in the neighbourhood that Mr. Ludlow was dangerously ill, -and that his mother and sister were with him, but his beautiful wife -was not; whereat the neighbourhood, feeling profoundly puzzled, merely -looked unutterably wise, and had always thought there was something -odd in that quarter. Then the neighbourhood called to enquire and to -condole, and was very pointed in its hopes that Mrs. Geoffrey Ludlow -was "bearing up well," and very much astonished to receive for answer, -"Thank you ma'am; but missis is not at home." Mrs. Ludlow knew nothing -of all this, and Til, who did know, cared nothing; but it annoyed -Charley Potts, who beard and saw a good deal from his post of vantage -in the dining-room window, and who relieved his feelings by swearing -under his breath, and making depreciatory comments upon the personal -appearance of the ladies as they approached the house, with their faces -duly arranged to the sympathetic pattern. - -It chanced that, on one occasion, when Geoffrey had been about ten -days ill, Til came down to the dining-room to speak to the faithful -Charley, carrying the baby on one arm, and in her other hand a bundle -of letters. Charley took the child from her as a matter of course; and -the youthful autocrat graciously sanctioning the arrangement, the two -began to talk eagerly of Geoffrey. Til was looking very pale and weary, -and Charley was much moved by her appearance. - -"I tell you what it is," he said, "you'll kill yourself, whether -Geoffrey lives or dies." He spoke in a tone suggestive of feeling -himself personally injured, and Til was not too far gone to blush and -smile faintly as she perceived it. - -"O no, I sha'n't," she said. "I'm going to lie down all this afternoon -in the night-nursery. Mamma is asleep now, and Geoffrey is quite quiet, -though the nurse says she sees no change for the better, no real change -of any kind indeed. And so I came down to ask you what you think I -had better do about these letters." She laid them on the table as she -spoke. "I don't think they are business letters, because you have taken -care to let all Geoffrey's professional friends know, haven't you, -Charley?" - -Charley thrilled; she had dropped unconsciously, in the intimacy of a -common sorrow, into calling him by his Christian name, but the pleasure -it gave him had by no means worn off yet. - -"Yes," he said; "and you have no notion what a state they are all in -about dear old Geoff. I assure you they all envy me immensely, because -I can be of some little use to you. They don't come here, you know, -because that would be no use--only making a row with the door-bell, -and taking up the servants' time; but every day they come down to my -place, or write me notes, or scribble their names on the door, with -fat notes of interrogation after them, if I'm not at home. That means, -'How's dear old Geoff? send word at once.' Why, there's Stompff--I told -you he was a beast, didn't I? Well, he's not half a beast, I assure -you; he is in such a way about Geoff; and, upon my word, I don't think -it's all because he is worth no end of money to him,--I don't indeed. -He is mercenary, of course, but not always and not altogether; and he -really quite got over me yesterday by the way he talked of Geoffrey, -and wanted to know if there was any thing in the world he could do. Any -thing in the world, according to Stompff, meant any thing in the way of -money, I suppose; an advance upon the 'Esplanade,' or something of that -sort." - -"Yes, I suppose it did," said Til; "but we don't want money. Mamma has -plenty to go on with until--" here her lipquivered,--"until Geoffrey -can understand and explain things. It's very kind of Mr. Stompff, -however, and I'm glad he's not quite a beast," said the young lady -simply. "But, Charley, about these letters; what should I do?" - -At this point the baby objected to be any longer unnoticed, and was -transferred to Til, who walked up and down the room with the injured -innocent, while Charley turned over the letters, and looked at their -superscriptions. - -"You are sure there is no letter from his wife among these?" said -Charley. - -"O no!" replied Til; "I know Margaret's hand well; and I have examined -all the letters carefully every day. There has never been one from her." - -"Here are two with the same monogram, and the West-end district mark; I -think they must be from Miss Maurice. If these letters can be made out -to mean any thing, they are A.M. And see, one is plain, and one has a -deep black edge." - -Til hurried up to the table. "I hope Lord Caterham is not dead," she -said! "I have heard Geoffrey speak of him with great regard; and only -the day he was taken ill, he said he feared the poor fellow was going -fast." - -"I think we had better break the seal and see," said Charley; "Geoff -would not like any neglect in that quarter." - -He broke the seal as he spoke, and read the melancholy note which Annie -had written to Geoffrey when Arthur died, and which had never received -an answer. - -Charley Potts and Til were much shocked and affected at the -intelligence which the note contained. - -"I haven't cared about the papers since Geoff has been ill, or I -suppose I should have seen the announcement of Lord Caterham's death, -though I don't particularly care for reading about the swells at any -time," said Charley. "But how nicely she writes to Geoffrey, poor girl! -I am sure she will be shocked to hear of his illness, and you must -write to her,--h'm,--Til. What do you say to writing, and letting me -take your letter to-morrow myself? Then she can ask me any questions -she likes, and you need not enter into any painful explanations." - -Til was eminently grateful for this suggestion which she knew was -dictated by the sincerest and most disinterested wish to spare her; for -to Charley the idea of approaching the grandeur of St. Barnabas Square, -and the powdered pomposity of the lordly flunkeys, was, as she well -knew, wholly detestable. So it was arranged that Charley should fulfil -this mission early on the following day, before he presented himself at -Elm Lodge. The baby was sent upstairs, Til wrote her note, and Charley -departed very reluctantly, stipulating that Til should at once fulfil -her promise of lying down in the nursery. - -When, on the ensuing morning, Miss Maurice's maid reached Elm Lodge, -the servants communicated to her the startling intelligence, which she -roused Annie from her sleep to impart to her, without any reference -to Mrs. Ludlow and Til, who were not aware for some time that Miss -Maurice had sent to make inquiries. On his arrival at St. Barnabas -Square, Charley Potts was immediately admitted to Annie's presence, -and the result of the interview was that she arrived at Elm Lodge -escorted by that gentleman, whose embarrassment under the distinguished -circumstances was extreme, before noon. She knew from Charley's report -that it would be quite in vain to take Caterham's letter with her; that -it must be long ere it should meet the eyes for which it was written, -if ever it were to do so, and it remained still undisturbed in her -charge. So Annie Maurice shared the sorrow and the fear of Geoffrey's -mother and sister, and discussed the mystery that surrounded the -calamities which had befallen them, perfectly unconscious that within -reach of her own hand lay the key to the enigma. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. -A CLUE. - - -Written by a dying hand, the letter addressed by Lord Caterham -to Geoffrey Ludlow was read when the doctors would scarcely have -pronounced its recipient out of the jaws of death. Gaunt, wan, hectic; -with great bistre-rings round his big eyes, now more prominent than -ever; with his shapely white hands now almost transparent in their -thinness; with his bushy beard dashed here and there with gray patches; -and with O such a sense of weariness and weakness,--old Geoff, -stretched supine on his bed, demanded news of Margaret. They had none -to give him: told him so--at first gently, then reiterated it plainly; -but he would not believe it. They must know something of her movements; -some one must have been there to tell him where she was; something must -have been heard of her. To all these questions negative answers. Then, -as his brain cleared and his strength increased--for, except under both -of these conditions, such a question would not have occurred to him--he -asked whether, during his illness, there had been any communication -from Lord Beauport's house. A mystery then--a desire to leave it over, -until Miss Maurice's next call, which happened the next day, when -Caterham's letter, intact, was handed to him. - -That letter lay on a chair by Geoffrey's bedside the whole of that -afternoon. To clutch it, to look at it, to hold it, with its seal yet -unbroken, before his eyes, he had employed such relics of strength as -remained to him; but he dared not open it. He felt that he could give -no explanation of his feelings; but he felt that if he broke that seal, -and read what was contained in that letter, all his recent tortures -would return with tenfold virulence: the mocking demons that had sat -on his bed and sneered at him; the fiery serpents that had uncoiled -themselves between him and the easel on which stood the picture which -urgent necessity compelled him to work at; the pale fair form, misty -and uncertain generally, yet sometimes with Margaret's hair and eyes, -that so constantly floated across his vision, and as constantly eluded -his outstretched arms,--all these phantasms of his fevered brain -would return again. And yet, in it, in that sheet of paper lying so -temptingly near to his pillow, there was news of her! He had but to -stretch out his hand, and he should learn how far, at least, her story -was known to the relatives of him who---- The thought in itself was too -much; and Geoffrey swooned off. When he recovered, his first thought -was of the letter; his first look to assure himself that it had not -been removed. No, there it lay I He could resist the temptation no -longer; and, raising himself on his elbow, he opened and read it. - -The effect of the perusal of that letter on Geoffrey Ludlow none -knew but himself. The doctors found him "not quite so well" for the -succeeding day or two, and thought that his "tone" was scarcely so good -as they had been led to anticipate; certain it was that he made no -effort to rouse himself, and that, save occasionally, when spoken to -by Til, he remained silent and preoccupied. On the third day he asked -Til to write to Bowker, and beg him to come to him at once. Within -twenty-four hours that worthy presented himself at Elm Lodge. - -After a few words with Til downstairs, Mr. Bowker was shown up to -Geoffrey's room, the door of which Til opened, and, when Mr. Bowker -had entered, shut it behind him. The noise of the closing door roused -Geoffrey, and he turned in his bed, and, looking up, revealed such a -worn and haggard face, that old Bowker stopped involuntarily, and drew -a long breath, as he gazed on the miserable appearance of his friend. -There must have been something comical in the rueful expression of -Bowker's face, for old Geoff smiled feebly, as he said, - -"Come in, William; come in, old friend! Ive had a hard bout of it, old -fellow, since you saw me; but there's no danger now--no infection, I -mean, or any thing of that kind." - -Geoff spoke haphazard; but what he had said was the best thing to -restore Mr. Bowker to himself. - -"Your William's fever-proof;" he growled out in reply, "and don't fear -any nonsense of that kind; and if he did, it's not that would keep -him away from a friend's bedside. I should have been here--that is, -if you'd have let me; and, oddly enough, though I'm such a rough old -brute in general, I'm handy and quiet in times of sickness,--at least -so Ive been told;" and here Bowker stifled a great sigh. "But the first -I heard of your illness was from your sister's letter, which I only got -this morning." - -"Give me your hand, William; I know that fast enough. But I didn't -need any additional nursing. Til and the old lady--God bless -them!--have pulled me through splendidly, and--But I'm beyond nursing -now, William; what I want is--" and Geoff's voice failed him, and he -stopped. - -Old Bowker eyed him with tear-blurred vision for a moment, and then -said, "What you want is--" - -"Don't mind me just now, William; I'm horribly weak, and girlish, and -trembling, but I shall get to it in time. What I want is, some man, -some friend, to whom I can talk openly and unreservedly,--whose advice -and aid I can seek, in such wretchedness as, I trust, but few have -experienced." - -It was a good thing that Geoffrey's strength had in some degree -returned, for Bowker clutched his hand in an iron grip, as in a dull -low voice, he said, "Do you remember my telling you the story of my -life? Why did I tell you that? Not for sympathy, but for example. I saw -the rock on to which you were drifting, and hoped to keep you clear. I -exposed the sadness of my life to you when the game was played out and -there was no possibility of redemption. I can't tell what strait you -may be in; but if I can help you out of it, there is no mortal thing I -will not do to aid you." - -As well as he could Geoff returned the pressure; then, after a moment's -pause, said, "You know, of course, that my wife has left me?" - -Bowker bowed in acquiescence. - -"You know the circumstances?" - -"I know nothing, Geoff, beyond the mere fact. Whatever talk there may -be among such of the boys as I drop in upon now and then, if it turned -upon you and your affairs, save in the matter of praising your art, it -would be certain to be hushed as soon as I stepped in amongst them. -They knew our intimacy, and they are by far too good fellows to say any -thing that would pain me. So that beyond the mere fact which you have -just stated, I know nothing." - -Then in a low weak voice, occasionally growing full and powerful under -excitement, and subsiding again into its faint tone, Geoffrey Ludlow -told to William Bowker the whole history of his married life, beginning -with his finding Margaret on the doorstep, and ending by placing in -his friend's hands the posthumous letter of Lord Caterham. Throughout -old Bowker listened with rapt attention to the story, and when he came -back from the window, to which he had stepped for the perusal of the -letter, Geoffrey noticed that there were big tears rolling down his -cheeks. He was silent for a minute or two after he had laid the letter -on Geoffrey's bed; when he spoke, he said, "We're a dull lot, the -whole race of us; and that's the truth. We pore over our own twopenny -sorrows, and think that the whole army of martyrs could not show such a -specimen as ourselves. Why, Geoff, dear old man, what was my punishment -to yours! What was,--but, however, I need not talk of that. You want my -services--say how." - -"I want your advice first, William. I want to know how to--how to find -my wife--for, O, to me she is my wife; how to find Margaret. You'll -blame me probably, and tell me that I am mad--that I ought to cast her -off altogether, and to--But I cannot do that, William; I cannot do -that; for I love her--O my God, how I love her still!" And Geoffrey -Ludlow hid his face in his arms, and wept like a child. - -"I shan't blame you, Geoff, nor tell you any thing of the kind," -said old Bowker, in a deep low voice. "I should have been very much -surprised if--However, that's neither here nor there. What we want is -to find her now. You say there's not been the slightest clue to her -since she left this house?" - -"Not the slightest." - -"She has not sent for any thing--clothes, or any thing?" - -"For nothing, as I understand." - -"She has not sent,--you see, one must understand these things, Geoff; -all our actions will be guided by them,--she has not sent to ask about -the child?" - -Geoff shuddered for an instant, then said, "She has not." - -"That simplifies our plans," said Bowker. "It is plain now that we have -only one chance of discovering her whereabouts." - -"And that is--" - -"Through Blackett the detective, the man mentioned in Lord Caterham's -letter. He must be a sharp fellow; for through the sheer pursuance of -his trade, and without the smallest help, he must have been close upon -her trail, even up to the night when you met her and withdrew her from -the range of his search. If he could learn so much unaided, he will -doubtless be able to strike again upon her track with the information -we can give him." - -"There's no chance of this man--this Captain Brakespere, having--I -mean--now he's back, you know--having taken means to hide her -somewhere--where--one couldn't find her, you know?" said Geoffrey, -hesitatingly. - -"If your William knows any thing of the world," replied Bowker, -"there's no chance of Captain Thingummy having taken the least trouble -about her. However, I'll go down to Scotland Yard and see what is to be -made of our friend Inspector Blackett. God bless you, old boy! You know -if she is to be found, I'll do it." - -They are accustomed to odd visitors in Scotland Yard; but the -police-constables congregated in the little stone hall stared the next -day when Mr. Bowker pushed open the swing-door, and calmly planting -himself among them, ejaculated "Blackett." Looking at his beard, his -singular garb, and listening to his deep voice, the sergeant to whom he -was referred at first thought he was a member of some foreign branch -of the force; then glancing at the general wildness of his demeanour, -had a notion that he was one of the self-accused criminals who are so -constantly forcing themselves into the grasp of justice, and who are -so impatient of release; and finally, comprehending what he wanted, -sent him, under convoy of a constable, through various long corridors, -into a cocoa-nut-matted room furnished with a long green-baize-covered -table, on which were spread a few sheets of blotting-paper, and a -leaden inkstand, and the walls of which were adorned with a printed -tablet detailing the disposition of the various divisions of the -police-force, and the situation of the fire-escapes in the metropolis, -and a fly-blown Stationers' Almanac. Left to himself, Mr. Bowker had -scarcely taken stock of these various articles, when the door opened, -and Mr. Inspector Blackett, edging his portly person through the very -small aperture which he had allowed himself for ingress, entered the -room, and closed the door stealthily behind him. - -"Servant, sir," said he, with a respectful bow, and a glance at -Bowker, which took in the baldness of his head, the thickness of his -beard, the slovenliness of his apparel, and the very shape of his -boots,--"servant, sir. You asked for me?" - -"I did, Mr. Blackett. Ive come to ask your advice and assistance in -a rather delicate manner, in which you've already been engaged--Lord -Caterham's inquiry." - -"O, beg pardon, sir. Quite right. Friend of his lordship's, may I ask, -sir?" - -"Lord Caterham is dead, Mr.--" - -"Quite right, sir; all right, sir. Right to be cautious in these -matters; don't know who you are, sir. If you had not known that fact, -must have ordered you out, sir. Imposter, of course. All on the square, -Mr.--beg pardon; didn't mention your name, sir." - -"My name is Bowker. To a friend of mine, too ill now to follow the -matter himself; Lord Caterham on his deathbed wrote a letter, detailing -the circumstances under which he had employed you in tracing a young -woman. That friend has himself been very ill, or he would have pursued -this matter sooner. He now sends me to ask whether you have any news?" - -"Beg pardon, sir; can't be too cautious in this matter. What may be the -name of that friend?" - -"Ludlow--Mr. Geoffrey Ludlow." - -"Right you are, sir! Know the name well; have seen Mr. Ludlow at his -lordship's; a pleasant gentleman too, sir, though not given me the -idea of one to take much interest in such a business as this. However, -I see we're all square on that point, sir; and I'll report to you as -exactly as I would to my lord, if he'd been alive--feeling, of course, -that a gentleman's a gentleman, and that an officer's trouble will be -remunerated--" - -"You need not doubt that, Mr. Blackett." - -"I don't doubt it, sir; more especially when you hear what I have got -to tell. It's been a wearing business, Mr. Bowker, and that I don't -deny; there have been many cases which I have tumbled-to quicker, and -have been able to lay my finger upon parties quicker but this has been -a long chase; and though other members of the force has chaffed me, as -it were, wanting to know when I shall be free for any thing else, and -that sort of thing, there's been that excitement in it that Ive never -regretted the time bestowed, and felt sure I should hit at it last. My -ideas has not been wrong in that partic'ler, Mr. Bowker; I _have_ hit -it at last!" - -"The devil you have!" - -"I have indeed, sir; and hit it, as has cur'ously happened in my best -cases, by a fluke. It was by the merest fluke that I was at Radley's -Hotel in Southampton and nobbled Mr. Sampson Hepworth, the absconding -banker of Lombard Street, after Daniel Forester and all the city-men -had been after him for six weeks. It was all a fluke that I was -eatin' a Bath-bun at Swindon when the clerk that did them Post-office -robberies tried to pass one of the notes to the refreshment gal. It was -all a fluke that I was turning out of Grafton Street, after a chat with -the porter of the Westminster Club,--which is an old officer of the G's -and a pal of mine,--into Bond Street, when I saw a lady that I'd swear -to, if description's any use, though I never see her before, comin' out -of Long's Hotel." - -"A lady!--Long's Hotel!" - -"A lady a-comin' out of Long's Hotel. A lady with--not to put too -fine a point upon it--red hair and fine eyes and a good figure; the -very moral of the description I got at Tenby and them other places. I -twigged all this before she got her veil down and I said to myself, -Blackett, that's your bird, for a hundred pound." - -"And were you right? Was it--" - -"Wait a minute, sir: let's take the things in the order in which they -naturally present themselves. She hailed a cab and jumped in, all of -a tremble like, as I could see. I hailed another--hansom mine was; -and I give the driver the office, which he tumbled-to at once--most -of the West-enders knows me; and we follows the other until he turned -up a little street in Nottin' 'Ill, and I, marking where she got out, -stopped at the end of it. When she'd got inside, I walked up and took -stock of the house, which was a litle milliner's and stay-shop. It was -cur'ous, wasn't, it, sir," said Mr. Blackett, with a grave professional -smile, "that my good lady should want a little job in the millinery -line done for her just then, and that she should look round into that -very shop that evening, and get friendly with the missis, which was a -communicative kind of woman, and should pay her a trifle in advance, -and should get altogether so thick as to be asked in to take a cup -of tea in the back-parlour, and get a-talking about the lodger? Once -in, I'll back my old lady against any ferret that was ever showed at -Jemmy Welsh's. She hadn't had one cup of tea before she know'd all -about the lodger; how she was the real lady, but dull and lonesome -like; how she'd sit cryin' and mopin' all day; how she'd no visitors -and no letters; and how her name was Lambert, and her linen all marked -M. L. She'd only been there a day ortwo then, and as she'd scarcely -any luggage, the milliner was doubtful about her money. My good lady -came back that night, and told me all this, and I was certain our bird -was caged. So I put one of our men regular to sweep a crossin' during -the daytime, and I communicated with the sergeant of the division to -keep the house looked after at night. But, Lor' bless you, she's no -intention of goin' away. Couldn't manage it, I think, if she had; for -my missis, who's been up several times since, says the milliner says -her lodger's in a queer way, she thinks." - -"How do you mean in a queer way?" interrupted Bowker; "ill?" - -"Well, not exactly ill, I think, sir. I can't say exactly how, for -the milliner's rather a stupid woman; and it wouldn't do for my -missis--though she'd find it out in a minute--to see the lady. As far -as I can make out, it's a kind of fits, and she seems to have had 'em -pretty bad--off her head for hours at a time, you know. It's rather -cornered me, that has, as I don't exactly know how to act in the case; -and I went round to the Square to tell his lordship, and then found out -what had happened. I was thinking of asking to see the Hearl--" - -"The what, Mr. Blackett?" - -"The Hearl--Hearl Beauport, his lordship's father. But now you've come, -sir, you'll know what to do, and what orders to give me." - -"Yes, quite right," said Bowker, after a moment's consideration. -"You must not see Lord Beauport; he's in a sad state of mind still, -and any further worry might be dangerous. You've done admirably, Mr. -Blackett,--admirably indeed; and your reward shall be proportionate, -you may take my word for that; but I think it will be best to leave -matters as they are until--at all events, until I have spoken to my -friend. The name was Lambert, I think you said; and what was the -address?" - -"No. 102, Thompson Street, just beyond Nottin'-'Ill Gate; milliner's -shop, name of Chapman. Beg your pardon, sir, but this is a pretty case, -and one as has been neatly worked up; you won't let it be spoilt by any -amatoors?" - -"Eh?--by what? I don't think I understand you." - -"You won't let any one go makin' inquiries on their own hook? So many -of our best cases is spoilt by amatoors shovin' their oars in." - -"You may depend on that, Mr. Blackett; the whole credit of the -discovery is justly due to you, and you shall have it. Now good day to -you; I shall find you here, I suppose, when next I want you?" - -Mr. Blackett bowed, and conducted his visitor through the -hollow-sounding corridors, and bade him a respectful farewell at the -door. Then, when William Bowker was alone, he stopped, and shook his -head sorrowfully, muttering, "A bad job, a bad job! God help you, -Geoff, my poor fellow! there's more trouble in store for you--more -trouble in store!" - - - - -CHAPTER VII. -TRACKED. - - -The news which Mr. William Bowker had heard from Inspector Blackett -troubled its recipient considerably, and it was not until he had -thought it over deeply and consumed a large quantity of tobacco in -the process, that he arrived at any settled determination as to what -was the right course to be pursued by him. His first idea was to make -Geoffrey Ludlow acquainted with the whole story, and let him act as he -thought best; but a little subsequent reflection changed his opinion on -this point. Geoff was very weak in health, certainly in no fit state to -leave his bed; and yet if he heard that Margaret was found, that her -address was known, above all that she was ill, Bowker knew him well -enough to be aware that nothing would prevent him at once setting out -to see her, and probably to use every effort to induce her to return -with him. Such a course would be bad in every way, but in the last -respect it would be fatal. For one certain reason Bowker had almost -hoped that nothing more might ever be heard of the wretched woman who -had fallen like a curse upon his friend's life. He knew Geoffrey Ludlow -root and branch, knew how thoroughly weak he was, and felt certain -that, no matter how grievous the injury which Margaret had done him, he -had but to see her again--to see her more especially in sickness and -misfortune--to take her back to his heart and to his hearth, and defy -the counsel of his friends and the opinion of the world. That would -never do. Geoff had been sufficiently dragged down by this unfortunate -infatuation; but he had a future which should be independent of her, -undimmed by any tarnish accruing to him from those wondrous misspent -days. So old Bowker firmly believed; and to accomplish that end he -determined that none of Inspector Blackett's news should find its way -to Geoffrey's ears, at all events until he, Bowker, had personally made -himself acquainted with the state of affairs. - -It must have been an impulse of the strongest friendship and love for -Geoff that induced William Bowker to undertake this duty; for it was -one which inspired him with aversion, not to say horror. At first -he had some thoughts of asking Charley Potts to do it; but then he -bethought him that Charley, headstrong, earnest, and impulsive as he -was, was scarcely the man to be intrusted with such a delicate mission. -And he remembered, moreover, that Charley was now to a great extent -_lié_ with Geoff's family, that he had been present at Geoff's first -meeting with Margaret, that he had always spoken against her, and that -now, imbued as he was likely to be with some of the strong feelings of -old Mrs. Ludlow, he would be certain to make a mess of the mission, -and, without the least intention of being offensive, would hurt some -one's feelings in an unmistakable and unpardonable manner. No; he must -go himself, horribly painful as it would be to him. His had been a set -gray life for who should say how many years; he had not been mixed up -with any woman's follies or griefs in ever so slight a degree, he had -heard no woman's voice in plaintive appeal or earnest confession, he -had seen no woman's tears or hung upon no woman's smile, since--since -when? Since the days spent with _her_. Ah, how the remembrance shut -out the present and opened up the long, long vistas of the past! He -was no longer the bald-headed, grizzle-bearded, stout elderly man; -he was young Bowker, from whom so much was expected; and the common -tavern-parlour in which he was seated, with its beer-stained tables and -its tobacco-reek faded away, and the long dusty roads of Andalusia, -the tinkling bells of the mules, the cheery shouts of the sunburnt -_arrieros_, the hard-earned pull at the _bota_, and the loved presence, -now vanished for ever, rose in his memory. - -When his musings were put to flight by the entrance of the waiter, -he paid his score, and summoning up his resolution he went out into -the noisy street, and mounting the first omnibus was borne away to -his destination. He found the place indicated to him by Blackett--a -small but clean and decent street--and soon arrived at Mrs. Chapman's -house. There, at the door, he stopped, undecided what to do. He had not -thought of any excuse for demanding an interview with Mrs. Chapman's -lodger, and, on turning the subject over in his mind, he could not -imagine any at all likely to be readily received. See Margaret he must; -and to do that, he thought he must take her unprepared and on a sudden: -if he sent up his name, he would certainly be refused admittance. His -personal appearance was far too Bohemian in its character to enable -him to pass himself off as her lawyer, or any friend of her family; -his only hope was to put a bold front on it, to mention her name, and -to walk straight on to her room, leaving it to chance to favour his -efforts. - -He entered the shop--a dull dismal little place, with a pair of stays -lying helplessly in the window, and a staring black-eyed torso of a -female doll, for cap-making purposes, insanely smiling on the counter. -Such a heavy footfall as Mr. Bowker's was seldom heard in those vestal -halls; such a grizzly-bearded face as Mr. Bowker's was seldom seen in -such close proximity to the cap-making dummy; and little Mrs. Chapman -the milliner came out "all in a tremble," as she afterwards expressed -it, from her inner sanctum, which was about as big and as tepid as a -warm-bath, and in a quavering voice demanded the intruder's business. -She was a mild-eyed, flaxen-haired, quiet, frightened little woman, and -old Bowker's heart softened towards her, as he said, "You have a friend -of mine lodging with you, ma'am, I think--Mrs. Lambert?" - -"O, dear; then, if you're a friend of Mrs. Lambert's, you're welcome -here, I can assure you, sir!" and the little woman looked more -frightened than ever, and held up her hands half in fear, half in -relief. - -"Ah, she's been ill, I hear," said Bowker, wishing to have it -understood that he was thoroughly _en rapport_ with the lodger. - -"Ill!--I'm thankful you've come, sir!--no one, unless they saw her, -would credit how ill she is--I mean to be up and about, and all that. -She's better to-day, and clearer; but what she have been these few -days past, mortal tongue cannot tell--all delirium-like, and full of -fancies, and talking of things which set Hannah--the girl who does -for me--and me nearly out of our wits with fright. So much so, that -six-and-sixpence a-week is--well, never mind, poor thing; it's worse -for her than for us; but I'm glad, at any rate, some friend has come to -see her." - -"I'll go and do so at once, Mrs. Chapman," said Bowker. "I know my way; -the door straight opposite to the front of the stairs, isn't it? Thank -you; I'll find it;" and with the last words yet on his tongue, Mr. -Bowker had passed round the little counter, by the little milliner, and -was making the narrow staircase creak again with his weight. - -He opened the door opposite to him, after having knocked and received -no answer, and peered cautiously in. The daylight was fading, and the -blind of the window was half down, and Bowker's eyesight was none of -the best now, so that he took some little time before he perceived the -outline of a figure stretched in the white dimity-covered easy-chair -by the little Pembroke table in the middle of the room. Although some -noise had been made by the opening of the door, the figure had not -moved; it never stirred when Bowker gave a little premonitory cough to -notify his advent; it remained in exactly The same position, without -stirring hand or foot, when Bowker said, "A friend has come to see you, -Mrs.--Lambert." Then a dim undefined sense of terror came upon William -Bowker, and he closed the door silently behind him, and advanced into -the room. Immediately he became aware of a faint sickly smell, a -cloying, percolating odour, which seemed to fill the place; but he had -little time to think of this, for immediately before him lay the form -of Margaret, her eyes closed, her features rigid, her long red hair -falling in all its wild luxuriance over her shoulders. At first William -thought she was dead; but, stooping close over her, he marked her slow -laboured breathing, and noticed that from time to time her hands were -unclenched, and then closed again as tightly as ever. He took a little -water from a tumbler on the table and sprinkled it on her face, and -laid his finger on her pulse; after a minute or two she opened her -eyes, closing them again immediately, but after a time opening them -again, and fixing them on Bowker's face with a long wistful gaze. - -"Are you one of them also?" she asked, in a deep hushed voice. "How -many more to come and gibber and point at me; or, worse than all, to -sit mutely staring at me with pitiless unforgiving eyes! How many more? -You are the latest. I have never seen you before." - -"O yes you have," said Bowker quietly, with her hand in his, and his -eyes steadfastly fixed on hers--"O yes you have: you recollect me, my -dear Mrs. Ludlow." - -He laid special stress on the name, and as he uttered the words, -Margaret started, a new light flashed into her beautiful eyes, and she -regarded him attentively. - -"What was that you said?" she asked; "what name did you call me?" - -"What name? Why, your own, of course; what else should I call you, my -dear Mrs. Ludlow?" - -She started again at the repetition, then her eyes fell, and she said -dreamily, - -"But that is not my name--that is not my name." Bowker waited for a -moment, and then said, - -"You might as well pretend to have forgotten me and our talk at Elm -Lodge that day that I came up to see Geoffrey." - -"Elm Lodge! Geoffrey!--ah, good God, now I remember all!" said -Margaret, in a kind of scream, raising herself in the chair, and -wringing Bowker's hand. - -"Hush, my dear Madam; don't excite yourself; I thought you would -remember all; you--" - -"You are Mr. Bowker!" said Margaret, pressing her hand to her head; -"Mr. Bowker, whose story Geoff told me: Geoff! ah, poor, good Geoff! -ah, dear, good Geoff! But why are you here? he hasn't sent you? -Geoffrey has not sent you?" - -"Geoffrey does not know I am here. He has been very ill; too ill to be -told of all that has been going on; too ill to understand it, if he had -been told. I heard by accident that you were living here, and that you -had been ill; and I came to see if I could be of any service to you." - -While he had been speaking, Margaret had sat with her head tightly -clasped between her hands. When he finished, she looked up with a -slightly dazed expression, and said, with an evident attempt at -controlling her voice, "I see all now; you must pardon me, Mr. Bowker, -for any incoherence or strangeness you may have noticed in my manner; -but I have been very ill, and I feel sure that at times my mind wanders -a little. I am better now. I was quite myself when you mentioned about -your having heard of my illness, and offering me service; and I thank -you very sincerely for your kindness." - -Old William looked at her for a minute, and then said, - -"I am a plain-spoken man, Mrs. Ludlow--for you are Mrs. Ludlow to -me--as I daresay you may have heard, if you have not noticed it -yourself; and I tell you plainly that it is out of no kindness to you -that I am here now, but only out of love for my dear old friend." - -"I can understand that," said Margaret; "and only respect you the more -for it; and now you are here, Mr. Bowker, I shall be very glad to say -a few words to you,--the last I shall ever say regarding that portion -of my life which was passed in--at--You know what I would say; you have -heard the story of the commencement of my acquaintance with Geoffrey -Ludlow?" - -Bowker bowed in acquiescence. - -"You know how I left him--why I am here?" - -Then William Bowker--the memory of all his friend's trouble and misery -and crushed hopes and wasted life rising up strongly within him--set -his face hard, and said, between his clenched teeth, "I know your -history from two sources. Yesterday, Geoffrey Ludlow, scarce able to -raise himself in his bed, so weak was he from the illness which your -conduct brought upon him, told me, as well as he could, of his first -meeting with you, his strange courtship, his marriage,--at which I -was present,--of his hopes and fears, and all the intricacies of his -married life; of the manner in which, finally, you revealed the history -of your previous life, and parted from him. Supplementing this story, -he gave me to read a letter from Lord Caterham, the brother of the -man you call your husband. This man, Captain Brakespere, flying from -the country, had written to his brother, informing him that he had -left behind him a woman who was called his mistress, but who was in -reality his wife. To find this woman Lord Caterham made his care. He -set the detectives to work, and had her tracked from place to place; -continually getting news of, but never finding her. While he lived, -Lord Caterham never slackened from the pursuit; finding his end -approaching--" - -"His end approaching!--the end of his life do you mean?" - -"He is dead. But before he died, he delegated the duty of pursuit, of -all men in the world, to Geoffrey Ludlow,--to Geoffrey Ludlow, who, in -his blind ignorance, had stumbled upon the very woman a year before, -had saved her from a miserable death, and, all unknowingly, had fondly -imagined he had made her his loving wife." - -"Ah, my God, this is too much! And Geoffrey Ludlow knows all this?" - -"From Geoffrey Ludlow's lips I heard it not twenty-four hours since." - -Margaret uttered a deep groan and buried her face in her hands. When -she raised her head her eyes were tear-blurred, and her voice faltered -as she said, "I acknowledge my sin, and--so far as Geoffrey Ludlow is -concerned--I deeply, earnestly repent my conduct. It was prompted by -despair; it ended in desperation. Have those who condemned me--and I -know naturally enough I am condemned by all his friends--have those -who condemned me ever known the pangs of starvation, the grim tortures -of houselessness in the streets? Have they ever known what it is to -have the iron of want and penury eating into their souls, and then to -be offered a comfortable home and an honest man's love? If they have, -I doubt very much whether they would have refused it. I do not say -this to excuse myself. I have done Geoffrey Ludlow deadly wrong; but -when I listened to his proffered protestations, I gave him time for -reflection; when I said 'Yes' to his repeated vows, I thought that the -dead past had buried its dead, and that no ghost from it would arise -to trouble the future. I vowed to myself that I would be true to that -man who had so befriended me; and I was true to him. The life I led -was inexpressibly irksome and painful to me; the dead solemn monotony -of it goaded me almost to madness at times; but I bore it--bore it -all out of gratitude to him--would have borne it till now if _he_ had -not come back to lure me to destruction. I do not say I did my duty; -I am naturally undomestic and unfitted for household management; but -I brought no slur on Geoffrey Ludlow's name in thought or deed until -that man returned. I have seen him, Mr. Bowker; I have spoken to him, -and he spurned me from him; and yet I love him as I loved him years -ago. He need only raise his finger, and I would fly to him and fawn -upon him, and be grateful if he but smiled upon me in return. They -cannot understand this--they cannot understand my disregard of the -respectabilities by flinging away the position and the name and the -repute, and all that which they had fitted to me, and which clung -to me, ah, so irritatingly; but if all I have heard be true you can -understand it, Mr. Bowker,--you can.--Is Geoffrey out of danger?" - -The sudden change in the tone of her voice, as she uttered the last -sentence, struck on Bowker's ear, and looking up, he noticed a strange -light in her eyes. - -"Geoffrey is out of danger," he replied; "but he is still very weak, -and requires the greatest care." - -"And requires the greatest care!" she repeated. "Well, he'll get it, -I suppose; but not from me. And to think that I shall never see him -again! Poor Geoffrey! poor, good Geoffrey! How good he was, and how -grave!--with those large earnest eyes of his, and his great head, and -rough curling brown hair, and--the cruel cold, the pitiless rain, the -cruel, cruel cold!" As she said these words, she crept back shivering -into her chair, and wrapped her dress round her. William Bowker bent -down and gazed at her steadily; but after an instant she averted her -face, and hid it in the chair. Bowker took her hand, and it fell -passively into his own; he noticed that it was burning. - -"This will not do, Mrs. Ludlow!" he exclaimed; "you have over-excited -yourself lately. You want rest and looking after--you must--" he -stopped; for she had turned her head to him again and was rocking -herself backwards and forwards in her chair, weeping meanwhile as -though her heart would break. The sight was too much for William to -bear unaided, and he opened the door and called Mrs. Chapman. - -"Ah, sir," said the good little woman when she entered the room, "she's -off again, I see. I knew she was, for I heard that awful sobbing as I -was coming up the stairs. O, that awful sobbing that Ive laid awake -night after night listening to, and that never seemed to stop till -daylight, when she was fairly wore out. But that's nothing, sir, -compared to the talk when she's beside herself. Then she'd go on and -say--" - -"Yes, yes, no doubt, Mrs. Chapman," interrupted Bowker, who did -not particularly wish to be further distressed by the narration of -Margaret's sadness; "but this faintness, these weeping fits, are quite -enough to demand the instant attention of a medical man. If you'll -kindly look to her now, I'll go off and fetch a doctor; and if there's -a nurse required--as Ive little doubt there will be--you won't mind me -intruding further upon you? No; I knew you'd say so. Mrs. Lambert's -friends will ever be grateful to you; and here's something just to -carry you on, you know, Mrs. Chapman--rent and money paid on her -account, and that sort of thing." The something was two sovereigns, -which had lain in a lucifer-match box used by Mr. Bowker as his bank, -and kept by him in his only locked drawer for six weeks past, and which -had been put aside for the purchase of a "tweed wrapper" for winter -wear. - -Deliberating within himself to what physician of eminence he should -apply, and grievously hampered by the fact that he was unable to pay -any fee in advance, Bowker suddenly bethought him of Dr. Rollit, whose -great love of art and its professors led him, "in the fallow leisure -of his life," to constitute himself a kind of honorary physician to -the brotherhood of the brush. To him Bowker hastened, and, without -divulging Margaret's identity, explained the case, and implored the -doctor to see her at once. The doctor hesitated for a moment, for he -was at his easel and in a knot. He had "got something that would not -come right," and he scarcely seemed inclined to move until he had -conquered his difficulty; but after explaining the urgency of the case, -old Bowker took the palette and sheaf of brushes from the physician's -hand and said, "I think we can help each other at this moment, doctor: -go you and see the patient, and leave me to deal with this difficulty. -You'll find me here when you come back, and you shall then look at your -canvas." - -But when Dr. Rollit, after a couple of hours' absence, returned, he -did not look at his picture--at least on his first entry. He looked so -grave and earnest that William Bowker, moving towards him to ask the -result of his visit, was frightened, and stopped. - -"What is the matter?" he asked; "you seem--" - -"I'm a little taken aback--that's all, old friend," said the doctor; -"you did not prepare me to find in my patient an old acquaintance--you -did not know it, perhaps?" - -"By Jove! I remember now: Charley Potts said--What an old ass I am!" - -"I was called in by Potts and Ludlow, or rather called out of -a gathering of the Titians, to attend Mrs. Lambert, as the -landlady called her, nearly two years ago. She is not much -altered--outwardly--since I left her convalescent." - -"You lay a stress on 'outwardly'--what is the inner difference?" - -"Simply that her health is gone, my good fellow; her whole constitution -utterly shattered; her life not worth a week's purchase." - -"Surely you're wrong, doctor. Up to within the last few weeks her -health has been excellent." - -"My dear William Bowker, I, as an amateur, meddle with your -professional work; but what I do is on the surface, and the mistakes -I make are so glaring, that they are recognisable instantly. You -might meddle, as an amateur, with mine, and go pottering on until -you'd killed half a parish, without any body suspecting you. The -disease I attended Mrs.----- there! it's absurd our beating about the -bush any longer--Mrs. Ludlow for was rheumatic fever, caught from -exposure to cold and damp. The attack I now find left behind it, as it -generally does, a strong predisposition to heart-disease, which, from -what I learn from her, seems to have displayed itself in spasms and -palpitations very shortly afterwards." - -"From what you learn from her? She was sensible, then, when you saw -her?" - -"She was sensible before I left her; ay, and that's the deuce of it. -Partly to deaden the pain of these attacks, partly, as she said herself -just now, to escape from thought, she has had recourse to a sedative, -morphia, which she has taken in large quantities. I smelt it the -instant I entered her room, and found the bottle by her side. Under -this influence she is deadened and comatose; but when the reaction -comes--Poor creature! poor creature!" and the kind-hearted doctor shook -his head sadly. - -"Do you consider her in absolute danger?" asked Bowker, after a pause. - -"My dear fellow it is impossible to say how long she may last; -but--though I suppose that's out of the question now, eh?--people will -talk, you know, and Ive heard rumours;--but if her husband wished to -see her, I should say fetch him at once." - - -"If her husband wished to see her!" said old Bowker to himself, as -he walked away towards his lodgings,--"if her husband wished to see -her! He don't--at least the real one don't, I imagine; and Geoff -mustn't; though, if he knew it, nothing would keep him away. But that -other--Captain Brakespere--he ought to know the danger she's in; he -ought to have the chance of saying a kind word to her before--He must -be a damned villain!" said old William, stopping for an instant, and -pondering over the heads of the story; "but he deserves that chance, -and he shall have it." - -Pursuant to his determination, Mr. Bowker presented himself the next -day at Long's Hotel, where he recollected Mr. Blackett had informed him -that Captain Brakespere was stopping. The porter, immediately divining -from Mr. Bowker's outward appearance that he meditated a raid upon -coats, hats, or any thing that might be lying about the coffee-room, -barricaded the entrance with his waistcoat, and parleyed with the -visitor in the hall. Inquiring for Captain Brakespere, Mr. Bowker -was corrected by the porter, who opined "he meant Lord Catrum." The -correction allowed and the inquiry repeated, the porter replied that -his "lordship had leff," and referred the inquirer to St. Barnabas -Square. - -To St. Barnabas Square Mr. Bowker adjourned, but there learned that -Lord Caterham had left town with Mr. Barford, and would not be back for -some days. - -And meanwhile the time was wearing by, and Margaret's hold on life was -loosening day by day. Would it fail altogether before she saw the man -who had deceived her so cruelly? would it fail altogether before she -saw the man whom she had so cruelly deceived? - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. -IN THE DEEP SHADOW. - - -In the presence of the double sorrow which had fallen upon her, Annie -Maurice's girlhood died out. Arthur was gone, and Geoffrey in so -suffering a condition of body and mind that it would have been easier -to the tender-hearted girl to know that he was at rest, even though -she had to face all the loneliness which would then have been her lot. -Her position was very trying in all its aspects at this time; for -there was little sympathy with her new sorrow at the great house which -she still called home, and where she was regarded as decidedly "odd." -Lady Beauport considered that Caterham had infected her with some of -his strange notions, and that her fancy for associating with "queer" -people, removed from her own sphere not more by her heiress-ship than -by her residence in an earl's house and her recognition as a member of -a noble family, was chargeable to the eccentric notions of her son. -Annie came and went as she pleased, free from comment, though not from -observation; but she was of a sensitive nature; she could not assert -herself; and she suffered from the consciousness that her grief, her -anxiety, and her constant visits to Lowbar were regarded with mingled -censure and contempt. Her pre-occupation of mind prevented her noticing -many things which otherwise could not have escaped her attention; -but when Geoffrey's illness ceased to be actively dangerous, and the -bulletin brought her each morning from Til by the hands of the faithful -Charley contained more tranquillising but still sad accounts of the -patient, she began to observe an air of mystery and preparation in -the household. The few hours which she forced herself to pass daily -in the society of Lady Beauport had been very irksome to her since -Arthur died, and she had been glad when they were curtailed by Lady -Beauport's frequent plea of "business" in the evenings, and her leaving -the drawing-room for her own apartments. Every afternoon she went to -Elm Lodge, and her presence was eagerly hailed by Mrs. Ludlow and Til. -She had seen Geoffrey frequently during the height of the fever; but -since the letter she had kept in such faithful custody had reached his -hands she had not seen him. Though far from even the vaguest conjecture -of the nature of its contents, she had dreaded the effect of receiving -a communication from his dead friend on Geoffrey Ludlow, and had been -much relieved when his mother told her, on the following day, that he -was very calm and quiet, but did not wish to see any one for a few -days. Bowker and he had fully felt the embarrassment of the position -in which Lord Caterham's revelation had placed Geoffrey with regard to -Annie Maurice, and the difficulties which the complications produced -by Margaret's identity with Lionel Brakespere's wife added to Ludlow's -fulfilment of Caterham's trust. They had agreed--or rather Bowker had -suggested, and Geoffrey had acquiesced, with the languid assent of a -mind too much enfeebled by illness and sorrow to be capable of facing -any difficulty but the inevitable, immediate, and pressing--that Annie -need know nothing for the present. - -"She could hardly come here from the Beauports, Geoff," Bowker had -said; "it's all nonsense, of course, to men like you and me, who look -at the real, and know how its bitterness takes all the meaning out of -the rubbish they call rules of society; but the strongest woman is no -freer than Gulliver in his fetters of packthread, in the conventional -world she lives in. We need not fret her sooner than it must be done, -and you had better not see her for the present." - -So Annie came and went for two or three days and did not see Geoffrey. -Mrs. Ludlow, having recovered from the sudden shock of her son's -illness and the protracted terror of his danger, had leisure to feel a -little affronted at his desire for seclusion, and to wonder audibly why -_she_ should be supposed to do him more harm than Mr. Bowker. - -"A big blundering fellow like that, Til," she said; "and I do assure -you, Miss Maurice, he quite forgot the time for the draught when he was -shut up there with him the other day--and talk of _he's_ doing Geoffrey -no harm! All I can say is, if Geoffrey had not been crying when I went -into his room, and wasn't trembling all over in his bed, I never was so -mistaken before." - -Then Til and Annie looked blankly at each other, in mute wonder at this -incomprehensible sorrow--for the women knew nothing but that Margaret -had fled with a former lover--so much had been necessarily told them, -under Bowker's instructions, by Charley Potts; and Annie, after a -little, went sorrowfully away. - -That day at dinner Lord Beauport was more than usually kind in his -manner to her; and Annie considered it due to him, and a fitting return -for some inquiries he had made for "her friend," which had more of -warmth and less of condescension than usual in their tone, to rouse -herself into greater cheerfulness than she had yet been able to assume. -Lady Beauport rose sooner than usual; and the two ladies had hardly -seated themselves in the dreary drawing-room when the Earl joined them. -There was an air of preparation in Lord Beauport's manner, and Annie -felt that something had happened. - -The thing which had happened was this--Lady Beauport had not -miscalculated her experienced power of managing her husband. She -had skilfully availed herself of an admission made by him that -Lionel's absence, at so great a distance just then was an unfortunate -complication; that the necessary communications were rendered difficult -and tedious; and that he wished his "rustication" had been nearer home. -The Countess caught at the word 'rustication:' then not expulsion, -not banishment, was in her husband's mind. Here was a commutation -of her darling's sentence; a free pardon would follow, if she only -set about procuring it in the right way. So she resorted to several -little expedients by which the inconvenience of the heir's absence -was made more and more apparent: having once mentioned his name, Lord -Beauport continued to do so;--perhaps he was in his secret heart as -much relieved by the breaking of the ban as the mother herself;--and -at length, on the same day which witnessed William Bowker's visit -to Lionel Brakespere's deserted wife, Lady Beauport acknowledged to -her husband that their son was then in London, and that she had seen -him. The Earl received her communication in frowning silence; but she -affected not to observe his manner, and expatiated, with volubility -very unusual to her, upon the fortunate concurrence of circumstances -which had brought Lionel to England just as his improved position made -it more than ever probable he would be perfectly well received. - -"That dear Mr. Barford," she said--and her face never changed at -the name of the man in whose arms her son had died so short a time -before--"assures me that every one is delighted to see him. And really, -George, he mustn't stay at Long's, you know--it looks so bad--for every -one knows he's in town; and if we don't receive him properly, that will -be just the way to rake up old stories. I'm sure they're old enough to -be forgotten; and many a young man has done worse than Lionel, and--" - -"Stop, Gertrude," said Lord Beauport sternly; "stick to the truth, -if you please. I hope very few young men in our son's position have -disgraced it and themselves as he has done. The truth is, that we -have to make the best of a misfortune. He has returned; and by -so doing has added to the rest a fresh rascality by breaking his -pledged word. Circumstances oblige me to acquiesce,--luck is on his -side,--his brother's death--" Lord Beauport paused for a moment, and -an expression, hitherto unfamiliar, but which his wife frequently saw -in the future, flitted over his face--"his brother's death leaves me -no choice. Let us say as little as possible on this subject. He had -better come here, for every reason. For appearances' sake it is well; -and he will probably be under some restraint in this house." Here the -Earl turned to leave the room, and said slowly as he walked towards -the door, "Something tells me, Gertrude, that in Arthur's death, which -we dreaded too little and mourn too lightly, we have seen only the -beginning of evils." - -Lady Beauport sat very still and felt very cold after he left her. -Conscience smote her dumbly,--in days to come it would find a voice in -which to speak,--and fear fell upon her. "I will never say any thing to -him about Annie Maurice," she said to herself, as the first effect of -her husband's words began to pass away; "I do believe he would be as -hard on Lionel as poor Arthur himself, and warn the girl against him." - -How relieved she felt as she despatched a note to Lionel Brakespere, -telling him she had fulfilled her task, and inviting him to return to -his father's house when he pleased! - -Assuredly the star of the new heir was in the ascendant; his brother -was dead, his place restored to him, and society ready to condone all -his "follies,"--which is the fashionable synonym for the crimes of the -rich and the great. If Lionel Brakespere could have seen "that cursed -woman"--as in his brutal anger he called his wife a hundred times over, -as he fretted and fumed over the remembrance of their interview--as -William Bowker saw her that day,--he would have esteemed himself a -luckier fellow still than he did when he lighted his cigar with his -mother's note, and thought how soon he would change that "infernal dull -old hole" from what it was in Caterham's time, and how he would have -every thing his own way now. - -Such, as far as his knowledge of them extended, and without any comment -or expression of opinion of his own, were the circumstances which -Lord Beauport narrated to Annie. She received his information with an -indescribable pang, compounded of a thousand loving remembrances of -Arthur and a keen resuscitation by her memory of the scene of Lionel's -disgrace, to which she and her lost friend had been witnesses. She -could hardly believe, hardly understand it all; and the clearest -thought which arose above the surging troubled sea within her breast -was, that the place which knew Arthur no more would be doubly empty and -desolate when Lionel should fill it. - -The tone in which Lord Beauport had spoken was grave and sad, and he -had confined himself to the barest announcement. Annie had listened in -respectful silence; but though she had not looked directly at her, she -was conscious of Lady Beauport's reproachful glances, addressed to her -husband, as he concluded by saying coldly, - -"You were present, Annie, by my desire, when I declared that that which -is now about to happen should never be, and I have thought it necessary -to explain to you a course of conduct on my part which without -explanation would have appeared very weak and inconsistent. As a member -of _my_ family you are entitled to such an explanation; and indeed, as -an inmate of this house, you are entitled to an apology." - -"Thank you, my lord," said Annie, in a voice which, though lower than -usual, was very firm. - -This was more than Lady Beauport's pride could bear. She began, -fiercely enough, - -"Really, Lord Beauport, I cannot see--" - -But at that moment a servant opened the door and announced - -"Lord Caterham." - -The group by the fireside stood motionless for a moment, as Lionel, -dressed in deep mourning, advanced towards them with well-bred ease and -perfect unconcern. Then Lady Beauport threw herself into his arms; and -Annie, hardly noticing that Lord Beauport had by an almost involuntary -movement stretched out his hand to the handsome prodigal, glided past -the three, hurried to her own room, and, having locked the door, sank -down on her knees beside her bed in an agony of grief. - -Three days elapsed, during which events marched with a steady pace at -Elm Lodge and at the lodging were the woman who had brought such wreck -and ruin within that tranquil-looking abode was lying contending with -grief and disease, dying the death of despair and exhaustion. When -Bowker returned from his unsuccessful quest for Lionel Brakespere, he -found that she had passed into another phase of her malady,--was quiet, -dreamy, and apparently forgetful of the excitement she had undergone. -She was lying quite still on her bed, her eyes half closed, and a faint -unmeaning smile was on her lips. - -"I have seen her so for hours and hours, sir," said the gentle little -landlady; "and it's my belief it's what she takes as does it." - -So Bowker concluded that Margaret had found means to avail herself -of the fatal drug from which she had sought relief so often and so -long, in the interval of depression which had succeeded the delirium -he had witnessed. He was much embarrassed now to know how to proceed. -She required better accommodation and careful nursing, and he was -determined she should have both,--but how that was to be managed was -the question; and Bowker, the most helpless man in the world in such -matters, was powerless to answer it. He had never imagined, as he -had turned the probabilities over and over in his mind, that such a -complication as severe physical illness would arise; and it routed all -his plans, besides engaging all his most active sympathies. William -Bowker had an extreme dread, indeed a positive terror, of witnessing -bodily suffering in women and children; and had his anger and repulsion -towards Margaret been far greater than they were, they would have -yielded to pain and pity as he gazed upon the rigid lines of the pale -weary face, from which the beauty was beginning to fade and drop away -in some mysterious manner of vanishing, terrible to see and feel, but -impossible to describe. He made the best provisional arrangements -within his power, and went away, promising Mrs. Chapman that he would -return on the following day to meet the doctor, and turned his steps in -much mental bewilderment towards the abode of Charley Potts, purposing -to consult him in the emergency, previous to their proceeding together -to Lowbar. - -"I can't help it now," he thought; "the women cannot possibly be kept -out of the business any longer. If she were let to want any thing, and -had not every care taken of her, dear old Geoff would never forgive -any of us; and it could not be hidden from him. I am sure she's dying; -and--I'm glad of it: glad for her sake, poor wretched creature; and -O so glad for his! He will recover her death--he _must_; but I doubt -whether he would recover her life. He would be for ever hankering after -her, for ever remembering the past, and throwing away the remainder of -his life, as he has thrown away too much of it already. No, no, dear -old Geoff, this shall not be, if your William can save you. I know what -a wasted life means; and you shall put yours out at good interest, -Geoff, please God." - -Charley was at home; and he received Mr. Bowker's communication with -uncommon gravity, and immediately bestowed his best attention upon -considering what was to be done. He was not in the least offended by -discovering that it had not been his William's intention to tell him -any thing about it. "Quite right too," he observed. "I should have -been of no use, if every thing had not been capsized by her illness; -and I don't like to know any thing I'm not to tell to Til. Not that -she's in the least inquisitive, you know,--don't make any mistake about -that,--but things are in such an infernally mysterious mess; and then -they only know enough to make them want to know more; and I shouldn't -like, under these circumstances--it would seem hypocritical, don't you -see--and every thing must come out sometime, eh?" - -"O yes, I see," said Bowker drily; "but I have to tell you _now_, -Charley; for what the devil's to be done? You can't bring her here and -nurse her; and I can't bring her to my place and nurse her,--yet she -must be taken somewhere and nursed; and we must be prepared with a -satisfactory account of every thing we have done, when Geoff gets well; -and what are we to do?" - -Mr. Potts did not answer for a few moments, but handed over the beer -in an absent manner to Mr. Bowker; then, starting up from the table on -which he had been sitting, he exclaimed, - -"I have it, William. Let's tell the women--Til, I mean, and Miss -Maurice. They'll know all about it, bless you," said Charley, whose -confidence in female resources was unbounded. "It's all nonsense trying -to keep things dark, when theyve got to such a pass as this. If Mrs. -Ludlow's in the state you say, she will not live long; and then Geoff's -difficulty, if not his trouble, will be over. Her illness alters every -thing. Come on, Bowker; let's get on to Elm Lodge; tell Til, and Miss -Maurice, if she's there; and let them make proper arrangements." - -"But, Charley," said Bowker, much relieved, in spite of his misgivings, -by the suggestion, "you forget one important point. Miss Maurice is -Brakespere's cousin, and she lives in his father's house. It won't do -to bring her in." - -"Never you mind that, William," replied the impetuous Charley. "Til -can't act alone; and old Mrs. Ludlow is nervous, and would not know -what to do, and must not be told; and I am sure Miss Maurice doesn't -care a rap about her cousin--the ruffian--why should she? And I know -she would do any thing in the world, no matter how painful to herself, -and no matter whether he ever came to know it or not, that would serve -or please Geoff." - -"Indeed!" said Bowker, in a tone half of inquiry, half of surprise, and -looking very hard at Charley; "and how do you know that, eh, Charley?" - -"O, bother," answered that gentleman, "I don't know how I know it; -but I do know it; and I am sure the sooner we act on my knowledge the -better. So come along." - -So saying, Mr. Potts made his simple outdoor toilet; and the two -gentlemen went out, and took their way towards the resort of omnibuses, -eagerly discussing the matter in hand as they went, and Mr. Bowker -finding himself unexpectedly transformed from the active into the -passive party. - -It was agreed between them that Geoffrey should not be informed of -Bowker's presence in the house, as he would naturally be impatient to -learn the result of the mission with which he had intrusted him; and -that result it was their present object to conceal. - -Fortune favoured the wishes of Bowker and Charley. Mrs. Ludlow was -with her son; and in the drawing-room, which was resuming somewhat of -its former orderly and pleasant appearance, they found Miss Maurice -and Til. The two girls were looking sad and weary, and Til was hardly -brightened up by Charley's entrance, for he looked so much more grave -than usual, that she guessed at once he had heard something new and -important. The little party were too vitally interested in Geoffrey -and his fortunes, and the occasion was too solemn for any thing of -ceremony; and when Charley Potts had briefly introduced Bowker to Annie -Maurice, he took Til's hand in his, and said, - -"Til, Geoffrey's wife has been found--alone, and very ill--dying, as we -believe!" - - -"You are quite sure, William?" - -"I am quite sure, Geoffrey. Do you think I would deceive you, or take -any thing for granted myself, without seeing and hearing what is so -important to you? She is well cared for in every respect. Your own -care, when she needed it before, was not more tender or more effective. -Be satisfied, dear old Geoff; be content." - -"You saw her--you really saw her; and she spoke kindly of me?" asked -Geoffrey with a pitiable eagerness which pained Bowker to witness. - -"I did. Yes, have I not told you again and again--" Then there was -a moment's silence and Bowker thought, if she were not dying, how -terrible this tenderness towards her would be, how inexplicable to all -the world but him, how ruinous to Geoffrey; but as it was, it did not -matter: it would soon be only the tenderness of memory, the pardon of -the grave. - -Geoffrey was sitting in an arm-chair by the bedroom window which -overlooked the pretty flower-garden and the lawn. He was very weak -still, but health was returning, and with it the power of acute mental -suffering, which severe bodily illness mercifully deadens. This had -been a dreadful day to him. When he was able to sit up and look around -the room from which all the graceful suggestive traces of a woman's -presence had been carefully removed; when he saw the old home look -upon every thing before his eyes (for whom the idea of home was for -ever desecrated and destroyed), the truth presented itself to him as -it had never before done, in equal horror and intensity, since the day -the woman he loved had struck him a blow by her words which had nearly -proved mortal. Would it had been so! he thought, as his large brown -eyes gazed wearily out upon the lawn and the flower-beds, and then -were turned upon the familiar objects in the chamber, and closed with -a shudder. His large frame look gaunt and worn, and his hands rested -listlessly upon the sides of his chair. He had requested them to leave -him alone for a little, that he might rest previous to seeing Bowker. - -From the window at which Geoffrey sat he could see the nurse walking -monotonously up and down the gravel-walk which bounded his little -demesne with the child in her arms. Sometimes she stopped to pluck a -flower and give it to the baby, who would laugh with delight and then -throw it from him. Geoffrey watched the pair for a little, and then -turned his head wearily away and put his question to Bowker, who was -seated beside him, and who looked at him furtively with glances of the -deepest concern. - -"You shall hear how she is, Geoff,--how circumstanced, how cared for, -and by whom, from one who can tell you the story better than I can. -Your confidence has not been misplaced." Geoffrey turned upon him the -nervous anxious gaze which is so touching to see in the eyes of one who -has lately neared the grave, and still seems to hover about its brink. -William Bowker proceeded: "You have not asked for Miss Maurice lately. -I daresay you felt too much oppressed by the information in Lord -Caterham's letter, too uncertain of the future, too completely unable -to make up your mind what was to be done about her, to care or wish -to see her. She has been here as usual, making herself as useful as -possible, and helping your mother and sister in every conceivable way. -But she has done more for you than that, Geoff; and if you are able to -see her now, I think you had better hear it all from herself." - -With these words Bowker hurried out of the room; and in a few minutes -Annie Maurice, pale, quiet, and self-possessed, came in, and took her -seat beside Geoffrey. - -What had she come to tell him? What had she been doing for the help -and service of her early friend,--she, this young girl so unskilled in -the world's ways, so lonely, so dependent hitherto,--who now looked so -womanly and sedate,--in whose brown eyes he saw such serious thought, -such infinite sweetness and pity,--whose deep mourning dress clothed -her slender figure with a sombre dignity new to it, and on whom a -nameless change had passed, which Geoffrey had eyes to see now, and -recognised even in that moment of painful emotion with wonder. - -Calmly, carefully subduing every trace of embarrassment for his sake, -and in a business-like tone which precluded the necessity for any -preliminary explanation, Annie told Geoffrey Ludlow that she had been -made aware of the circumstances which had preceded and caused his -illness. She touched lightly upon her sorrow and her sympathy, but -passed on to the subject of Caterham's letter. Geoffrey listened to her -in silence, his head turned away and his eyes covered with his hand. -Annie went on: - -"I little thought, Geoffrey, when I was so glad to find that you -were well enough to read Arthur's letter, and when I only thought -of fulfilling so urgent a request as soon as I could, and perhaps -diverting your mind into thoughts of our dear dead friend, that I was -to be the means of making all this misery plain and intelligible. -But it was so, Geoffrey; and I now see that it was well. Why Arthur -should have selected you to take up the search after his death I -cannot tell,--I suppose he knew instinctively your fidelity and -trueheartedness; but the accident was very fortunate, for it identified -your interests and mine, it made the fulfilment of his trust a sacred -duty to me, and enabled me to do with propriety what no one else could -have done, and what she--what Margaret--would not have accepted from -another." - -Geoffrey started, let his hand fall from his face, and caught hers. "Is -it you, then, Annie?" - -"Yes, yes," she said, "it is I, Geoffrey; do not agitate yourself, but -listen to me. When Mr. Bowker found Margaret, as you know he did, she -was very ill, and--she had no protector and no money. What could he do? -He did the best thing; he told me, to whom Arthur's wishes were sacred, -who would have done the same had you never existed--you know I am rich -and free; and I made all the needful arrangements for her at once. When -all was ready for her reception--it is a pretty house at Sydenham, -Geoffrey, and she is as well cared for as any one can be--I went to -her, and told her I was come to take her home." - -"And she--Margaret--did she consent? Did she think it was I who--" - -"Who sent me?" interrupted Annie. "No,--she would not have consented; -for her feeling is that she has so wronged you that she must owe -nothing to you any more. In this I know she is quite wrong; for to -know that she was in any want or suffering would be still worse grief -to you,--but that can never be,--and I did not need to contradict -her. I told her I came to her in a double character that of her own -friend--though she had not had much friendship for me, Geoffrey; but -that is beside the question--and--and--" here she hesitated for a -moment, but then took courage and went on, "that of her husband's -cousin." Geoffrey ground his teeth, but said never a word. She -continued, with deepening light in her eyes and growing tenderness -in her voice, "I told her how Arthur, whom I loved, had sought for -her,--how a strange fatality had brought them in contact, neither -knowing how near an interest each had in the other. She knew it the day -she fainted in his room, but he died without knowing it, and so dying -left her, as I told her I felt she was, a legacy to me. She softened -then, Geoffrey, and she came with me." - -Here Annie paused, as if expecting he would speak, but he did not. She -glanced at him, but his face was set and rigid, and his eyes were fixed -upon the walk, where the nurse and child still were. - -"She is very ill, Geoffrey," Annie went on; "very weak and worn, and -weary of life. I am constantly with her, but sometimes she is unable or -unwilling to speak to me. She is gloomy and reserved, and suffers as -much in mind as in body, I am sure." - -Geoffrey said slowly, "Does she ever speak to you of me?" - -Annie replied, "Not often. When she does, it is always with the -greatest sorrow for your sorrow, and the deepest sense of the injury -she has done you. I am going to her to-day, Geoffrey, and I should like -to take to her an assurance of your forgiveness. May I tell Margaret -that you forgive her?" - -He turned hastily, and said with a great gasp, "O Annie, tell her that -I love her!" - -"I will tell her that," the girl said gently and sadly, and an -expression of pain crossed her face. She thought of the love that had -been wasted, and the life that had been blighted. - -"What is she going to do?" asked Geoffrey; "how is it to be in the -future?" This was a difficult question for Annie to answer: she knew -well what lay in the future; but she dreaded to tell Geoffrey, even -while she felt that the wisest, the easiest, the best, and the most -merciful solution of the terrible dilemma in which a woman's ungoverned -passion had placed so many innocent persons was surely and not slowly -approaching. - -"I don't know, Geoffrey," she said; "I cannot tell you. Nothing can be -decided upon until she is better, and you are well enough to advise and -direct us. Try and rest satisfied for the present. She is safe, no harm -can come to her; and I am able and willing to befriend her now as you -did before. Take comfort, Geoffrey; it is all dreadful; but if we had -not found her, how much worse it would have been!" - -At this moment the nurse carried her charge out of their sight, as she -came towards the house, and Annie, thinking of the more than motherless -child, wondered at the no-meaning of her own words, and how any thing -could have been worse than what had occurred. - -She and Geoffrey had spoken very calmly to each other, and there had -been no demonstration of gratitude to her on his part; but it would be -impossible to tell the thankfulness which filled his heart. It was a -feeling of respite which possessed him. The dreadful misfortune which -had fallen upon him was as real and as great as ever; but he could -rest from the thought of it, from its constant torture, now that he -knew that she was safe from actual physical harm; now that no awful -vision of a repetition of the destitution and misery from which he had -once rescued her, could come to appal him. Like a man who, knowing -that the morrow will bring him a laborious task to do, straining his -powers to the utmost, inexorable and inevitable in its claims, covets -the deep rest of the hours which intervene between the present and the -hour which must summon him to his toil, Geoffrey, in the lassitude of -recent illness, in the weakness of early convalescence, rested from -the contemplation of his misery. He had taken Annie's communication -very quietly; he had a sort of feeling that it ought to surprise him -very much, that the circumstances were extraordinary, that the chain -of events was a strangely-wrought one--but he felt little surprise; it -was lurking somewhere in his mind, he would feel it all by and by, no -doubt; but nothing beyond relief was very evident to him in his present -state. He wondered, indeed, how it was with Annie herself; how the -brave, devoted, and unselfish girl had been able, trammelled as she -was by the rules and restrictions of a great house, to carry out her -benevolent designs, and dispose of her own time after her own fashion. -There was another part of the subject which Geoffrey did not approach -even in his thoughts. Bowker had not told him of Margaret's entreaties -that she might see Lionel Brakespere; he had not told him that the -young man had returned to his father's house; and he made no reference -to him in his consideration of Annie's position. He had no notion that -the circumstances in which Lord Caterham had entreated his protection -for Annie had already arisen. - -"How is it that you can do all this unquestioned, Annie?" he asked; -"how can you be so much away from home?" - -She answered him with some embarrassment. "It was difficult--a -little--but I knew I was right, and I did not suffer interference. When -you are quite well, Geoffrey, I want your advice for myself. I have -none else, you know, since Arthur died." - -"He knew that, Annie; and the purport of the letter which told me such -a terrible story was to ask me in all things to protect and guide you. -He little knew that he had the most effectual safeguard in his own -hands; for, Annie, the danger he most dreaded for you was association -with his brother." - -"That can never be," she said vehemently. "No matter what your future -course of action may be, Geoffrey, whether you expose him or not--in -which, of course, you will consider Margaret only--I will never live -under the same roof with him. I must find another home, Geoffrey, let -what will come of it, and let them say what they will." - -"Caterham would have been much easier in his mind, Annie," said -Geoffrey, with a sad smile, "if he had known how baseless were his -fears that his brother would one day win your heart." - -"There never could have been any danger of that, Geoffrey," said Annie, -with a crimson blush, which had not subsided when she took her leave of -him. - - - - -CHAPTER IX. -CLOSING IN. - - -The porter at Lord Beauport's mansion in St. Barnabas Square became -so familiarised with Mr. Bowker's frequent visits as at length to -express no surprise at the sight of the "hold cove," who daily arrived -to inquire whether any tidings of Lord Caterham had been received. -Although the porter's experience of life had been confined to London, -his knowledge of the ways of men was great; and he was perfectly -certain that this pertinacious inquirer was no dun, no tradesman with -an overdue account, no begging letter-writer or imposter of any kind. -What he was the porter could not tell; mentioned, in casual chat with -the footman waiting for the carriage to come round, that he could not -"put a name" to him, but thought from his "rum get-up" that he was -either in the picture-selling or the money-lending line. - -Undeterred by, because ignorant of, the curiosity which his presence -excited--and indeed it may be assumed that, had he been aware of it, -his actions would have been very little influenced thereby--old William -Bowker attended regularly every day at the St. Barnabas-Square mansion, -and having asked his question and received his answer, adjourned to -the nearest tavern for his lunch of bread-and-cheese and beer, and -then puffing a big meerschaum pipe, scaled the omnibus which conveyed -him to London Bridge, whence he took the train for the little house -at Sydenham. They were always glad to see him there, even though he -brought no news; and old Mrs. Ludlow especially found the greatest -comfort in pouring into his open ears the details of the latest -experience of her "cross." William Bowker to such recitals was a -splendid listener; that is to say, he could nod his head and throw in -an "Indeed!" or a "Really!" exactly at the proper moment, while all the -time his thoughts were far away, occupied with some important matter. -He saw Til occasionally, and sometimes had flying snatches of talk with -Annie Maurice in the intervals of her attendance on the invalid. Bowker -did not meet Charley Potts very frequently, although that gentleman -was a regular visitor at Sydenham whenever Mrs. Ludlow and Til were -there; but it was not until the evening that Mr. Potts came, for he -was diligently working away at his commissions and growing into great -favour with Mr. Caniche; and besides, he had no particular interest -in Miss Maurice; and so long as he arrived in time to escort Miss Til -and her mother back to London Bridge and to put them into the Lowbar -omnibus, he was content, and was especially grateful for the refreshing -sleep which always came upon old Mrs. Ludlow in the train. - -At length, when many weary days had worn themselves away, and Geoffrey -was beginning to feel his old strength returning to him, and with it -the aching void which he had experienced on regaining consciousness -daily increasing in intensity, and when Margaret's hold on life had -grown very weak indeed, old William Bowker, making his daily inquiry of -Lord Beauport's porter, was informed that Lord Caterham had returned -the previous afternoon, and was at that moment at breakfast. Then, with -great deliberation, Mr. Bowker unbuttoned his coat and from an inner -breast-pocket produced an old leather pocket-book, from which, among -bits of sketches and old envelopes, he took a card, and pencilling his -name thereon, requested the porter to give it to Lord Caterham. - -The porter looked at the card, and then said jocosely, "You ain't wrote -your business on it, then? 'Spose you couldn't do that, eh? Well, you -are a plucked 'un, you are, and I like you for it, never givin' in -and comin' so reg'lar; and I'll let him have your card just for that -reason." He disappeared as he said these words, but came back speedily, -remarking, "He'll see you, he says, though he don't know the name. Do -you know the way? Same rooms which his brother used to have,--straight -afore you. Here, I'll show you." - -The friendly porter, preceding Mr. Bowker down the passage, opened the -door of what had been poor Arthur's sitting-room, and ushered in the -visitor. The bookcases, the desk, the pictures and nicnacks, were all -as they had been in the old days; but there was a table in the middle -of the room, at which was seated the new Lord Caterham finishing late -breakfast. Bowker had never seen the Lionel Brakespere of former days; -if he had, he would have noticed the change in the man before him,--the -boldness of bearing, the calm unflinching regard, the steadiness of -voice, the assurance of manner,--all of which, though characteristic -of Lionel Brakespere in his earliest days, had deserted him, only to -reappear with his title. - -"You wished to see me, Mr. ----. I don't know your name," said Lionel, -stiffly returning the stiff bow which Bowker gave him on entering. - -"You have my card, my lord," said old Bowker quietly. - -"Ah, yes, by the way, I have your card," said Lionel, taking it up. -"Mr. Bowker--Mr.--Bowker! Now that does not convey to me any idea -whatever?" - -"I daresay not. You never heard it before--you never saw me before; and -you would not see me now, if I did not come on business of the greatest -importance." - -"Business of the greatest importance! Dear me, that's what they all -come on. Of the greatest importance to yourself, of course?" - -"Of the greatest importance to you. Except in a very minor degree, Ive -nothing to do in the matter." - -"Of the greatest importance to me! O, of course--else it would not have -been worth while your coming, would it? Now, as my time is valuable, be -good enough to let me know what this business is." - -"You shall know in as few words as I can tell you. I come to you from a -woman--" - -Lionel interrupted him with a cynical laugh. - -"The deuce you do!" he said. "From a woman? Well, I thought it was -cigars, or a blue diamond, or a portrait of some old swell whom you had -made out to be an ancestor of mine, or--" - -"I would advise you not to be funny on the subject until you've heard it -explained, Lord Caterham," said Mr. Bowker grimly. "I scarcely imagine -you'll find it so humorous before I'm done." - -"Sha'n't I? Well, at all events, give me the chance of hearing," said -Lionel. He was in a splendid temper. He had come back, after a pleasant -run with Algy Barford, to enjoy all the advantages of his new position. -On the previous night he and his mother had had a long talk about Miss -Maurice--this heiress whom he was to captivate so easily. The world lay -straight and bright before him, and he could spare a few minutes to -this old fellow--who was either a lunatic or a swindler--for his own -amusement. - -"I come to you Lord Caterham, from a woman who claims to be your wife." - -In an instant the colour died out of Lionel's face; his brows were -knit, and his mouth set and rigid. "O, ho!" said he through his -clenched teeth, after a moment's pause; "you do, do you? You come to me -from _that_ woman? That's your line of country, is it? O yes--I guessed -wrong about you, certainly--you don't look a bit like a bully!" - -"A bully!" echoed William Bowker, looking very white. - -"A bully!" repeated Lionel--"the woman's father, brother, former -husband--any thing that will give you a claim to put in an appearance -for her. And now look here. This game won't do with me--I'm up to it; -so you had better drop it at once, and get out." - -Old Bowker waited for a minute with set teeth and clenched fists, all -the gray hair round his mouth bristling with fury. Only for a minute. -Then he resumed the seat which he had quitted, and said, - -"I'm not quite so certain of myself nowadays, as Ive been a long time -out of practice; but it strikes me that during your long career of -gentlemanly vice, my Lord Caterham, you never were nearer getting -a sound drubbing than you have been within the last five minutes. -However, let that pass. You have been good enough to accuse me of -being a bully, by which term I imagine you mean a man sent here by the -unfortunate lady of whom we have spoken to assert her rights. I may as -well start by telling you that she is utterly ignorant of my intention -to call on you." - -"Of course--O yes, of course. Didn't give you my address, did she?" - -"She did not." - -"She didn't? O, then you've come on your own hook, being some relation -or friend of hers, to see what you could bounce me out of." - -"I am no relation of hers. I have not seen her half a dozen times in -the course of my life." - -"Then what the deuce brings you here?" - -"I'll tell you as shortly as I can. When you deserted this woman--not -caring what became of her; leaving her to sink or swim as best she -might--she slipped from one point of wretchedness to another, until, at -the bottom of her descent, she was discovered by a very old friend of -mime perishing of cold and hunger--dying in the streets!" - -Lionel, whose face when Bowker commenced speaking had been averted, -turned here, and gave a short sharp shudder, fixing his eyes on Bowker -as he proceeded. - -"Dying in the streets! My friend rescued her from this fate, had -her nursed and attended, and finally--ignorant of the chief fact of -her life, though she had confided to him a certain portion of her -story--fell so desperately in love with her as to ask her to become his -wife." - -"To become his wife!" cried Lionel; "and she consented?" - -"She did." - -"And they were married?" - -"They were. I was present." - -"_Bravissimo!_" said Lionel in a low voice. "you've done me a greater -service than you think for, Mr.--what's-your-name. She'll never trouble -me again." - -"Only once more, my lord," said old Bowker solemnly. - -"What the devil do you mean, sir?" - -"Simply this, my lord. I understand your exclamation of delight at -seeing your way legally to rid yourself of this woman, who is now -nothing to you but an incumbrance. But you need not fear; you will not -even have the trouble of consulting your lawyer in the matter. There is -one who breaks up marriage-ties more effectually even than the Divorce -Court, and that one is--Death!" - -"Death!" - -"Death. The woman of whom we have been speaking lies in the jaws of -death. Her recovery, according to all human experience, is impossible. -Dying,--and knowing herself to be dying,--she wishes to see you." - -"To see me!" said Lionel scornfully; "O no, thank you; I won't -interfere in the family party. The gentleman who has married her might -object to my coming." - -"The gentleman who married her in all noble trust and honour, she -deserted directly she heard of your return. Overwhelmed by her cruelty, -and by the full details of her story, which he heard from your brother, -the then Lord Caterham, at the same time, he fell, smitten with an -illness from which he is barely recovering. She is in another house far -away from his, and on her deathbed she calls for you." - -"She may call," said Lionel, after a moment's pause, frowning, -thrusting his hands into his pockets, and settling himself back into -his chair; "she may call; I shall not go." - -"You will not?" - -"I will not--why should I?" - -"If you can't answer that question for yourself, Lord Caterham, upon -my soul I can't for you," said Bowker gruffly. "If you think you owe -no reparation to the woman, your wife, whom you left to be rescued by -strangers' charity from starvation, I cannot convince you of it: if you -decline to accede to her dying request, I cannot enforce it." - -"Why does not the--the gentleman who was so desperately in love with -her, and whom she--she accepted--why does not he go to her?" said -Lionel. He did not care for Margaret himself, but the thought that she -had been something to any one else grated upon his pride. - -"Ah, my God," said old Bowker, "how willingly would he; but it is not -for him she asks--it is for you. You boast of your experience of women, -and yet you know so little of them as to expect gratitude of them. -Gratitude from a woman--gratitude--and yet, God knows, I ought not to -say that--I ought not to say that." - -"You seem to have had a singular experience, Mr. Bowker," said Lionel, -"and one on which you can scarcely make up your mind. Where is this -lady whom you wish me to see?" - -"At Sydenham--within an hour's drive." - -Lionel rang the bell. "Tell them to get the brougham round," said he to -the servant who answered it. "Now, look here, Mr. Bowker; I am going -with you thoroughly depending on your having told me the exact truth." - -"You may depend on it," said old Bowker simply. And they started -together. - -That was a strange ride. At starting Lionel lit a cigar, and puffed -fiercely out of the window; idly looking at the Parliament-houses -and other familiar objects which met his gaze as they drove over -Westminster Bridge, the passing populace, the hoardings blazing with -placards, the ordinary bustle and turmoil of every-day life. He was -angry and savage; savage with Margaret for the annoyance she had -brought upon him, savage with Bowker for having found him out, savage -with himself for having allowed himself, in the impulse of a moment, -to be betrayed into this expedition. Then, as the houses became fewer, -and the open spaces more frequent; as they left behind them the solid -blocks of streets and rows and terraces, dull wretched habitations for -ninth-rate clerks, solemn old two-storied edifices where the shipping -agents and Baltic merchants of a past generation yet lingered in their -retirement, frowsy dirty little shops with a plentiful sprinkling of -dirtier and frowsier taverns, imbued as was the whole neighbourhood -with a not-to-be explained maritime flavour,--as they slipped by these -and came into the broad road fringed by pretty gardens, in which -stood trim villas stuccoed and plate-glassed, with the "coach-house -of gentility" and every other sign of ease and wealth; then leaving -these behind, emerged into country lanes with wide-spreading meadows -on either side, green uplands, swelling valleys, brown shorn fields -whence the harvest had been carried,--as they passed through all these -the cruel thoughts in Lionel's mind softened, and he began to think -of the scene to which he was being hastened, and of his own share in -bringing about that scene. As he flung away the butt-end of his cigar, -there rose in his mind a vision of Margaret as he had first seen her, -walking on the Castle Hill at Tenby with some of her young companions, -and looking over the low parapet at the boiling sea raging round -Catherine's Rock. How lovely she looked, glowing with youth and health! -What a perfectly aristocratic air and _tournure_ she had, visible in -the careless grace of her hat, the sweeping elegance of her shawl, the -fit of her boots and gloves! How completely he had been taken aback by -the apparition! how he had raved about her! had never rested until he -had obtained an introduction, and--ah, he remembered at that moment -distinctly the quivering of her eyelids, the fluttering of her young -bosom under its simple gauze, her half hesitating timid speech. That -was comparatively a short time ago--and now in what condition was he to -find her? He was not all bad, this man--who is?--and the best part of -him was awakened now. He crossed his arms, leaned back in the carriage, -and was nearer repentance than he had been since his childhood. - -And old William Bowker, what was he thinking of? Indeed, he had fallen -into his usual day-dream. The comparison between Margaret and his own -lost love, made when he first saw her, had always haunted him; and he -was then turning in his mind how, if such a complication as they were -experiencing at that moment had been possible, it would have affected -her and him. From this his thoughts glided to the impending interview, -and he wondered whether he had done right in bringing it about. He -doubted whether Margaret would have the physical strength to endure -it; and even if she had, whether any good--even so far as the arousing -even a transient good in his companion--would result from it. As he was -pondering upon these things, Lionel turned quietly upon him and said in -a hoarse voice, - -"You said she was very ill?" - -"Very ill; could hardly be worse--to be alive." - -"It's--" and here he seemed to pull himself together, and nerve himself -to hear the worst--"it's consumption, I suppose, caught from--damn it -all, how my lip trembles!--brought on by--want, and that." - -"It originated in rheumatic fever, produced by cold and exposure, -resulting in heart-disease and a complication of disorders." - -"Has she had proper advice?--the best, I mean, that can be procured?" - -"Yes; she has been seen twice by ---- and ----" said Bowker, naming two -celebrated physicians, "and her own doctor sees her every day." - -"And their opinions agree?" - -"They all agree in saying that--" - -"Hush," said Lionel, seizing him by the arm; "your face is quite -enough. I'd rather not hear it again, please." And he plunged his hands -into his pockets, and sunk back shuddering into the corner of the -brougham. - -Bowker was silent; and they drove on without interchanging a word until -William stopped the coachman at a small gate in a high garden-wall. -Then Lionel looked up with a strange frightened glance, and asked, "Is -this the place?" - -"It is," said Bowker; "she has been here for some little time now. You -had better let me go in first, I think, and prepare for your coming." - -And all Lionel answered was, "As you please," as he shrunk back into -his corner again. He was under a totally new experience. For the first -time in his life he found himself suffering under a conscience-pang; -felt disposed to allow that he had acted badly towards this woman now -lying so stricken and so helpless; had a kind of dim hope that she -would recover, in order that he might--vaguely, he knew not how--make -her atonement. He felt uncomfortable and fidgetty. Bowker had gone, and -the sun-blistered damp-stained garden-door had been closed behind him, -and Lionel sat gazing at the door, and wondering what was on the other -side of it, and what kind of a house it was, and where she was, and -who was with her. He never thought he should have felt like this. He -had thought of her--half a dozen times--when he was out there; but he -knew she was a clever girl, and he always had a notion that she would -fall upon her legs, and outgrow that first girlish smite, and settle -down comfortably, and all that kind of thing. And so she would now. -They were probably a pack of nervous old women about her--like this -fellow who had brought him here--and they exaggerated danger, and made -mountains of mole-hills. She was ill--he had little doubt of that; but -she would get better, and then he'd see what could be done. Gad! it was -a wonderful thing to find any woman caring for a fellow so; he might go -through life without meeting another; and after all, what the deuce did -it matter? He was his own master, wasn't he? and as for money--well, -he should be sure to have plenty some day: things were all altered -now, since poor old Arthur's death; and-- And at that moment the door -opened; and behind William Bowker, who was pale and very grave, Lionel -saw the house with all its blinds drawn down. And then he knew that his -better resolutions had come too late, and that Margaret was dead. - - -Yes, she was dead; had died early that morning. On the previous day -she had been more than usually restless and uncomfortable, and towards -evening had alarmed the nurse who thought she was asleep, and who -herself was dozing--by breaking out into a shrill cry, followed by a -deep long-drawn lamentation. Annie Maurice at the sound rushed hastily -into the room, and never left it again until all was over. She found -Margaret dreadfully excited. She had had a horrible dream, she said--a -dream in which she went through all the miseries of her days of penury -and starvation, with the added horror of feeling that they were a just -punishment on her for her ingratitude to Geoffrey Ludlow. When she was -a little quieted, she motioned Annie to sit by her; and holding her -hand, asked her news of Geoffrey. Annie started, for this was the first -time that, in her calm senses, Margaret had mentioned him. In her long -ravings of delirium his name was constantly on her lips, always coupled -with some terms of pity and self-scornful compassion; but hitherto, -during her brief intervals of reason, she had talked only of Lionel, -and of her earnest desire to see and speak to him once again. So Annie, -pleased and astonished, said, - -"He is getting better, Margaret; much better, we trust." - -"Getting better! Has he been ill, then?" - -"He has been very ill--so ill that we at one time feared for his life. -But he is out of danger now, thank God." - -"Thank God!" repeated Margaret. "I am grateful indeed that his death -is not to be charged to my account; that would have been but a bad -return for his preservation of my life; and if he had died, I know -his death would have been occasioned by my wickedness. Tell me, Miss -Maurice--Annie--tell me, has he ever mentioned my name?" - -"Ah, Margaret," said Annie, her eyes filling with tears, "his talk is -only of you." - -"Is it?" said Margaret, with flushing cheeks and brightening eyes; "is -it? That's good to hear---O how good! And tell me, Annie--he knows I -shall not trouble him long--has he, has he forgiven me?" - -"Not that alone," said Annie quietly. "Only yesterday he said, with -tears in his eyes, how he loved you still." - -There was silence for a moment, as Margaret covered her eyes with her -hands. Then, raising her head, in a voice choked with sobs she said, -with a blinding rush of tears, "O Annie, Annie, I can't be _all_ bad, -or I should never have won the love of that brave, true-hearted man." - -She spoke but little after this; and Lionel's name never passed her -lips--she seemed to have forgotten all about him and her desire to -see him. From time to time she mentioned Geoffrey--no longer, as in -her delirium, with pity, but with a kind of reverential fondness, as -one speaks of the dead. As the night deepened, she became restless -again, tossing to and fro, and muttering to herself; and bending down, -Annie heard her, as she had often heard her before, engaged in deep -and fervent prayer. Then she slept; and, worn out with watching, Annie -slept also. - -It was about four o'clock in the morning when Annie felt her arm -touched; and at once unclosing her eyes, saw Margaret striving to raise -herself on her elbow. There was a bright weird look in her face that -was unmistakable. - -"It's coming, Annie," she said, in short thick gasps; "it's coming, -dear--the rest, the peace, the home! I don't fear it, Annie. Ive--Ive -had that one line running in my brain, 'What though my lamp was lighted -late, there's One will let me in.' I trust in His mercy, Annie, who -pardoned Magdalen; and--God bless you, dear; God in His goodness -reward you for all your love and care of me; and say to Geoffrey that -I blessed him too, and that I thanked him for all his--your hand, -Annie--so bless you both!--lighted late, there's One will--" - -And the wanderer was at rest. - - - - -CHAPTER X. -AFTER THE WRECK. - - -They looked to Bowker to break the news to Geoffrey; at least so -Charley Potts said, after a hurried conference with Til and her mother, -at which Annie Maurice, overwhelmed by the reaction from excessive -excitement, had not been present. They looked to Bowker to perform this -sad duty--to tell Geoffrey Ludlow that the prize which had been so long -in coming, and which he had held in his arms for so short a time, was -snatched from him for ever. "For ever," said old William: "that's it. -He bore up wonderfully, so long as he thought there was any chance of -seeing her again. He hoped against hope, and strove against what he -knew to be right and just, and would have made any sacrifice--ay, to -the extent of bowing his head to his own shame, and taking her back to -his home and his heart. If she had recovered; and even if she would -have shown herself willing to come back--which she never would--I could -have faced Geoff, and told him what his duty was, and fought it out -with him to the last. It would have rather done me good, such a turn as -that; but I can't bear this job;--I can't bear to see my old friend, -to have to tell him that it's all over, that the light of his life has -died out, that-- Upon my soul," said old William energetically, "I -think they might have got some one else to do this. And yet I don't -know," said he, after a moment's pause: "the women couldn't be expected -to do it. As for Charley, he'd have bungled it, safe. No, I'll go and -do it myself; but I'll wait till to-morrow, I think: there's no good -adding another day's anguish to the dear fellow's life." - -This was on the second day after Margaret's death, and Bowker yet -postponed the execution of his task. On the third day, however, he set -out for Elm Lodge and found Geoffrey in the dining-room. The servant -who admitted Mr. Bowker said, in reply to his inquiry, that "master -was better certainly, but poor and peaky; did not take much notice of -what went on, and were quite off his food." Geoffrey's looks certainly -bore out the handmaiden's account. His cheeks were thin and hollow; -there were great circles round his eyes; his flesh was tight and -yellow; his hands so fallen away that they looked like mere anatomical -preparations. He looked up as Bowker entered, and the ghost of his old -smile hovered round his lips. - -"So you've come at last, William, after failing in your troth these -three days, eh?" said he. "What kept you, old friend?" - -Bowker was not prepared for any questions. He had gone through all this -scene in his mind more than once; but in his rehearsal it was always he -who commenced the subject; and this order not being followed, he was -rather taken aback. - -"I have been particularly engaged," he said. "You know, Geoff, that I -should not have missed coming to you otherwise; but--it was impossible." - -"Was it?" said Geoffrey, raising his head quietly, and stedfastly -regarding him with his bright eyes; "was it on my business that you -were engaged?" - -"It was," said Bowker. He knew at that moment that his friend had -guessed the truth. - -"Then," said Geoffrey, "Margaret is dead!" He said it without altering -the inflection of his voice, without removing his eyes from his -friend's face. Scarcely inquiringly he said it, apparently convinced of -the fact; and he took Bowker's silence for an affirmative, and rose and -walked towards the window, supporting himself by the wall as he went. -Bowker left him there by himself for a few minutes, and then, going -up to him and laying his hand affectionately on his shoulder, said, -"Geoff!" - -Geoff's head was averted, but his hand sought Bowker's, and pressed it -warmly. - -"Geoff, dear old Geoff,--my old friend of many happy years,--you must -bear up in this hour of trial. Think of it, dear old fellow. God knows, -I'm one of the worst in the world to preach content and submission, and -all that; but think of it: it is the--you know I wouldn't hurt your -feelings Geoff--the best thing that, under all the circumstances, could -have occurred." - -"Ive lost her, William--lost her whom I loved better than my heart's -blood, whom I so prized and cherished and worshipped--lost her for -ever--ah, my God, for ever!" And the strong man writhed in his agony, -and burying his head in his arms, burst into tears. - -"But, Geoff," said old Bowker, with a great gulp, "you could never have -been any thing to her again you have nothing to reproach yourself with -in your conduct to her. It was her misfortune, poor soul, that she did -not value you as she should have done; and yet before she died she -spoke very, very affectionately of you, and your name was the last on -her lips." - -"Tell me about that, William," said Geoffrey, raising his head; "tell -me what she said about me." He was comparatively calm even then, and -sat quite quietly to listen to the details which Bowker had heard from -Annie Maurice, and which he now poured into Geoff's eager ears. When he -had finished, Geoff thanked him, and said he felt much easier and more -relieved than he had been for some days past, but that he was tired -out, and would ask Bowker to excuse him then, and by all means to come -the next day. Honest William, glad to have accomplished his mission -under such apparently favourable circumstances, and with so little of a -"scene," took his leave. - -But the next day, when he arrived at Elm Lodge, he found Dr. Brandram's -gig at the gate, and on entering the house was met by Dr. Brandram -himself in the hall. "And a very fortunate man I esteem myself in -meeting you, my dear Mr. Boucher--beg pardon, Bowker! Boucher--name -of old friend of mine in Norfolk--very fortunate indeed. Let's step -into the dining-room, eh?--no need to stand in the draught, eh? You -see I speak without the least professional feeling--ha, ha." And the -little doctor laughed, but very softly. "Now look here, my dear sir," -he continued; "our friend upstairs--I advised his remaining upstairs -to-day--this _won't do_, my dear sir--this _won't_ do." - -"I know it, doctor, almost as well as you," said old William gruffly; -"but what I don't know, and what I suppose you do, is--what will?" - -"Change, my dear sir--thorough and entire change; not merely of air -and scene, but of thought, life, habits, surroundings. He has a -splendid constitution, our friend; but if he remains much longer in -this cage, from which all the--all the joys have flown--he'll beat -himself to death against the bars." This was a favourite simile with -Dr. Brandram; and after he had uttered it he leant back, as was his -wont, and balanced himself on his heels, and looked up into the eyes of -his interlocutor to see its effect. On this occasion he was not much -gratified, for old Bowker had not troubled himself about the poetical -setting, but was thinking over the sense of the doctor's remark. - -"Change," he repeated, "thorough change; have you told him that -yourself, doctor?" - -"Fifty times, my dear sir; repeated it with all the weight of medical -authority." - -"And what does he say?" - -"Always the same thing--that his duty keeps him here. He's an -extraordinary man, our friend, a most estimable man; but it would be -an excellent thing for him,--in fact, make all the difference in the -length of his life,--if his duty would take him abroad for six months." - -"It shall," said old Bowker, putting on his hat, and driving it down -hard down on his head. "Leave that to me. I'll take care of that." And -with these words he nodded at the doctor and departed, leaving the -little medico more astonished at the "odd ways" of artists than ever. - -When Mr. Bowker had once made up his mind to carry any thing out, he -never rested until it was achieved; so that on quitting Elm Lodge he at -once made his way to Mr. Stompff's "gallery of modern masters," which -he entered, greatly to the surprise of the proprietor, who was hovering -about the room like a great spider on the watch for flies. There had -never been any thing like cordiality between the great _entrepreneur_ -and the rough old artist; and the former opened his eyes to their -widest extent, and pulled his whisker through his teeth, as he bowed -somewhat sarcastically and said, "This is an honour and no flies?" -But before his visitor left, Mr. Stompff had occasion to rub his eyes -very hard with a bright silk pocket-handkerchief, and to resort to -a cupboard under the desk on which the catalogues stood, whence he -produced a tapering flask, from which he and Mr. Bowker refreshed -themselves--his last words being, as Mr. Bowker took his departure, -"You leave it to me, old fellow--you leave it to me." - -Carrying out apparently the arrangement herein entered upon, the next -day the great Mr. Stompff's brougham stopped at Elm Lodge, and the -great Mr. Stompff himself descended therefrom, exhibiting far less than -his usual self-sufficiency, swagger, and noise. To the servant who -opened the door in answer to his modest ring he gave a note which he -had prepared; and Geoffrey coming down into the dining-room found him -waiting there, apparently deep in a photographic album. He rose, as the -door opened, and caught Geoffrey warmly by the hand. - -"How are you, Ludlow? How are you, my dear fellow? It must have -been pressing business that brought me here just now, worrying you -when you're only just recovered from your illness, my boy; pressing -business, you may take your oath of that." And all the time Mr. Stompff -held Geoffrey's hand between his own, and looked into his eyes with a -wavering unsettled glance. - -"I'm better, thank you, Mr. Stompff, much better; so much better that I -hope soon to be at work again," said Geoff nervously. - -"That's right; that's the best hearing possible. Nothing like getting -back to work to set a man straight and bring him to his bearings." - -"You were getting nervous about the 'Esplanade,'" said Geoff with a -sickly smile--"as well indeed you might, for it's been a long time -about. But you need not be frightened about that; Ive managed to finish -it." - -"Have you?" said Stompff, very dry and husky in the throat. - -"Yes; if you'll step into the studio, I'll show it you." They went down -the little steps which Margaret had traversed so oft; and Geoffrey, as -he pulled the big easel round into the light, said, "It's not quite -what I wished. I--circumstances, you know, were against me--and but--it -can be altered, you know; altered in any manner you wish." - -"Altered be--hanged!" cried Stompff, very nearly relapsing into the -vernacular; "altered!" he repeated, gazing at it with delight; now -approaching closely to the canvas, now stepping away and looking at it -under the shade of his hand; "why, that's first chop, that is. You've -done it up brown! you've made reg'ler ten-strike, as the Yankees say. -Altered! I wouldn't have a brush laid upon that for a fifty-pun' note -By George, Ludlow, well or ill, you lick the lot in your own line. -There's none of 'em can touch you, d'ye hear? Altered!--damme it's -splendid." - -"I'm very glad you like it," said Geoff wearily, "ye glad; more -especially as it may be a long time before paint again." - -"What's that you say?" said Mr. Stompff, turning upon him sharply. -"What's that you say?" he repeated in a gentler tone, laying his hand -softly upon Geoffrey Ludlow's shoulder--"a long time before you paint -again? Why, nonsense my good fellow; you don't know what nonsense -you're talking." - -"No nonsense, Mr. Stompff, but plain, honest, simple fact. I seem to -have lost all zest for my art; my spirit is broken, and--" - -"Of course, my good fellow; I understand all that well enough; too much -England,--that's what it is. Home of the free, and ruling the waves and -all that. Pickles! Capital place to sell pictures; deuced bad place to -paint 'em. Now look here. You've been good enough to say more than once -that Ive been your friend, eh? Not that Ive ever done more than give a -good price for good work, though that's more than some people do--some -people, eh? we know who--never mind. Now, I want you to do _me_ a turn, -and I am sure you will." - -Geoffrey bowed his head and said, "So long as you don't require a -picture from me--" - -"Picture! O no; of course not. A steam engine, or a hansom cab, or a -stilton cheese--that's what I look for from you naturally, isn't it? -Ludlow, my dear fellow, how can you talk such stuff? Now listen. The -British public, sir, has had a sickener of British subjects. Little -Dab and his crew have pretty nearly used up all the sentimental -domesticity; and we've had such a lot of fancy fairs, and Hyde Parks, -and noble volunteers, and archery fêtes, and gals playing at croky, -that the B.P. won't stand it any longer. There'll be a reaction, you'll -see; and the 'Cademy will be choke full of Charles the Seconds, and -Nell Gwynns, and coves in wigs, and women in powder and patches, and -all that business, just because the modern every-day gaff has been -done to death. I shall have to give in to this; and I shall give in of -course. There's lots of coves can do that trick for me well enough to -sell. But I look for more from you;--and this is what I propose. You go -straight away out of this; where, I don't care--so long as you remain -away a year or so, and keep your eyes about you. You'll work hard -enough,--I don't fear that; and whatever you do, send it home to me and -I'll take it. Lor' bless you, there's rigs that the B.P. knows nothing -about, and that would make stunnin' objects for you--a _table-d'hôte_ -on the Rhine, a students' _kneipe_ at Heidelberg, a _schützenfest_ in -Switzerland; and then you've never been to Italy yet, and though that -game's been worked pretty often, yet any thing Italian from you would -sell like mad." He paused for a moment and looked up at Geoffrey, whose -eyes were fixed intently on him, and who seemed eager and excited. - -"It's all one to me," said he; "I scarcely know what to say; it's very -kind of you. I know you mean it well; but do you think I can do it? Do -you really think so?" - -"Think so! I know so," said Mr. Stompff. "See here! I never take up a -thing of this sort without carrying it through. We said five hundred -for the 'Esplanade,' didn't we? you've had three on account--that's -right! Now here's the other two; and if you're as well pleased with the -bargain as me, no knife shall cut our love in two, as the song says. -Now you must leave this money behind for the old lady and the little -'un, and that nice sister of yours---O yes, by the way, what makes -Charley Potts paint her head in all his pictures, and why don't he sell -to me instead of Caniche?--and here's a hundred in circular notes. I -went round to my bank and got 'em this morning on purpose for you to go -abroad with. When they're done, you know where to send for some more." - -"You are very kind, Mr. Stompff, but--" - -"No, I ain't. I'm a man of business, I am; and there ain't many as is -very fond of me. But I know what the B.P. wants, and I know a good -fellow when I see one; and when I do see one, I don't often laacklet him -slide. I ain't a polished sort of cove," said Mr. Stompff reflectively; -"I leave that to Caniche, with his paw-paw bowins and scrapins; but I -ain't quite so black as some of the artists paint me. However, this is -a matter of business that I'm rather eager about; and I should be glad to -know if I may look upon it as settled." - -"Look here, Mr. Stompff," said Geoffrey Ludlow, turning to his -companion, and speaking in an earnest voice; "you have behaved -generously to me, and you deserve that I should speak frankly with -you. I should immensely like to get away from this place for a while, -to shake off the memory of all that has passed within the last few -months--so far as it is possible for me to shake it off--to get into -new scenes, and to receive fresh impressions. But I very much doubt -whether I shall be able to undertake what you wish. I feel as if all -the little power I ever had were gone; as if my brain were as barren to -conceive as I know my hand is impotent to execute; I feel--" - -"I know," interrupted Mr. Stompff; "regularly sewed up; feel as if -you'd like somebody to unscrew your head, take your brains out and -clean 'em, and then put 'em back; feel as if you didn't care for the -world, and would like to try the hermit dodge and eat roots and drink -water, and cut society, eh? Ah, Ive felt like that sometimes; and then -Ive heard of some pictures that was comin' to the hammer, and Ive just -looked in at Christie's, and, Lord, as soon as I heard the lots a-goin' -up, and felt myself reg'ler in the swing of competition, Ive given up -all them foolish notions, and gone home and enjoyed a roast fowl and a -glass of sham and Mrs. S.'s comp'ny, like a Christian! And so will you, -Ludlow, my boy; you'll pull through, I'll pound it. You work just when -you feel inclined, and draw upon me when you want the ready; I'll stand -the racket, never fear." - -The conspiracy between Mr. Stompff and old William Bowker had been -carried out minutely in detail; one of the points insisted on being -that, the position once carried, Geoff should have no time for retreat. -Accordingly, while Mr. Stompff was proceeding to Elm Lodge, Mr. Bowker -was indoctrinating the ladies (whom he knew he should find at Sydenham) -as to the tenour of their advice; and scarcely had Mr. Stompff quitted -Geoffrey when Mr. Bowker was announced. To his old friend, Geoffrey, -now in a very excited state, told the whole story of Stompff's visit -and of the proposition which he had made; and old William--whom no one -would have given credit for possessing such control over his face--sat -looking on with the greatest apparent interest. When Geoffrey came to -an end of his narration, and asked his friend whether he had done right -in partially acceding to what had been offered him, or whether--it -was not too late--he should retract, Mr. Bowker was extremely -vehement--more so than he had ever known himself to be--in insisting -that it was the very best thing that could possibly have happened. When -Mrs. Ludlow and Til returned, they unhesitatingly pronounced the same -opinion; and so Geoff's departure was decided on. - -He had a great deal to attend to before he could leave; and the mere -bustle and activity of business seemed to do him good at once. Mrs. -Ludlow was thoroughly happy in preparing his clothes for his journey; -Mr. Bowker and Charley Potts were constantly at Elm Lodge, the latter -gentleman finding his assistance usually required by Miss Til; and -on the day before that fixed for Geoffrey's departure, Annie Maurice -called to take farewell. It was an interview which had been dreaded -by both of them, and was as brief as possible. Annie expressed her -satisfaction at his having been persuaded to seek change, by which she -was sure he would benefit, and extended her hand in "goodbye." - -Geoff took her hand, and holding it tenderly in his, said: - -"Annie, some day I may be able--I am very far from being able now--to -tell you how the knowledge of your kindness to--to one whom I have -lost--has sustained me under my bitter sorrow. God bless you, my more -than sister! God bless you, my good angel!" And Geoffrey touched her -forehead with his lips, and hurried from the room. - - -The authorities at the South-Eastern terminus at London Bridge thought -that some distinguished exile must be about returning to France that -night, there were so many curiously-hatted and bearded gentlemen -gathered round the mail-train. But they were only some of our old -friends of the Titians come to say "God speed" to Geoffrey Ludlow, -whose departure had been made known to them by Mr. Stompff. That worthy -was there in great force, and old Bowker, and Charley Potts, and little -Dabb, and old Tom Wrigley, and many others; and as the train wound out -of the station, bearing Geoff along with it, there were rising tears -and swelling knots in eyes and throats that were very unused to such -manifestations of weakness. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. -LAND AT LAST. - - -The calm had come after the storm; the great, hurrying, thundering -waves had stilled into silence, and lay quiet over the shattered wreck -of home, and happiness, and hope. The winter rain had beaten upon the -pretty house, and the light snow had fallen and lain a while, and had -then melted away upon the garden ground and the smooth green turf, -within the walls which had made a prison to the restless spirit of -Margaret, even as the rain had beaten and the snow had fallen upon her -grave in Norwood Cemetery. Now the spring odours were abroad in the -air, and the trees were breaking into leaf, and Elm Lodge was looking -the very perfection of tranquillity, of well-ordered, tasteful comfort -and domesticity; an appearance in which there was all the sadness of a -great contrast, a terrible retrospect, and an irremediable loss. Yet -this appearance was not altogether deceptive; for within the house -which had witnessed so much misery, peace and resignation now reigned. -Mrs. Ludlow's unacknowledged desire was now realised; she was the -mistress of her son's house, of all the modest splendour which had come -with poor Geoff's improved fortunes; she ruled now where she had been -subordinate before, and in the nursery, where at best she had only -enjoyed toleration, she found herself supreme. To be sure, the great -element of enjoyment, her son's presence, was wanting; but she knew -that Geoffrey was doing the best thing in his power to do, was taking -the most effectual means for the establishment of his health and the -alleviation of his sorrow; and the old lady--on whom the supineness -which comes with years, and which takes the edge off the sword of -grief and the bitterness out of its cup, was beginning to steal--was -satisfied. Much that had occurred was only imperfectly known to her; -and indeed she would have been unfitted, by the safe routine and -happy inexperience of evil passions which had marked her own life, to -understand the storm and conflict which had raged around her. That her -son's beautiful wife had been utterly unworthy of him, and that she had -deceived and left him, Mrs. Ludlow knew; but Margaret's death had come -so soon to terminate the terrible and mysterious dilemma in which her -conduct had placed them all, that it had imposed upon them the silence -of compassion, and filled them with the sense of merciful relief; so -that by mutual consent her name had snot been mentioned in the house -where she had been mistress for so long. Her son's illness, and the -danger of losing him, had impressed Mrs. Ludlow much more vividly than -his domestic calamity; and she had settled down with surprising ease -and readiness to the routine of life at Elm Lodge. - -That routine included a good deal of the society of Mr. Charley Potts; -and as Mrs. Ludlow was almost as much attached to that warm-hearted and -hot-headed gentleman as Miss Til herself, she acquiesced with perfect -willingness in the state of affairs which brought him to Elm Lodge -with regularity equalled only by that of the postman. The household -was a quiet one; and the simple and unpretending women who walked -along the shady paths at Lowbar in their deep-mourning dresses, or -played with the little child upon the lawn, furnished but scanty food -for the curiosity of the neighbourhood. Popular feeling was indeed -somewhat excited on the subject of Charley Potts; but Dr. Brandram--a -gallant gentleman in his way--set that matter at rest very quickly -by announcing that Charley and Miss Ludlow were engaged, and were -shortly to be married--information which was graciously received; as -indeed the most distant tidings of a prospective wedding always are -received by small communities in which the female element predominates. -Dr. Brandram had done Geoffrey good service too, by his half-made, -half-withheld communications respecting the beautiful mistress of Elm -Lodge, whose disappearance had been so sudden. She had not recovered -her confinement so well as he had hoped: the nervous system had been -greatly shaken. He had ordered change: a temporary removal from home -was frequently of great benefit. Yes, there had been a terrible scene -with Mr. Ludlow--that was quite true: the non-medical mind was hard -to convince in these matters sometimes; and Mr. Ludlow had been hard -to manage. But a quarrel between _them!_--O dear no: quite a mistake. -Mrs. Ludlow left home by herself?--O dear no: by her own consent, -certainly. She perfectly comprehended the necessity of the change, and -was ready to submit; while Ludlow could not be brought to see it--that -was all. "I assure you, my dear madam," the doctor would say to each -of his female catechists, "I never had a more interesting patient; and -I never pitied a man more than Ludlow when she sank so rapidly and -unexpectedly. I really feared for _his_ reason then, and of course -I sent _him_ away immediately. A little change, my dear madam,--a -littlechange in these cases produces a wonderful effect--quite -wonderful!" - -"But, doctor," the anxious inquirer would probably say, "Mr. Ludlow -never saw her again after she was removed, did he?" - -"Well, indeed, my dear madam,--you see I am telling professional -secrets; but you are not like other women: you are so far above any -vulgar curiosity, and I know I may rely so entirely on your discretion, -that I make an exception in your case,--they never did meet. You see -these cases are so uncertain; and cerebral disease developes itself -so rapidly, that before any favourable change took place, the patient -sunk." - -"Dear me, how very sad! It was at an asylum, I suppose?" - -"Well, my dear madam, it was under private care--under the very best -circumstances, I assure you; but--you'll excuse me; this is entirely -confidential. And now to return to your dear little boy." - -So did kind-hearted Dr. Brandram lend his aid to the laying of the -ghost of scandal at Elm Lodge; and gradually it became accepted that -Mrs. Ludlow had died under the circumstances hinted at by Dr. Brandram. - -"It is rather a disadvantage to the dear child, Charley, I fear," -sapiently remarked Miss Til to the docile Mr. Potts as he was attending -her on a gardening expedition, holding a basket while she snipped and -weeded, and looking as if pipes and beer had never crossed the path of -his knowledge or the disc of his imagination; "people will talk about -his mother having died in a lunatic-asylum." - -"Suppose they do?" asked Charley in reply. "That sort of thing does -not harm a man; and"--here the honest fellow's face darkened and his -voice fell--"it is better they should say that than the truth. I think -that can always be hidden, Til. The poor woman's death has saved us -all much; but it has been the greatest boon to her child; for now no -one need ever know, and least of all the child himself, that he has no -right to bear his father's name." - -"It is well Geoff is not a rich man, with a great estate to leave to -an eldest son," said Til, pulling at an obstinate tuft of groundsel, -and very anxious to prevent any suspicion that her lover's words had -brought tears to her eyes. - -"Well," said Charley, with rather a gloomy smile, "I'm not so certain -of that, Til: it's a matter of opinion; but I'm clear that it's a good -thing he's not a great man--in the 'nob' sense of the word I mean--and -that the world can afford to let him alone. Here comes the young -shaver--let's go and talk to him." And Charley, secretly pining to get -rid of the basket, laid down that obnoxious burden, and went across the -grass-plat towards the nurse, just then making her appearance from the -house. - -"Charley is always right," said Til to herself as she eradicated -the last obstinate weed in the flower-bed under inspection and -rejoined Mr. Potts; from which observation it is to be hoped that -the fitness of Miss Til for undertaking that most solemn of human -engagements--matrimony--will be fully recognised. There are women who -practically apply to their husbands the injunctions of the Church -Catechism, in which duty to God is defined; who "believe in, fear, -trust, and love" them "with all their hearts, with all their minds, -with all their souls, and with all their strength;" and Matilda Ludlow, -though a remarkably sensible girl, and likely enough to estimate other -people at their precise value, was rapidly being reduced to this state -of mind about Charley, who was at all events much less unworthy than -most male objects of female devoteeism. - -Mrs. Ludlow and her daughter heard pretty regularly from Geoff. -Of course his letters were unsatisfactory; men's letters always -are, except they be love-letters when their meaning is tempered -by their exclusiveness. He was eager for news of the child; but -he never referred to the past in any other respect, and he said -little in anticipation of the future. He described his travels, -reported the state of his health, and expressed his anxiety for his -mother's comfort; and that was about the sum-total of these literary -productions, which no doubt were highly penitential performances to -poor Geoffrey. - -Spring was well advanced when Charley and Til began to discuss the -propriety of naming a time for their marriage. The house at Brompton -was still "on their hands," as Mrs. Ludlow was fond of saying, while -in her secret heart she would have deeply regretted the turning-up of -an eligible tenant; for who could answer for the habits and manners -of strangers, or tell what damage her sacred furniture might receive? -Charley proposed to Til that they should become her mother's tenants, -and urged that young lady to consent to a speedy marriage, from the -most laudable economic principles, on the ground that under present -circumstances he was idling dreadfully, but that he confidently -expected that marriage would "settle his mind." The recent date of the -family calamity Charley could not be brought to regard as a reasonable -obstacle to his wishes. - -"Look here, Til," he said; "it isn't as if we were swells, you -know, with our names, ages, and weights in the _Morning Post_, and -our addresses in the _Red Book_. What need we care, if Geoff don't -mind?--and he won't, God bless him!--the happier we are, the sooner -he'll cease to be miserable; and who's to know or to care whether it's -so many months sooner or later after that poor woman's death? Besides, -consider this, Til; if we wait until Geoff comes home, a wedding and -all that won't be pleasant for him: will it, now? Painful associations -you know, and all that. I really think, for Geoff's sake, we had better -get it over." - -"Do you indeed, Master Charley?" said Til, with a smile full of pert -drollery, which rendered her exasperatingly pretty. "How wonderfully -considerate you are of Geoff; and how marvellously polite to describe -marrying me as 'getting it over' No, no, Charley," she continued, -seriously; "it cannot be. I could not leave mamma to the responsibility -of the house and the child--at least not yet. Don't ask me; it would -not be right towards Geoff, or fair to my mother. You must wait, sir." - -And the crestfallen Charley knew that he must wait, and acquiesced with -a very bad grace; not but that Miss Til would have been horribly vexed -had it been better. - -An unexpected auxiliary was about this time being driven by fate -towards Charley Potts in the person of Annie Maurice. She had been -constant and regular in her visits to Elm Lodge, affectionate and -respectful in her demeanour to Mrs. Ludlow, and sisterly in her -confidence towards Til. The hour that had united the two girls in a -tie of common responsibility towards Geoff and Margaret had witnessed -the formation of a strong and lasting friendship; and though Annie's -superior refinement and higher education raised her above the level of -Matilda Ludlow, she was not more than her equal in true womanly worth. -They passed many happy hours together in converse which had now become -cheerful, and their companionship was strengthened by the bond of their -common interest in Til's absent brother. Miss Ludlow, perhaps, did an -unfair proportion of the talking on these occasions; for she was of -the gushing order of girls, though she did not border even remotely -on silliness. By common consent they did not speak of Margaret, and -Til had never known Arthur; so that Annie rarely talked of him, always -sacredly loved and remembered in her faithful heart, preserved as her -friend and monitor--dead, yet speaking. Annie had been more silent than -usual lately, and had looked sad and troubled; and it chanced that on -the day following that which witnessed Charley's luckless proposition, -Miss Maurice arrived at Elm Lodge at an earlier hour than usual; -and having gained a private audience of Til, made to her a somewhat -startling revelation. - -The conference between the girls lasted long, and its object took Til -completely by surprise. Annie Maurice had resolved upon leaving Lord -Beauport's house, and she had come to ask Mrs. Ludlow to receive her. -She told Til her reasons, simply, honestly, and plainly. - -"I cannot live in the house with Lionel Brakespere," she said; "and I -have no friends but you. Geoffrey and I were always friends, and my -dear Arthur trusted him, and knew he would befriend me. I am sure if -he were living now, he would counsel me to do what I am doing. I have -often thought if he had had any idea that the end was so near, he would -have told me, if any difficulty came in my way, to apply for aid to -Geoffrey, and I am clear that I am doing right now. I have no friends, -Til, though I am rich," Annie repeated, with a more bitter smile than -had ever flitted over her bright face in former days; "and I have no -'position' to keep up. I cannot go and live in a big house by myself, -or in a small one either, for that matter, and I want your mother to -let me come and live with her while Geoffrey is away." - -Til hesitated before she replied. She saw difficulties in the way of -such an arrangement which Annie did not; difficulties arising from the -difference in the social position of the friends Annie wished to leave, -and those she wished to come to. - -"I am sure, as far as we are concerned, every thing might be as you -wish," she said; "but--Lady Beauport might not think it quite the -thing." - -"Lady Beauport knows I will not remain in her house, Til; and she will -soon see as plainly as I do that it is well I should not. The choice -is between me and her son, and the selection is not difficult. Lionel -Brakespere (I cannot call him by Arthur's familiar name) and I are not -on speaking terms. He knows that I am acquainted with his crimes; not -only those known to his family, but those which he thought death had -assisted him to hide. I might have concealed my knowledge from him had -he not dared to insult me by an odious pretence of admiration, which I -resented with all my heart and soul. A few words made him understand -that the safest course he could pursue was to abandon such a pretence, -and the revelation filled him with such wrath and hatred as only such -a nature could feel. Why he has adopted a line of behaviour which can -only be described as down-right savage rudeness--so evidently intended -to drive me out of the house, that Lord and Lady Beauport themselves -see it in that light--I am unable to comprehend. I have sometimes -fancied that he and his mother have quarrelled on the matter; but if -so, he has had the best of it. However, there is no use in discussing -it, Til; my home is broken up and gone from me; and if your mother will -not take me under her charge until Geoffrey comes home, and advises me -for the future, I must only set up somewhere with a companion and a -cat." - -Annie smiled, but very sadly; then she continued: - -"And now, Til, I'll tell you how we will manage. First, we will get the -mother's leave, and I will invite myself on a visit here, to act as -your bridesmaid, you see, and--" - -"Charley has been talking to you, Annie!" exclaimed Miss Til, starting -up in mingled indignation and amusement: "I see it all now--you have -been playing into each other's hands." - -"No, indeed, Charley never said a word to me about it," replied Annie -seriously; "though I am sure if he had, I should have done any thing he -asked; but, Til, do let us be earnest,--I am serious in this. I don't -want to make a scandal and a misery of this business of my removal from -Lord Beauport's; and if I can come here to be your bridesmaid, in a -quiet way, and remain with your mother when you have left her, it will -seem a natural sort of arrangement, and I shall very soon, heiress -though I am, drop out of the memory of the set in which I have lately -moved. I am sure Geoffrey will be pleased; and you know that dear -little Arthur is quite fond of me already." - -It is unnecessary to report the conversation between the two girls in -fuller detail. Mrs. Maurice carried her point; the consent of Mrs. -Ludlow to the proposed arrangement was easily gained; and one day the -fine carriage with the fine coronets, which had excited the admiration -of the neighbourhood when Miss Maurice paid her first visit to Geoffrey -Ludlow's bride, deposited that young lady and her maid at Elm Lodge. A -few days later a more modest equipage bore away Mr. and Mrs. Potts on -the first stage of their journey of life. - -"And so, my dear Annie," wrote Geoffrey to his ex-pupil, "you are -established in the quiet house in which I dreamed dreams once on a -time. I continue the children's phrase, and say 'a long time ago.' I -am glad to think of you there with my mother and my poor little child. -If you were any one but Annie Maurice, I might fear that you would -weary of the confined sphere to which you have gone; but, then, it is -because you _are_ Annie Maurice that you are there. Sometimes I wonder -whether I shall ever see the place again which, if ever I do see it, -I must look upon with such altered eyes. God knows: it will be long -first--for I am wofully weak still. But enough of me. My picture goes -on splendidly. When it is finished and sent home to Stompff, I shall -start for Egypt. I suppose many a one before me has tried to find the -waters of Lethe between the banks of Nile." - - -Charley Potts and Til were comfortably settled in the house at -Brompton, where Til guarded the household gods with pious care, and -made Charley uncommonly comfortable and abnormally orderly. Mrs. -Ludlow and her young guest led a tranquil life at Elm Lodge. Annie -devoted herself to the old lady and the child with a skilful tenderness -partly natural to her and partly acquired by the experiences of her -life in her rural home, and within the scene of Caterham's lengthened -and patient suffering. The child loved her and throve under her -charge; and the old lady seemed to find her "cross" considerably less -troublesome within the influence of Annie's tranquil cheerfulness, -strong sense, and accommodating disposition. The neighbourhood had -taken to calling vigorously and pertinaciously on Mrs. Ludlow and -Miss Maurice. It approved highly of those ladies; for the younger was -very pleasant, not alarmingly beautiful, reputed to be very rich, and -acknowledged not to "give herself airs;" while the elder was intensely -respectable--after the fashion dear to the heart of Lowbar; and both -went to church with scrupulous regularity. Dr. Brandram was even more -cordial in his appreciation of Annie than he had been in his admiration -of Margaret; and the star of Elm Lodge was quite in the ascendant. A -few of the members of the great world whom she had met in the celestial -sphere of St. Barnabas Square found Annie out even at Elm Lodge, and -the apparition of other coronets than that of the Beauports was not -unknown in the salubrious suburb. Lady Beauport visited Miss Maurice -but rarely, and her advent seldom gave Annie pleasure. The girl's -affectionate and generous heart was pained by the alteration which she -marked more and more distinctly each time that she saw the cold and -haughty Countess, on whose face care was fast making marks which time -had failed to impress. - -Sometimes she would be almost silent during her short visits, on which -occasions Mrs. Ludlow was wont to disappear as soon as possible; -sometimes she would find querulous fault with Annie--with her -appearance and her dress, and her "throwing herself away." Sometimes -Annie felt that she was endeavouring to turn the conversation in the -direction of Lionel; but that she invariably resisted. It chanced one -day, however, that she could not succeed in preventing Lady Beauport -from talking of him. Time had travelled on since Annie had taken up her -abode at Elm Lodge, and the summer was waning; the legislative labours -of the Houses had come to an end, and Lord and Lady Beauport were -about to leave town. This time the Countess had come to say goodbye to -Annie, whom she found engaged in preparations for a general flitting -of the Elm-Lodge household to the seaside for the autumn. Annie was in -blooming health, and her usual agreeable spirits--a strong contrast to -the faded, jaded, cross-looking woman who said to her complainingly, - -"Really, Annie, I think you might have come with us, and left your -friends here to find their autumnal amusements for themselves; you know -how much Lord Beauport and I wished it." - -"Yes," said Annie gently, "I know you are both very kind; but it cannot -be. You saw that yourself, dear Lady Beauport, and consented to my -entering on so different a life. You see I could not combine the two; -and I have new duties now--" - -"Nonsense, Annie!" said Lady Beauport angrily. "You will not come -because of Lionel,--that is the truth. Well, he is not to be at home at -all; he is going away to a number of places: he likes any place better -than home, I think. I cannot understand why you and he should disagree -so much; but if it must be so, I suppose it must. However, you will not -meet him now." And Lady Beauport actually condescended to reiterate -her request; but she had no success. Annie had resolutely broken with -the old life, which had never suited her fresh, genial, simple tastes; -and she was determined not to renew the tie. She knew that she was -not in any true sense necessary to Lady Beauport's happiness; she was -not ungrateful for such kindness as she had received; but she was a -sensible girl, and she made no mistake about her own value, and the -true direction in which her duty, her vocation lay. So she steadily -declined; but so gently that no offence was taken; and made inquiry -for Lord Beauport. The worried expression which had gradually marred -the high-bred repose of Lady Beauport's face increased as she replied, -and there was a kind of involuntary confidence in her manner which -struck Annie with a new and painful surprise. Lord Beauport was well, -she said; but he was not in good spirits. Things seemed to be wrong -with them somehow and out of joint. Then the elder lady, seeing in -the face of her young listener such true sympathy, thawed suddenly -from her habitual proud reserve, and poured out the bitterness of her -disappointment and vain regret. There was a tone of reproach against -Annie mingled with her compliant, which the girl pityingly passed -over. If Annie had but liked Lionel; if she would but have tried to -attract him, and keep him at home, all might have been well: but -Annie had imbibed poor Arthur's prejudices; and surely never were -parents so unfortunate as she and the Earl in the mutual dislike which -existed between their children. Lady Beauport did not want to justify -Lionel entirely--of course not: but she thought he might have had a -better chance given him in the first instance. Now he had greatly -deteriorated--she saw that: she could not deny it; and her "granted -prayer" for his return had not brought her happiness. - -Annie listened to all this with a swelling heart. A vision floated -before her tearful eyes of the lost son, who had been so little -loved, so lightly prized; whose place the brother preferred before -him had taken and disgraced; and a terrible sense of retribution -came into her mind. Too late the father and mother were learning how -true his judgment had been, and how valuable his silent influence. -Time could only engrave that lesson more and more deeply on their -hearts; experience could only embitter it--its sting was never to be -withdrawn. They had chosen between the two, and their choice, like -Esau's, was "profane." Lady Beauport spoke more and more bitterly as -she proceeded. The softening touch of grief was not upon her--only -the rankling of disappointment and mortification; only the sting of a -son's ingratitude, of discovering that in return for the sacrifice of -principle, self-respect, and dignity to which she had consented for -Lionel's sake, she had not received even the poor return of a semblance -of affection or consideration. - -The hardness of Lionel's nature was shown in every thing his mother -said of him--the utter want of feeling, the deadness of soul. Annie -felt very sad as she listened to Lady Beauport's melancholy account of -the life they had fallen into at the great house. She was oppressed by -the sense of the strangeness of the events which had befallen, and in -which the Countess had, all unconsciously, so deep an interest. It was -very sad and strange to remember that she was detailing the conduct -of the man whose baseness had enabled Margaret to lay Geoffrey's -life in ruins under Geoffrey's own roof. It was terrible to Annie to -feel that in her knowledge there was a secret which might so easily -have been divulged at any moment, and which would have afflicted the -vexed and mortified woman before her more deeply than any thing that -had occurred. Lady Beauport was not tender-hearted; but she was a -high-minded gentlewoman, and would have been shamed and stricken to -the soul had she discovered the baseness of her son in this particular -instance. She had fondly flattered herself into a belief that the crime -which had been so inadequately punished was only a folly; but there -was no possibility of such a reading of this one, and Annie was glad -to think that at least the pang of this knowledge was spared to Lady -Beauport. She could say nothing to comfort her. In her inmost heart she -had an uneasy, unexplained sense that it was all the just retribution -for the conduct of Arthur's parents towards him, and hopelessness for -the future of a family of which Lionel formed a member took possession -of her. - -"He is so disagreeable, so selfish, Annie," continued Lady Beauport, -"and O so slangy; and you know how his father hates that sort of thing." - -"It is better that he should be away, then, for a little," said Annie, -trying to be soothing, and failing lamentably. - -"Well, perhaps it is," said Lady Beauport; "and yet that seems hard -too, when I longed so much for his return, and when now he has every -thing he wants. Of course, when he was only a second son, he had -excuses for discontent; but now he has none, and yet he is never -satisfied. I sometimes think he is ill at ease, and fancies people are -thinking about the past, who don't even know any thing about it, and -would not trouble themselves to resent it if they did. But his father -does not agree with me, Annie: he will not give Lionel credit for any -thing good. I cannot make out Lord Beauport: he is much more cold and -stern towards Lionel than he need be, for he is not so careless and -inconsiderate towards his father as he is towards me. He seems to have -taken up poor Arthur's notions now, and to judge Lionel as severely -as he did. He does not say much; but things are uncomfortable between -them, and Lord Beauport is altered in every way. He is silent and -dispirited; and do you know, Annie, I think he grieves for Arthur more -than he did at first?" - -Distress and perplexity were in Lady Beauport's face and voice, and -they went to Annie's gentle heart. - -"Try not to think so much of it," she said; "circumstances may alter -considerably when Lionel gets more settled at home, and Lord Beauport -has had time to get over the irritation which his return occasioned -him." - -"He resents your having left us more bitterly than any thing, Annie. He -constantly speaks of you in the highest terms of praise, and wishes you -back with us. And so do I, my dear, so do I." - -Annie was amazed. Tears were in Lady Beauport's eyes, and a tremble in -her voice. During all the period of Annie's residence in her house, -the Countess had never shown so much feeling towards her, had never -suffered her to feel herself of so much importance. The sterling merit -of the girl, her self-denial, her companionable qualities, had never -before met with so much recognition; and a thrill of gratification -passed through her as she felt that she was missed and valued in the -home whence Lionel's conduct had driven her. - -"I am very glad," she said, "that Lord Beauport thinks and speaks so -kindly of me--indeed, he was always kind to me, and I am very grateful -to him and you." - -"Then why will you not come to us, Annie? Why do you prefer these new -friends to us?" - -"I do not," she answered; "but as things have been, as they are, it is -better I should not be in a position possibly to estrange the father -and son still more. If I were in the house, it would only furnish him -with an excuse to remain away, and cause Lord Beauport additional -anxiety." - -Annie knew that she must appear strangely obstinate to Lady Beauport; -but it could not be helped; it was impossible that she could explain. -The visit of the Countess was a long one; and Annie gathered from -her further confidences that her dissatisfaction with Lionel was not -her only trouble. The future was not bright before Lady Beauport. -The charms of the world were fading in her estimation; society was -losing its allurements, not under the chastening of a wholesome grief; -but under the corroding, disenchanting influence of bitterness and -disappointment. She looked aged and wearied; and before she and Annie -parted that day, she had acknowledged to the girl that she dreaded the -prospect before her, and had no confidence in her only son, or in his -line of conduct towards her in the event of Lord Beauport's death. The -Earl's words to his wife had been prophetic,--in Caterham's death there -had been but the beginning of sorrow. - -Annie stood sadly at the house-door, and watched the carriage as it -rolled away and bore Lady Beauport out of her sight, as it bears her -out of this history. - -"This is the man," she thought, "whom she would have remorselessly -made me marry, and been insensible to the cruel wrong she would have -done to me. What a wonderful thing is that boundless, blind egotism of -mothers! In one breath she confesses that he makes her miserable, and -admits his contemptible, wretched nature, though she knows little of -its real evil; in the next she complains that I did not tie myself to -the miserable destiny of being his wife!" - -Then Annie turned into the drawing-room, and went over to the window, -through whose panes Margaret's wistful, weary gaze had been so often -and so long directed. She leaned one round fair arm against the glass, -and laid her sleek brown head upon it, musingly: - -"I wonder when _home_ will really come for me," she thought. "I wonder -where I shall go to, and what I shall do, when I must leave this. I -wonder if little Arthur will miss me very much when I go away, after -Geoffrey comes back." - -Geoffrey Ludlow's letters to his mother and sister were neither -numerous nor voluminous, but they were explicit; and the anxious hearts -at home gradually began to feel more at rest about the absent one so -dear to them all. He had written with much kindness and sympathy on the -occasion of Til's marriage, and they had all felt what a testimony to -his unselfish nature and his generous heart his letter was. With what -pangs of memory,--what keen revivals of vain longing love and cruel -grief for the beautiful woman who had gone down into her grave with the -full ardour of his passionate devotion still clinging around her,--what -desperate struggles against the weariness of spirit which made every -thing a burden to him,--Geoffrey had written the warm frank letter -over which Til had cried, and Charley had glowed with pleasure, the -recipients never knew. There was one who guessed them,--one who seemed -to herself intuitively to realise them all, to weigh and measure every -movement of the strong heart which had so much ado to keep itself from -breaking, far away in the distant countries, until time should have -had sufficient space in which to work its inevitable cure. Mrs. Potts -showed her brother's letter to Annie Maurice with infinite delight, on -that memorable day when she made her first visit, as a married woman, -to Elm Lodge. The flutter and excitement of so special an occasion -makes itself felt amid all the other flutters and excitements of that -period which is the great epoch in a woman's life. The delights of -"a home of one's own" are never so truly realised as when the bride -returns, as a guest, to the home she has left for ever as an inmate. It -may be much more luxurious, much more important, much more wealthy; but -it is not hers, and, above all, it is not "his;" and the little sense -of strangeness is felt to be an exquisite and a new pleasure. Til was -just the sort of girl to feel this to the fullest, though her "own" -house was actually her "old" home, and she had never been a resident at -Elm Lodge: but the house at Brompton had a thousand charms now which -Til had never found in it before, and on which she expatiated eagerly -to Mrs. Ludlow, while Annie Maurice was reading Geoffrey's letter. She -was very pale when she handed it back to Til, and there were large -tears standing in her full brown eyes. - -"Isn't it a delightful letter, Annie?" asked Mrs. Potts; "so kind and -genial; so exactly like dear old Geoff." - -"Yes," Annie replied, very softly; "it is indeed, Til; it is very like -Geoffrey." - -Then Annie went to look after little Arthur, and left the mother and -daughter to their delightful confidential talk. - -When the party from Elm Lodge were at the seaside, after Til's -marriage, Annie began to write pretty regularly to Geoffrey, who was -then in Egypt. She was always thinking of him, and of how his mind was -to be roused from its grief; and once more interested in life. She felt -that he was labouring at his art for money, and because he desired -to secure the future of those dear to him, in the sense of duty, but -that for him the fame which he was rapidly winning was very little -worth, and the glory was quite gone out of life,--gone down, with the -golden hair and the violet eyes, into the dust which was lying upon -them. Annie, who had never known a similar grief; understood his in -all its intricacies of suffering, with the intuitive comprehension of -the heart, which happily stands many a woman instead of intellectual -gifts and the learning of experience; and knowing this, the girl, -whose unselfish spirit read the heart of her early friend, but never -questioned her own, sought with all her simple and earnest zeal how to -"cure him of his cruel wound." His picture had been one of the gems -of the Academy, one of the great successes of the year, and Annie had -written to him enthusiastically about it, as his mother had also done; -but she counted nothing upon this. Geoffrey was wearily pleased that -they were pleased and gratified, but that was all. His hand did its -work, but the soul was not there; and as he was now working amid the -ruins of a dead world, and a nation passed away in the early youth of -time, his mood was congenial to it, and he grew to like the select -lapse of the sultry desert life, and to rebel less and less against -his fate, in the distant land where every thing was strange, and there -was no fear of a touch upon the torturing nerves of association. All -this Annie Maurice divined, and turned constantly in her mind; and -amidst the numerous duties to which she devoted herself with the quiet -steadiness which was one of her strongest characteristics, she thought -incessantly of Geoffrey, and of how the cloud was to be lifted from -him. Her life was a busy one, for all the real cares of the household -rested upon her. Mrs. Ludlow had been an admirable manager of her own -house, and in her own sphere, but she did not understand the scale on -which Elm Lodge had been maintained even in Margaret's time, and that -which Miss Maurice established was altogether beyond her reach. The -old lady was very happy; that was quite evident. She and Annie agreed -admirably. The younger lady studied her peculiarities with the utmost -care and forbearance, and the "cross" sat lightly now. She was growing -old; and what she did not see she had lost the faculty of grieving for; -and Geoffrey was well, and winning fame and money. It seemed a long -time ago now since she had regarded her daughter-in-law's furniture and -dress with envy, and speculated upon the remote possibility of some day -driving in her son's carriage. - -Mrs. Ludlow had a carriage always at her service now, and the most -cheerful of companions in her daily drive; for she, Annie, and the -child made country excursions every afternoon, and the only time -the girl kept for her exclusive enjoyment was that devoted to her -early-morning rides. Some of the earliest among the loungers by the -sad sea-waves grew accustomed to observe, with a sense of admiration -and pleasure, the fresh fair face of Annie Maurice, as, flushed with -exercise and blooming like a rose in the morning air, she would -dismount at the door of her "marine villa," where a wee toddling child -always awaited her coming, who was immediately lifted to her saddle, -and indulged with a few gentle pacings up and down before the windows, -whence an old lady would watch the group with grave delight. Mrs. -Ludlow wrote all these and many more particulars of her happy life to -her absent son; and sometimes Annie wondered whether those cheerful -garrulous letters, in which the unconscious mother showed Geoffrey -so plainly how little she realised his state of mind, increased his -sense of loneliness. Then she bethought her of writing to Geoffrey -constantly about the child. She knew how he had loved the baby in -happier times, and she never wronged the heart she knew so well by a -suspicion that the disgrace and calamity which had befallen him had -changed this deep-dwelling sentiment, or included the motherless child -in its fatal gloom. She had not spoken of little Arthur in her earlier -letters more than cursorily, assuring his father that the child was -well and thriving; but now that time was going over, and the little -boy's intellect was unfolding, she caught at the legitimate source of -interest for Geoffrey, and consulted him eagerly and continuously about -her little _protégé_ and pupil. - -The autumn passed and the winter came; and Mrs. Ludlow, her grandchild, -and Annie Maurice were settled at Elm Lodge. Annie had taken anew to -her painting, and Geoffrey's deserted studio had again an inmate. -Hither would come Charley Potts--a genial gentleman still, but with -much added steadiness and scrupulously-neat attire. The wholesome -subjugation of a happy marriage was agreeing wonderfully with -Charley, and his faith in Til was perfectly unbounded. He was a -model of punctuality now; and when he "did a turn" for Annie in the -painting-room, he brushed his coat before encountering the unartistic -world outside with a careful scrupulousness, at which, in the days of -Caroline and the beer-signals, he would have derisively mocked. Another -visitor was not infrequent there, though he had needed much coaxing to -induce him to come, and had winced from the sight of Geoff's ghostly -easel on his first visit with keen and perceptible pain. - -A strong mutual liking existed between William Bowker and Annie -Maurice. Each had recognised the sterling value of the other on the -memorable occasion of their first meeting; and the rough exterior of -Bowker being less perceptible then than under ordinary circumstances, -it had never jarred with Annie's taste or offended against her -sensibilities. So it came to pass that these two incongruous persons -became great friends; and William Bowker--always a gentleman in the -presence of any woman in whom he recognised the soul of a lady--passed -many hours such as he had never thought life could again give him in -his dear old friend's deserted home. Miss Maurice had no inadequate -idea of the social duties which her wealth imposed upon her, and she -discharged them with the conscientiousness which lent her character -its combined firmness and sweetness. But all her delight was in her -adopted home, and in the child, for whom she thought and planned with -almost maternal foresight and quite maternal affection. William Bowker -also delighted in the boy, and would have expended an altogether -unreasonable portion of his slender substance upon indigestible -eatables and curiously-ingenious and destructible toys but for Annie's -prohibition, to which he yielded loyal obedience. Many a talk had the -strangely-assorted pair of friends as they watched the child's play; -and they generally ran on Geoffrey or if they rambled off from him for -a while, returned to him through strange and tortuous ways. Not one -of Geoff's friends forgot him, or ceased to miss him, and to wish him -back among them. Not one of "the boys" but had grieved in his simple -uncultivated way over the only half-understood domestic calamity which -had fallen upon "old Geoff;" but time has passed, and they had begun -to talk more of his pictures and less of himself. It was otherwise -with Bowker, whose actual associates were few, though his spirit of -_camaraderie_ was unbounded. He had always loved Geoffrey Ludlow with a -peculiar affection, in which there had been an unexplained foreboding; -and its full and terrible realisation had been a great epoch in the -life of William Bowker. It had broken up the sealed fountains of -feeling; it had driven him away from the grave of the past; it had -brought his strong sympathies and strong sense into action, and had -effected a moral revolution in the lonely man, who had been soured by -trouble only in appearance, but in whom the pure sweet springs of the -life of the heart still existed. Now he began to weary for Geoffrey. He -dreaded to see his friend sinking into the listlessness and dreariness -which had wasted his own life; and Geoffrey's material prosperity, -strongly as it contrasted with the poverty and neglect which had -been his own lot, did not enter into Bowker's calculations with any -reassuring effect. - -"Does Geoffrey never fix any time for his return?" asked William -Bowker of Miss Maurice one summer evening when they were slowly pacing -about the lawn at Elm Lodge, after the important ceremonial of little -Arthur's _coucher_ had been performed. - -"No," said Annie, with a quick and painful blush. - -"I wish he would, then," said Bowker. "He has been away quite long -enough now; and he ought to come home and face his duties like a man, -and thank God that he has a home, and duties which don't all centre -in himself. If they did, the less he observed them the better." This -with a touch of the old bitterness, rarely apparent now. Annie did not -answer, and Bowker went on: - -"His mother wants him, his child wants him, and for that matter Mrs. -Potts's child wants him too. Charley talks some nonsense about waiting -to baptize the little girl until Geoff comes home 'with water from the -Jordan,' said Master Charley, being uncertain in his geography, and -having some confused notion about some sacred river. However, if we -could only get him home, he might bottle a little of the Nile for us -instead. I really wish he'd come. I want to know how far he has really -lived down his trouble; I can't bear to think that it may conquer and -spoil him." - -"It has not done that; it won't do that--no fear of it," said Annie -eagerly; "I can tell from his letters that Geoffrey is a strong man -again,--stronger than he has ever been before." - -"He needs to be, Miss Maurice," said William, with a short, kind, -sounding laugh, "for Geoffrey's nature is not strong. I don't think I -ever knew a weaker man but one--" - -He paused, but Annie made no remark. Presently he fell to talking of -the child and his likeness to Geoffrey, which was very strong and very -striking. - -"There is not a trace of the poor mother in him," said Bowker; "I am -glad of it. The less there is before Geoffrey's eyes when he returns to -remind him of the past the better." - -"And yet," said Annie in a low voice, and with something troubled in -her manner, "I have often thought if he returned, and I saw his meeting -with the child, how dreadful it would be to watch him looking for a -trace of the dead in little Arthur's face, and not finding it, to know -that he felt the world doubly empty." - -Her face was half averted from Bowker as she spoke, and he looked at -her curiously and long. He marked the sudden flush and pallor of her -cheek, and the hurry in her words; and a bright unusual light came into -William Bowker's eyes. He only said, - -"Ay--that would indeed be a pang the more." And a few minutes later he -took his leave. - -"Charley," said Mr. Bowker to Mr. Potts, three or four Gays afterwards, -as he stood before that gentleman's easel, criticising the performance -upon it with his accustomed science and freedom, "why don't you get -your wife to write to Geoffrey, and make him come home? He ought to -come, you know, and it's not for you or me to remonstrate with him. -Women do these things better than men; they can handle sores without -hurting them, and pull at heartstrings without making them crack. -There's his mother, growing old, you know, and wanting to see him; -and the child's a fine young shaver now, and his father ought to know -something of him, eh, Charley, what do you think?" - -"You're about right, old fellow, that's what I think. Til often talks -about it, particularly since the baby was born, and wonders how -Geoffrey can stay away; but I suppose if his own child won't bring him -home, ours can't be expected to do it; eh, William? Til doesn't think -of that, you see." - -"I see," said Mr. Bowker, with a smile. "But, Charley, do you just get -Til to write to Geoffrey, and tell him his mother is not as strong as -she used to be, and that the care of her and the child is rather too -much of a responsibility to rest upon Miss Maurice's shoulders, and I -think Geoffrey will see the matter in the true light, and come home at -once." - -Charley promised to obey Mr. Bowker's injunction, premising that he -must first "talk it over with Til." William made no objection to -this perfectly proper arrangement, and felt no uneasiness respecting -the result of the conjugal discussion. He walked away smiling, -congratulating himself on having done "rather a deep thing," and -full of visions in which Geoffrey played a part which would have -considerably astonished him, had its nature been revealed to him. - -Six weeks after the conversation between Mr. Bowker and Mr. Potts, -a foreign letter in Geoffrey's hand reached Mrs. Ludlow. She hardly -gave herself time to read it through, before she sought to impart its -tidings to Annie. The young 114 was not in the painting-room, not in -the drawing-room, not in the house. The footman thought he had seen -her on the lawn with the child, going towards the swing. Thither Mrs. -Ludlow proceeded, and there she found Annie; her hat flung off; her -brown hair falling about her shoulders, and her graceful arms extended -to their full length as she swung the delighted child, who shouted -"higher, higher!" after the fashion of children. - -"Geoffrey's coming home, Annie!" said Mrs. Ludlow, as soon as she -reached the side of the almost breathless girl. "He's coming home -immediately,--by the next mail. Is not that good news?" - -The rope had dropped from Annie's hand at the first sentence. Now she -stooped, picked up her hat, and put it on; and turning to lift the -child from his seat, she said, - -"Yes, indeed, Mrs. Ludlow, it is; but very sudden. Has any thing -happened?" - -"Nothing whatever, my dear. Geoffrey only says--stay, here's his -letter; read for yourself. He merely says he feels it is time to come -home; he has got all the good out of his captivity in Egypt in every -way that he is likely to get--though why he should call it captivit -when he went there of his own accord, and could have come away at any -moment he liked, is more than I can understand. Well, well, Geoffrey -always had queer sayings; but what matter, now that he is coming -home!--Papa is coming home, Arty;--we shall see him soon." - -"Shall we?" said the child. "Let me go, Annie; you are making my hand -cold with yours;" and he slipped his little hand from her grasp, and -ran on to the house, where he imparted the news to the household with -an air of vast importance. - - -"Annie," said Geoffrey Ludlow one day when he had been about three -weeks at home, and after he had passed some time in examining Miss -Maurice's art-performances, "what has become of the drawing I once made -of you, long ago, when you were a little girl? Don't you remember you -laughed at it, and said, 'Grandmamma, grandmamma, what big eyes you've -got!' to it? and the dear old Rector was so dreadfully frightened lest -I should be offended." - -"Yes, I remember," answered Annie; "and I have the picture. Why?" - -"Because I want it, Annie. If you will let me have it, I will paint a -full-length portrait of you for the next Academy, in which every one -shall recognise a striking likeness of the beautiful and accomplished -Miss Maurice." - -"Don't, Geoffrey," said Annie gravely. "I am not in the least more -beautiful now than I was when you took my likeness long ago; but you -shall have the drawing, and you shall paint the picture, and it shall -belong to Arthur, to remind him of me when I am gone abroad." - -"Gone abroad!" said Geoffrey, starting up from his chair and -approaching her. "You--gone abroad!" - -"Yes," she said, with a very faint smile. "Is no one to see men and -cities, and sand and sphinxes, and mummies and Nile boatmen, except -yourself? Don't you remember how Caterham always wished me to travel -and improve my mind?" - -"I remember," said Geoff moodily; "but I don't think your mind wants -improving, Annie. How selfish I am! I really had a kind of fancy that -this was your home; different as it is from such as you might, as you -may command, it was your own choice once. You see what creatures we -men are. A woman like you sacrifices herself for one of us, to do him -good in his adversity, and he takes it as a matter of course that the -sacrifice is to continue--" Geoffrey turned to the window, and looked -wearily out. From the dim corner in which she sat, Annie looked timidly -at his tall figure--a true image of manliness and vigour. She could see -the bronzed cheek, the full rich brown eye, the bushy beard with its -mingled lines of brown and gray. There was far more strength in the -face than in former days, and far more refinement, a deeper tenderness, -and a loftier meaning. She thought so as she looked at him, and her -heart beat hard and fast. - -"It was no sacrifice to me, Geoffrey," she said in a very low tone. -"You know I could not bear the life I was leading. I have been very -happy here. Every one has been very good to me, and I have been very -happy; but--" - -Geoffrey turned abruptly, and looked at her--looked at the graceful -head, the blushing cheek, the faltering lips--and went straight up to -her. She shrunk just a little at his approach; but when he laid his -hand upon her shoulder, and bent his head down towards hers, she raised -her sweet candid face and looked at him. - -"Annie," he said eagerly, with the quick earnestness of a man whose -soul is in his words, "will you forgive all my mistakes,--I have found -them out now,--and take the truest love that ever a man offered to the -most perfect of women? Annie, can you love me?--will you stay with me? -My darling, say yes!" - -His strong arms were round her now, and her sleek brown head lay upon -his breast. She raised it to look at him; then folded her hands and -laid them upon his shoulder, and with her crystal-clear eyes uplifted, -said, "I will stay with you, Geoffrey. I have always loved you." - - -The storm had blown itself out now--its last mutterings had died away; -and through all its fury and despair, through all its rude buffets and -threatening of doom, Geoffrey Ludlow had reached LAND AT LAST! - - - - -THE END. - - - - - --------------------------------------------------- Printed by W. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Land at Last - A Novel - -Author: Edmund Yates - -Release Date: September 24, 2019 [EBook #60329] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LAND AT LAST *** - - - - -Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans produced by Google Books - - - - - -</pre> - - -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> - <p class="hang1">Transcriber's Note:<br> -1. Page scan source: Google Books<br> -https://books.google.com/books?id=NzZWAAAAcAAJ</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> - <h2>LAND AT LAST.</h2> -<br> - <h4>A Novel.</h4> -<br> -<br> -<br> - <h5>BY</h5> -<h4>EDMUND YATES,</h4> -<h5>AUTHOR OF "FORLORN HOPE," "BLACK SHEEP,"<br> -"RUNNING THE GAUNTLET," ETC., ETC.</h5> -<br> -<br> -<br> - <h5>"Post tenebras lux."</h5> -<br> -<br> -<br> - <h4>THIRD EDITION.</h4> -<br> -<br> -<br> - <h4>LONDON:<br> -CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, PICCADILLY.<br> -1868.</h4> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> - <table style="width: 90%; font-weight: bold; margin-left: 5%" cellpadding="10" id="table1"> - <colgroup> - <col style="width: 10%; vertical-align: top; text-align: right"> - <col style="width: 90%; vertical-align: top; text-align: left"> - </colgroup> - <tr> - <td colspan="2"> - <h4>CONTENTS</h4> - </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2"><br> - <h4><a name="div1Ref_00" href="#div1_00">BOOK I.</a></h4> - </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td> - <a name="div1Ref_01" href="#div1_01">I.</a></td> - <td>IN THE STREETS.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><a name="div1Ref_02" href="#div1_02">II.</a></td> - <td>THE BRETHREN OF THE BRUSH.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><a name="div1Ref_03" href="#div1_03">III.</a></td> - <td>BLOTTED OUT.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><a name="div1Ref_04" href="#div1_04">IV.</a></td> - <td>ON THE DOORSTEP.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><a name="div1Ref_05" href="#div1_05">V.</a></td> - <td>THE LETTER.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><a name="div1Ref_06" href="#div1_06">VI.</a></td> - <td>THE FIRST VISIT.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><a name="div1Ref_07" href="#div1_07">VII.</a></td> - <td>CHEZ POTTS.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><a name="div1Ref_08" href="#div1_08">VIII.</a></td> - <td>THROWING THE FLY.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><a name="div1Ref_09" href="#div1_09">IX.</a></td> - <td>SUNSHINE IN THE SHADE.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><a name="div1Ref_10" href="#div1_10">X.</a></td> - <td>YOUR WILLIAM.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><a name="div1Ref_11" href="#div1_11">XI.</a></td> - <td>PLAYING THE FISH.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><a name="div1Ref_12" href="#div1_12">XII.</a></td> - <td>UNDER THE HARROW.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><a name="div1Ref_13" href="#div1_13">XIII.</a></td> - <td>AT THE PRIVATE VIEW.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><a name="div1Ref_14" href="#div1_14">XIV.</a></td> - <td>THOSE TWAIN ONE FLESH.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2"><br> - <h4><a name="div2Ref_00" href="#div2_00">BOOK II.</a></h4> - </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><a name="div2Ref_01" href="#div2_01">I.</a></td> - <td>NEW RELATIONS.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><a name="div2Ref_02" href="#div2_02">II.</a></td> - <td>MARGARET.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><a name="div2Ref_03" href="#div2_03">III.</a></td> - <td>ANNIE.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><a name="div2Ref_04" href="#div2_04">IV.</a></td> - <td>ALGY BARFORD'S NEWS.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><a name="div2Ref_05" href="#div2_05">V.</a></td> - <td>SETTLING DOWN.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><a name="div2Ref_06" href="#div2_06">VI.</a></td> - <td>AT HOME.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><a name="div2Ref_07" href="#div2_07">VII.</a></td> - <td>WHAT THEIR FRIENDS THOUGHT.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><a name="div2Ref_08" href="#div2_08">VIII.</a></td> - <td>MARGARET AND ANNIE.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><a name="div2Ref_09" href="#div2_09">IX.</a></td> - <td>MR. AMPTHILL'S WILL.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><a name="div2Ref_10" href="#div2_10">X.</a></td> - <td>LADY BEAUPORT'S PLOT.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><a name="div2Ref_11" href="#div2_11">XI.</a></td> - <td>CONJECTURES.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><a name="div2Ref_12" href="#div2_12">XII.</a></td> - <td>GATHERING CLOUDS.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><a name="div2Ref_13" href="#div2_13">XIII.</a></td> - <td>MR. STOMPFF'S DOUBTS.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><a name="div2Ref_14" href="#div2_14">XIV.</a></td> - <td>THREATENING.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><a name="div2Ref_15" href="#div2_15">XV.</a></td> - <td>LADY BEAUFORT'S PLOT COLLAPSES.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2"><br> - <h4><a name="div3Ref_00" href="#div3_00">BOOK III.</a></h4> - </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><a name="div3Ref_01" href="#div3_01">I.</a></td> - <td>THE WHOLE TRUTH.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><a name="div3Ref_02" href="#div3_02">II.</a></td> - <td>THE REVERSE OF THE MEDAL.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><a name="div3Ref_03" href="#div3_03">III.</a></td> - <td>GONE TO HIS REST.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><a name="div3Ref_04" href="#div3_04">IV.</a></td> - <td>THE PROTRACTED SEARCH.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><a name="div3Ref_05" href="#div3_05">V.</a></td> - <td>DISMAY.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><a name="div3Ref_06" href="#div3_06">VI.</a></td> - <td>A CLUE.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><a name="div3Ref_07" href="#div3_07">VII.</a></td> - <td>TRACKED.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><a name="div3Ref_08" href="#div3_08">VIII.</a></td> - <td>IN THE DEEP SHADOW.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><a name="div3Ref_09" href="#div3_09">IX.</a></td> - <td>CLOSING IN.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><a name="div3Ref_10" href="#div3_10">X.</a></td> - <td>AFTER THE WRECK.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><a name="div3Ref_11" href="#div3_11">XI.</a></td> - <td>LAND AT LAST.</td> - </tr> -</table> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> - <h3>LAND AT LAST.</h3> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> - <h4><a name="div1_00" href="#div1Ref_00">Book the First.</a></h4> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> - <h4><a name="div1_01" href="#div1Ref_01">CHAPTER I.</a></h4> -<h5>IN THE STREETS</h5> -<br> - <p>It was between nine and ten oclock on a January night, and the London -streets were in a state of slush. During the previous night snow had fallen -heavily, and the respectable portion of the community, which, according to -regular custom, had retired to bed at eleven oclock, had been astonished, on -peering out from behind a corner of the window-curtain when they arose, to find -the roads and the neighbouring housetops covered with a thick white -incrustation. The pavements were already showing dank dabs of footmarks, which -even the snow then falling failed to fill up; and the roadway speedily lost its -winter-garment and became sticky with congealed mud. Then the snow ceased, and a -sickly straggling bit of winter-sunlight, a mere parody on the real thing, half -light and half warmth, came lurking out between the dun clouds; and under its -influence the black-specked covering of the roofs melted, and the water-pipes -ran with cold black liquid filth. The pavement had given it up long ago, and -resumed its normal winter state of sticky slippery grease--grease which clung to -the boots and roused the wildest rage of foot-passengers by causing them to slip -backward when they wanted to make progress, and which accumulated in the direst -manner on the landing-places and street corners,--the first bits of refuge after -the perils of the crossing,--where it heaped itself in aggravating lumps and -shiny rings under the heels of foot passengers just arrived, having been shaken -and stamped off the soles of passengers who had just preceded them. So it had -continued all day; but towards the afternoon the air had grown colder, and a -whisper had run round that it froze again. Cutlers who had been gazing with a -melancholy air on the placards "Skates" in their window, and had determined on -removing them, as a bad joke against themselves, decided on letting them remain. -Boys who had been delighted in the morning at the sight of the snow, and -proportionately chopfallen towards middle-day at the sight of the thaw, had -plucked up again and seen visions of snowballing matches, slides on the gutters, -and, most delicious of all, omnibus-horses both down at once on the slippery -road. Homeward-bound City-clerks, their day's work over, shivered in the -omnibuses, and told each other how they were afraid it had come at last, and -reminded each other of what the newspapers had said about the flocks of -wild-geese and other signs of a hard winter, and moaned lugubriously about the -advanced price of coals and the difficulties of locomotion certain to be -consequent on the frost.</p> -<p>But when the cruel black night had set regularly in, a dim sleek soft drizzle -began to fall, and all hopes or fears of frost were at an end. Slowly and gently -it came down, wrapping the streets as with a damp pall; stealing quietly in -under umbrellas; eating its way through the thickest broadcloth, matting the -hair and hanging in dank, unwholesome beads on the beards of all unlucky enough -to be exposed to it. It meant mischief, this drizzle, and it carried out its -intention. Omnibus-drivers and cabmen knew it at once from long experience, -donned their heavy tarpaulin-capes, and made up their minds for the worst. The -professional beggars knew it too. The pavement-chalking tramp, who had selected -a tolerably dry spot under the lee of a wall, no sooner felt its first damp -breath than he blew out his paper-lantern, put the candle into his pocket, -stamped out as much of the mackerel and the ship at sea as he had already -stencilled, and made off. The man in the exemplary shirt-collar and apron, who -had planted himself before the chemist's window to procure an extra death-tinge -from the light reflected from the blue bottle, packed up his linen and decamped, -fearing lest his stock-in-trade--his virtue and his lucifers--might be injured -by damp. The brass bands which had been playing outside the public-houses -shouldered their instruments and went inside; the vendors of secondhand books -covered their openly-displayed stock with strips of baize and dismissed their -watchful boys, conscious that no petty thief would risk the weather for so small -a prey. The hot-potato men blew fiercer jets of steam out of their tin kitchens, -as though calling on the public to defy dull care and comfort themselves with an -antidote to the general wretchedness; and the policemen stamped solemnly and -slowly round their beats, as men impressed with the full knowledge that, as -there was not the remotest chance of their being relieved from their miserable -fate until the morning, they might as well bear themselves with as much dignity -as possible under the circumstances.</p> -<p>It was bad everywhere; but in no place at the West-end of London was it so -bad as at the Regent Circus. There the great tide of humanity had been ebbing -and flowing all day; there hapless females in shoals had struggled across the -roaring sea of Oxford Street, some conveyed by the crossing-sweeper, some -drifting helplessly under the poles of omnibuses and the wheels of hansom cabs. -There the umbrellas of the expectant omnibus-seekers jostled each other with -extra virulence; and there the edges of the pavements were thick with dark -alluvial deposits kicked hither and thither by the feet of thousands. All day -there had been a bustle and a roar round this spot; and at ten o'clock at night -it had but little diminished. Omnibus-conductors, like kites and vultures, -clawed and wrangled over the bodies of their victims, who in a miserable little -flock huddled together in a corner, and dashed out helplessly and without -purpose as each lumbering vehicle drew up. Intermingled with these were several -vagabond boys, whose animal spirits no amount of wet or misery could quell, and -who constituted themselves a kind of vedette or outpost-guard, giving warning of -the approach of the different omnibuses in much pleasantly familiar speech, -"Now, guv'nor, for Bayswater! Hatlas comin' up! Ready now for Nottin' 'Ill!"</p> -<p>At the back of the little crowd, sheltering herself under the lee of the -houses, stood a slight female figure, a mere slight slip of a girl, dressed only -in a clinging gown and a miserable tightly-drawn shawl. Her worn bonnet was -pulled over her face, her arms were clasped before her, and she stood in a -doorway almost motionless. The policeman tramping leisurely by had at first -imagined her to be an omnibus-passenger waiting for a vehicle; but some twenty -minutes after he had first noticed her, finding her still in the same position, -he took advantage of a pretended trial of the security of various street-doors -to scrutinise her appearance. To the man versed in such matters the miserable -garb told its own tale--its wearer was a pauper; and a beggar the man in office -surmised, although the girl had made no plaint, had uttered no word, had -remained immovable and statue-like, gazing blankly before her. The policeman had -been long enough in the force to know that the girl's presence in the doorway -was an offence in the eyes of the law; but he was a kindly-hearted Somersetshire -man, and he performed his duty in as pleasant a way as he could, by gently -pulling a corner of the drabbled shawl, and saying, "You musn't stand here, -lass; you must move on, please." The shawl-wearer never looked up or spoke but -shivering slightly, stepped out into the dank mist, and floated, phantom-like, -across the road.</p> -<p>Gliding up the upper part of Regent Street, keeping close to the houses, and -walking with her head bent down and her arms always folded tightly across her -breast, she struck off into a bystreet to the right, and, crossing Oxford -Market, seemed hesitating which way to turn. For an instant she stopped before -the window of an eating-house, where thick columns of steam were yet playing -round the attenuated remains of joints, or casting a greasy halo round slabs of -pudding. As the girl gazed at these wretched remnants of a wretched feast, she -raised her head, her eyes glistened, her pinched nostrils dilated, and for an -instant her breath came thick and fast; then, drawing her shawl more tightly -round her, and bending her head to avoid as much as possible the rain, which -came thickly scudding on the rising wind, she hurried on, and only stopped for -shelter under the outstretched blind of a little chandler's shop--a wretched -shelter, for the blind was soaked through, and the rain dripped from it in -little pools, and the wind shook it in its frame, and eddied underneath it with -a wet and gusty whirl; but there was something of comfort to the girl in the -warm look of the gaslit shop, in the smug rotund appearance of the chandler, in -the distant glimmer of the fire on the glazed door of the parlour at the back. -Staring vacantly before him while mechanically patting a conical lump of lard, -not unlike the bald cranium of an elderly gentleman, the chandler became aware -of the girl's face at the window; and seeing Want legibly inscribed by Nature's -never-erring hand on every feature of that face, and being a humane man, he was -groping in the till for some small coin to bestow in charity, when from the back -room came a sharp shrill voice, "Jim, time to shut up!" and at the sound of the -voice the chandler hastily retreated, and, a small boy suddenly appearing, -pulled up the overhanging blind, and having lost its shelter, the girl set forth -again.</p> -<p>But her course was nearly at an end. To avoid a troop of boys who, -arm-in-arm, came breasting up the street singing the burden of a negro-song, she -turned off again into the main thoroughfare, and had barely gained the broad -shadow of the sharp-steepled church in Langham Place, when she felt her legs -sinking under her, her brain reeling, her heart throbbing in her breast like a -ball of fire. She tottered and clung to the church-railing for support. In the -next instant she was surrounded by a little crowd, in which she had a vision of -painted faces and glistening silks, a dream of faint words of commiseration -overborne by mocking laughter and ribald oaths, oaths made more fearful still by -being uttered in foreign accents, of bitter jests and broad hints of drunkenness -and shame; finally, of the strident voice of the policeman telling her again to -"move on!" The dead faintness, consequent on cold and wet and weariness and -starvation, passed away for the time, and she obeyed the mandate. Passively she -crept away a few steps up a deserted bystreet until her tormentors had left her -quite alone; then she sunk down, shivering, on a doorstep, and burying her face -in her tattered shawl, felt that her end was come.</p> -<p>There she remained, the dead damp cold striking through her lower limbs and -chilling them to stone, while her head was one blazing fire. Gradually her limbs -became numbed and lost to all sensation, a sickening empty pain was round her -heart, a dead apathy settling down over her mind and brain. The tramping of feet -was close upon her, the noise of loud voices, the ringing shouts of loud -laughter, were in her ears; but she never raised her head from the tattered -shawl, nor by speech or motion did she give the smallest sign of life. Men -passed her constantly, all making for one goal, the portico next to that in -which she had sunk down helpless--men with kindly hearts attuned to charity, -who, had they known the state of the wretched wayfarer, would have exerted -themselves bravely in her succour, but whom a London life had so inured to -spectacles of casual misery and vice, that a few only cast a passing glance on -the stricken woman and passed on. They came singly and in twos and threes; but -none spoke to her, none noticed her save by a glance and a shoulder shrug.</p> -<p>Then, as the icy hands of Cold and Want gradually stealing over her seemed to -settle round the region of her heart, the girl gave one low faint cry, "God help -me! it's come at last--God help me!" and fell back in a dead swoon.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> - <h4><a name="div1_02" href="#div1Ref_02">CHAPTER II.</a></h4> -<h5>THE BRETHREN OF THE BRUSH.</h5> -<br> - <p>The house to which all the jovial fellows who passed the girl on the -doorstep with such carelessness were wending their way was almost unique in the -metropolis. The rumour ran that it had originally been designed for stables, and -indeed there was a certain mews-ish appearance about its architectural -elevation; it had the squat, squabby, square look of those buildings from whose -upper-floors clothes-lines stretch diagonally across stable-yards; and you were -at first surprised at finding an imposing portico with an imposing bell in a -position where you looked for the folding-doors of a coach-house. Whether there -had been any truth in the report or not, it is certain that the owner of the -property speedily saw his way to more money than he could have gained by the -ignoble pursuit of stabling horses, and made alterations in his building, which -converted it into several sets of spacious, roomy, and comfortable, if not -elegant chambers. The upper rooms were duly let, and speedily became -famous--thus-wise. When Parmegiano Wilkins made his first great success with his -picture of "Boadicea at Breakfast,"--connoisseurs and art-critics will recollect -the marvellous manner in which the chip in the porridge of the Queen of the -Iceni was rendered,--Mr. Caniche, the great picture-dealer, to whom Wilkins had -mortgaged himself body and soul for three years, felt it necessary that his next -works should be submitted to the private inspection of the newspaper-writers and -the <i>cognoscenti</i> previous to their going into the Academy Exhibition. On -receiving a letter to this effect from Caniche, Wilkins was at his wits' end. He -was living, for privacy's sake, in a little cottage on the outskirts of Epping -Forest, and having made a success, had naturally alienated all his friends whose -rooms in town would otherwise have been available for the display of his -pictures; he thought--and there the astute picture-dealer agreed with him--that -it would be unwise to send them to Caniche's shop (it was before such places -were called "galleries"), as tending to make public the connection between them; -and Wilkins did not know what to do. Then Caniche came to his rescue. Little -Jimmy Dabb, who had been Gold-Medallist and Travelling-Student at the Academy -three years beforehand, and who, for sheer sake of bread-winning, had settled -down as one of Caniche's Labourers, had a big studio in the stable-like edifice -near Langham Church. In it he painted those bits of domestic life,--dying -children on beds, weeping mothers, small table with cut-orange, Bible and physic -by bedside, and pitying angel dimly hovering between mantelpiece and -ceiling,--which, originally in oil, and subsequently in engravings, had such a -vast sale, and brought so much ready money to Caniche's exchequer. The situation -was central; why not utilise it? No sooner thought of than done: a red -cotton-velvet coverlet was spread over Jimmy Dabb's bed in the corner; a Dutch -carpet, red with black flecks, was, at Caniche's expense, spread over the floor, -paint-smeared and burnt with tobacco-ash; two gorgeous easels, on which were -displayed Wilkins's two pictures, "The Bird in the Hand"--every feather in the -bird and the dirt in the nails of the ploughboy's hand marvellously -delineated--and "Crumbs of Comfort," each crumb separate, and the loaf in the -background so real, that the Dowager-Countess of Rundall, a celebrated household -manager, declared it at once to be a "slack-baked quartern." Invitation-cards, -wonderfully illuminated in Old-English characters, and utterly illegible, were -sent forth to rank, fashion, and talent, who duly attended. Crowds of gay -carriages choked up the little street: Dabb in his Sunday-clothes did the -honours; Caniche, bland, smiling, and polyglot, flitted here and there, his -clerk took down orders for proof copies, and the fortune of the chambers was -made. They were so original, so artistic, so convenient, they were just the -place for a painter. Smudge, R.A., who painted portraits of the aristocracy, who -wore a velvet-coat, and whose name was seen in the tail-end of the list of -fashionables at evening-parties, took a vacant set at once; and Clement -Walkinshaw of the Foreign Office, who passed such spare time as his country -could afford him in illuminating missals, in preparing designs for stained -glass, and in hanging about art-circles generally, secured the remainder of the -upper-floor, and converted it into a Wardour-Street Paradise, with hanging -velvet <i>portières</i>, old oak cabinets, Venetian-glass, marqueterie tables, -Sèvres china, escutcheons of armour, and Viennese porcelain pipes.</p> -<p>Meanwhile, utterly uncaring for and utterly independent of what went on -upstairs, the denizens of the lower story kept quietly on. Who were the denizens -of the lower story? who but the well-known Titian Sketching-Club! How many men -who, after struggling through Suffolk Street and the Portland Gallery, have won -their way to fame and fortune, have made their <i>coup d'essai</i> on the walls -of the chambers rented by the Titian Sketching-Club! Outsiders, who professed -great love for art, but who only knew the two or three exhibitions of the season -and only recognised the score of names in each vouchsafed for by the -newspaper-critics, would have been astonished to learn the amount of canvas -covered, pains taken, and skill brought to bear upon the work of the Members of -the Titian. There are guilds, and companies of Freemasons, and brotherhoods by -the score in London; but I know of none where the grand spirit of Camaraderie is -so carried out as in this. It is the nearest thing to the <i>Vie de Bohème</i> -of Paris of Henri Murger that we can show; there is more liberty of speech and -thought and action, less reticence, more friendship,--when friendship is -understood by purse-sharing, by sick-bedside-watching, by absence of envy, -jealousy, hatred, and all uncharitableness,--more singleness of purpose, more -contempt for shams and impostures and the dismal fetters of conventionality, -than in any other circle of English Society with which I am acquainted.</p> -<p>It was a grand night with the Titians; no model was carefully posed on the -"throne" that evening; no intelligent class was grouped round on the rising -benches, copying from the "draped" or the "nude;" none of the wardrobe or -properties of the club (and it is rich in both),--none of the coats of mail or -suits of armour, hauberks and broadswords, buff boots, dinted breastplates, -carved ebony crucifixes, ivory-hafted daggers, Louis-Onze caps, friars' gowns -and rosaries, nor other portions of the stock-in-trade, were on view. The -"sending-in" day for the approaching Exhibition of the British Institution was -at hand; and the discoloured smoky old walls of the Titians, the rickety easels -piled round the room, all available ledges and nooks, were covered with the -works of the members of the club, which they fully intended to submit for -exhibition. A very Babel, in a thick fog of tobacco-smoke, through which loomed -the red face of Flexor the famous model, like the sun in November, greeted you -on your entrance. Flexor pretended to take the hats, but the visitors seemed to -know him too well, and contented themselves with nodding at him in a friendly -manner, and retaining their property. Then you passed into the rooms, where you -found yourself wedged up amongst a crowd of perhaps the most -extraordinary-looking beings you ever encountered. Little men with big heads and -long beards, big men with bald heads and shaved cheeks, and enormous moustaches -and glowering spectacles; tall thin straggling men, who seemed all profile, and -whose full face you could never catch; dirty shaggy little men, with heads of -hair like red mops, and no apparent faces underneath, whose eyes flashed through -their elf-locks, and who were explaining their pictures with singular pantomimic -power of their sinewy hands, and notably of their ever-flashing thumbs; -moon-faced solemn didactic men prosing away on their views of art to dreary -discontented listeners; and foppish, smart little fellows, standing a-tiptoe to -get particular lights, shading their eyes with their hands, and backing against -the company generally. Moving here and there among the guests was the Titians' -president, honest old Tom Wrigley, who had been "at it," as he used to say, for -thirty years; without making any great mark in his profession, but who was -cordially beloved for his kind-heartedness and <i>bonhomie</i>, and who had a -word and a joke for all. As he elbowed his way through the room he spoke right -and left.</p> -<p>"Hallo, Tom Rogers!--hallo, Tom! That's an improvement, Tom, my boy! Got rid -of the heavy browns, eh? weren't good, those heavy browns; specially for a -Venetian atmosphere, eh, Tom? Much better, this.--How are you, Jukes? Old story, -Jukes?--hen and chickens, ducks in the pond, horse looking over the gate? Quite -right, Jukes; stick to that, if it pays. Much better than the death of J. Caesar -on a twenty-foot canvas, which nobody would be fool enough to buy. Stick to the -ducks, Jukes, old fellow.--What's the matter, George? Why so savage, my son?"</p> -<p>"Here's Scumble!" said the young man addressed, in an undertone.</p> -<p>"And what of that, George? Mr. Scumble is a Royal Academician, it is true; -and consequently a mark for your scorn and hatred, George. But it's not <i>his</i> -fault; he never did anything to aspire to such a dignity. It's your British -public, George, which is such an insensate jackass as to buy Scumble's pictures, -and to tell him he's a genius."</p> -<p>"He was on the Hanging-Committee last year, and--"</p> -<p>"Ah, so he was; and your 'Aristides' was kicked out, and so was my 'Hope -Deferred,' which was a deuced sight better than your big picture, Master George; -but see how I shall treat him.--How do you do, Mr. Scumble? You're very welcome -here, sir."</p> -<p>Mr. Scumble, R.A., who had a head like a tin-loaf, and a face without any -earthly expression, bowed his acknowledgments and threw as much warmth into his -manner as he possibly could, apparently labouring under a notion that he was -marked out for speedy assassination. "This is indeed a char-ming collection! -Great talent among the ri-sing men, Mr.--pardon me--President! This now, for -instance, a most charming landscape!"</p> -<p>"Yes, old boy; you may say that," said a square-built man smoking a -clay-pipe, and leaning with his elbows on the easel on which the picture was -placed. "I mean the real thing,--not this; which ain't bad though, is it? Not -that I should say so; 'cause for why; which I did it!" and here the square-built -man removed one of his elbows from the easel, and dug it into the sacred ribs of -Scumble, R.A.</p> -<p>"Bad, sir!" said Scumble, recoiling from the thrust, and still with the -notion of a secret dagger hidden behind the square-built man's waistcoat; "it's -magnificent, superb, Mr.----!"</p> -<p>"Meaning me? Potts!" said the square-built man "Charley Potts, artist, U.E., -or unsuccessful exhibitor at every daub-show in London. That's the Via Mala, -that is. I was there last autumn with Geoffrey Ludlow and Tom Bleistift. 'Show -me a finer view than that,' I said to those fellows, when it burst upon us. 'If -you'd a Scotchman with you,' said Tom, 'he'd say it wasn't so fine as the -approach to Edinburgh.' 'Would he?'said I. 'If he said anything of that sort, -I'd show him that view, and--and rub his nose in it!'"</p> -<p>Mr. Scumble, R.A., smiled in a sickly manner, bowed feebly, and passed on. -Old Tom Wrigley laughed a great boisterous "Ha, ha!" and went on his way. -Charley Potts remained before his picture, turning his back on it, and puffing -out great volumes of smoke. He seemed to know everybody in the room, and to be -known to and greeted by most of them. Some slapped him on the back, some poked -him in the ribs, others laid their forefingers alongside their noses and winked; -but all called him "Charley," and all had some pleasant word for him; and to all -he had something to say in return.</p> -<p>"Hallo, Fred Snitterfield!" he called out to a fat man in a suit of -shepherd's-plaid dittoes. "Halloa, Fred! how's your brother Bill? What's he been -doing? Not here to-night, of course?"</p> -<p>"No; he wasn't very well," said the man addressed. "He's got--"</p> -<p>"Yes, yes; I know, Fred!" said Charley Potts. "Wife won't let him! That's it, -isn't it, old boy? He only dined out once in his life without leave, and then he -sent home a telegram to say he was engaged; and when his wife received the -telegram she would not believe it, because she said it wasn't his handwriting! -Poor old Bill! Did he sell that 'Revenge' to what's-his-name--that Manchester -man--Prebble?"</p> -<p>"Lord, no! Haven't you heard? Prebble's smashed up,--all his property gone to -the devil!"</p> -<p>"Ah, then Prebble will find it again some day, no doubt. Look out! here's -Bowie!"</p> -<p>Mr. Bowie was the art-critic of a great daily journal. In early life he had -courted art himself; but lacking executive power, he had mixed up a few theories -and quaint conceits which he had learned with a great deal of acrid bile, with -which he had been gifted by nature, and wrote the most pungent and malevolent -art-notices of the day. A tall, light-haired, vacant-looking man, like a -light-house without any light in it, peering uncomfortably over his stiff white -cravat, and fumbling nervously at his watch-chain. Clinging close to him, and -pointing out to him various pictures as they passed them by, was quite another -style of man,--Caniche, the great picture dealer,--an under-sized lively Gascon, -black-bearded from his chin, round which it was closely cut, to his beady black -eyes, faultlessly dressed, sparkling in speech, affable in manner, at home with -all.</p> -<p>"Ah, ah!" said he, stopping before the easel, "the Via Mala! Not bad--not at -all bad!" he continued, with scarcely a trace of a foreign accent. "Yours, -Charley Potts? yours, <i>mon brave?</i> De-caidedly an improvement, Charley! You -go on that way, mai boy, and some day--"</p> -<p>"Some day you'll give me twenty pound, and sell me for a hundred! won't you, -Caniche?--generous buffalo!" growled Charley, over his pipe.</p> -<p>The men round laughed, but Caniche was not a bit offended. "Of course," he -said, simply, "I will, indeed; that is my trade! And if you could find a man who -would give you thirty, you would throw me over in what you call a brace of -shakes! <i>N'est-ce pas?</i> Meanwhile, find the man to give you thirty. He is -not here; I mean coming now.--How do you do, Herr Stompff?"</p> -<p>Mr. Caniche (popularly known as Cannish among the artists) winced as he said -this, for Herr Stompff was his great rival and bitterest enemy.</p> -<p>A short, bald-headed, gray-bearded man was Mr. Stompff,--a Hamburger,--who, -on his first arrival in England, had been an importer of piping bullfinches at -Hull; then a tobacconist in St Mary Axe; and who finally had taken up -picture-selling, and did an enormous business. No one could tell that he was not -an Englishman from his talk, and an Englishman with a marvellous fluency in the -vernacular. He had every slang saying as soon as it was out, and by this used to -triumph over his rival Caniche, who never could follow his phraseology.</p> -<p>"Hallo, Caniche!" he said; "how are you? What's up?--running the rig on the -boys here! telling Charley Potts his daubs are first-rate? Pickles!--We know all -that game, don't we, Charley? What do you want for it, Charley?--How are you, -Mr. Bowie? what's fresh with you, sir? Too proud to come and have a cut of -mutton with me and Mrs. S. a-Sunday, I suppose? Some good fellows coming, too; -Mugger from the Cracksideum, and Talboys and Sir Paul Potter--leastways I've -asked him. Well, Charley, what's the figure for this lot, eh?"</p> -<p>"I'll trouble you not to 'Charley' me, Mr. Stump, or whatever your infernal -name is!" said Potts, folding his arms and puffing out his smoke savagely. "I -don't want any Havannah cigars, nor silk handkerchiefs, nor painted canaries, -nor anything else in your line, sir; and I want your confounded patronage least -of all!"</p> -<p>"Good boy, Charley! very good boy!" said Stompff, calmly pulling his whisker -through his teeth--"shouldn't lose his temper, though. Come and dine a-Sunday, -Charley." Mr. Potts said something, which the historian is not bound to repeat, -turned on his heel, and walked away.</p> -<p>Mr. Stompff was not a bit disconcerted at this treatment. He merely stuck his -tongue in his cheek, and looking at the men standing round, said, "He's on the -high ropes, is Master Charley! Some of you fellows have been lending him -half-a-crown, or that fool Caniche has bought one of his pictures for -seven-and-six! Now, has anybody anything new to show, eh?" Of course everybody -had something new to show to the great Stompff, the enterprising Stompff, the -liberal Stompff, whose cheques were as good as notes of the Bank of England. How -they watched his progress, and how their hearts beat as he loitered before their -works! Jupp, who had a bed-ridden wife, a dear pretty little woman recovering -from rheumatic fever at, Adalbert Villa, Elgiva Road, St. John's Wood; -Smethurst, who had a 25<i>l</i>. bill coming due in a fortnight, and had -three-and-sevenpence wherewith to: Vogelstadt, who had been beguiled into -leaving Dusseldorf for London on the rumours of English riches and English -patronage, and whose capital studies of birds in the snow, and <i>treibe-jagd's</i>, -and boar-hunts, had called forth universal laudation, but had not as yet -entrapped a single purchaser, so that Vogelstadt, who had come down not -discontentedly to living on bread-and-milk, had notions of mortgaging his -ancestral thumb-ring to procure even those trifling necessaries,--how they al -glared with expectation as the ex-singing-bird-importer passed their pictures in -review! That worthy took matters very easily, strolling along with his hands in -his pockets, glancing at the easels and along the walls, occasionally nodding -his head in approval, or shrugging his shoulders in depreciation, but never -saying a word until he stopped opposite a well-placed figure-subject to which he -devoted a two-minutes' close scrutiny, and then uttered this frank though -<i>argot</i>-tinged criticism "That'll hit 'em up! that'll open their eyelids, -by Jove! Whose is it?"</p> -<p>The picture represented a modern ballroom, in a corner of which a man of -middle age, his arms tightly folded across his breast, was intently watching the -movements of a young girl, just starting off in a <i>valse</i> with a handsome -dashing young partner. The expressions in the two faces were admirably defined: -in the man's was a deep earnest devotion not unmingled with passion and with -jealousy, his tightly-clenched mouth, his deep-set earnest eyes, settled in rapt -adoration on the girl, showed the earnestness of his feeling, SO did the -rigidly-fixed arms, and the <i>pose</i> of the figure, which, originally -careless, had become hardened and angular through intensity of feeling. The -contrast was well marked; in the girl's face which was turned toward the man -while her eyes were fixed on him, was a bright saucy triumph, brightening her -eyes, inflating her little nostrils, curving the corners of her mouth, while her -figure was light and airy, just obedient to the first notes of the <i>valse</i>, -balancing itself as it were on the arm of her partner before starting off down -the dance. All the accessories were admirable: the dreary wallflowers ranged -round the room, the chaperons nidnodding together on the rout-seats, -paterfamilias despondingly consulting his watch, the wearied hostess, and the -somnolently-inclined musicians,--all were there, portrayed not merely by a -facile hand but by a man conversant with society. The title of the picture, "Sic -vos non vobis," was written on a bit of paper stuck into the frame, on the other -corner of which was a card bearing the words "Mr. Geoffrey Ludlow."</p> -<p>"Ah!" said Stompff, who, after carefully scanning the picture close and then -from a distance, had read the card--"at last! Geoffrey Ludlow's going to fulfil -the promise which he's been showing this ten years! A late birth, but a fine -babby now it's born! That's the real thing and no flies! That's about as near a -good thing as I've seen this long time--that; come, you'll say the same! That's -a good picture, Mr. Wrigley!"</p> -<p>"Ah!" said old Tom, coming up at the moment, "you've made another lucky hit -if you've bought that, Mr. Stompff! Geoff is so confoundedly undecided, so -horribly weak in all things, that he's been all this time making up his mind -whether he really would paint a good picture or not. But he's decided at last, -and he has painted a clipper."</p> -<p>"Ye-es!" said Stompff, whose first enthusiasm had by no means died away--on -the contrary, he thought so well of the picture that he had within himself -determined to purchase it; but his business caution was coming over him -strongly. "Yes! it's a clipper, as you say, Wrigley; but it's a picture which -would take all a fellow knew to work it. Throw that into the market--where are -you! Pouf! gone I no one thinking of it. Judicious advertisement, judicious -squaring of those confounded fellows of the press; a little dinner at the Albion -or the Star and Garter to two or three whom we know; and then the wonderful -grasp of modern life, the singular manner in which the great natural feelings -are rendered, the microscopic observation, and the power of detail--"</p> -<p>"Yes, yes," said Tom Wrigley; "for which, see <i>Catalogue of Stompff's -Gallery of Modern Painters</i>, price 6<i>d</i>. Spare yourself, you unselfish -encourager of talent, and spare Geoff's blushes; for here he is.--Did you hear -what Stompff was saying on, Geoff?"</p> -<p>As he spoke, there came slouching up, shouldering his way through the crowd, -a big, heavily-built man of about forty years of age, standing over six feet, -and striking in appearance if not prepossessing. Striking in appearance from his -height, which was even increased by his great shock head of dark-brown hair -standing upright on his forehead, but curling in tight crisp waves round the -back and poll of his head; from his great prominent brown eyes, which, firmly -set in their large thickly-carved lids, flashed from under an overhanging pair -of brows; from his large heavy nose, thick and fleshy, yet with lithe sensitive -nostrils; from his short upper and protruding thick under lip; from the length -of his chin and the massive heaviness of his jaw, though the heavy beard greatly -concealed the formation of the lower portion of his face. A face which at once -evoked attention, which no one passed by without noticing, which people at first -called "odd," and "singular," and "queer," according to their vocabulary; then, -following the same rule, pronounced "ugly," or "hideous," or -"grotesque,"--allowing all the time that there "was something very curious in -it." But a face which, when seen in animation or excitement, in reflex of the -soul within, whose every thought was legibly portrayed in its every expression, -in light or shade, with earnest watchful eyes, and knit brows and quivering -nostrils and working lips; or, on the other hand, with its mouth full of sound -big white teeth gleaming between its ruddy lips, and its eyes sparkling with -pure merriment or mischief;--then a face to be preferred to all the dolly -inanities of the Household Brigade, or even the matchless toga-draped dummies in -Mr. Truefitt's window. This was Geoffrey Ludlow, whom everybody liked, but who -was esteemed to be so weak and vacillating, so infirm of purpose, so incapable -of succeeding in his art or in his life, as to have been always regarded as an -object of pity rather than envy; as a man who was his own worst enemy, and of -whom nothing could be said. He had apparently caught some words of the -conversation, for when he arrived at the group a smile lit up his homely -features, and his teeth glistened again in the gaslight.</p> -<p>"What are you fellows joking about?" he asked, while he roared with laughter, -as if with an anticipatory relish of the fun. "Some chaff at my expense, eh? -Something about my not having made up my mind to do something or not; the usual -nonsense, I suppose?"</p> -<p>"Not at all Geoff," said Tom Wrigley. "The question asked by Mr. Stompff here -was--whether you wished to sell this picture, and what you asked for it."</p> -<p>"Ah!" said Geoffrey Ludlow, his lips closing and the fun dying out of his -eyes. "Well, you see it's of course a compliment for you, Mr. Stompff, to ask -the question; but I've scarcely made up my mind--whether--and indeed as to the -price--"</p> -<p>"Stuff, Geoff! What rubbish you talk!" said Charley Potts, who had rejoined -the group. "You know well enough that you painted the picture for sale. You know -equally well that the price is two hundred guineas. Are you answered, Mr. -Stump?"</p> -<p>Ludlow started forward with a look of annoyance, but Stompff merely grinned, -and said quietly, "I take it at the price, and as many more as Mr. Ludlow will -paint of the same sort; stock, lock, and barrel, I'll have the whole bilin'. -Must change the title though, Ludlow, my boy. None of your Sic wos non -thingummy; none of your Hebrew classics for the British public. 'The Vow,' or -'the Last Farewell,' or something in that line.--Very neatly done of you, -Charley, my boy; very neat bit of dealing, I call it. I ought to deduct -four-and-nine from the next fifteen shillin' commission you get; but I'll make -it up to you this way,--you've evidently all the qualities of a salesman; come -and be my clerk, and I'll stand thirty shillings a-week and a commission on the -catalogues."</p> -<p>Charley Potts was too delighted at his friend's success to feel annoyance at -these remarks; he merely shook his fist laughingly, and was passing on, with his -arm through Ludlow's; but the vivacious dealer, who had rapidly calculated where -he could plant his newly-acquired purchase, and what percentage he could make on -it, was not to be thus balked.</p> -<p>"Look here!" said he; "a bargain's a bargain, ain't it? People say your -word's as good as your bond, and all that. Pickles! You drop down to my office -to-morrow, Ludlow, and there'll be an agreement for you to sign--all straight -and reg'lar, you know. And come and cut your mutton with me and Mrs. S. at -Velasquez Villa, Nottin' 'Ill, on Sunday, at six. No sayin' no, because I won't -hear it. We'll wet our connection in a glass of Sham. And bring Charley with -you, if his dress-coat ain't up! You know, Charley! Tar, Tar!" And highly -delighted with himself, and with the full conviction that he had rendered -himself thoroughly delightful to his hearers, the great man waddled off his -brougham.</p> -<p>Meanwhile the news of the purchase had spread through the rooms, and men were -hurrying up on all sides to congratulate Ludlow on his success. The fortunate -man seemed, however, a little dazed with his triumph; he shook all the -outstretched hands cordially, and said a few commonplaces of thanks, -intermingled with doubts as to whether he had not been too well treated; but on -the first convenient opportunity he slipped away, and sliding a shilling into -the palm of Flexor the model, who, being by this time very drunk, had arranged -his hair in a curl on his forehead, and was sitting on the bench in the hall -after his famous rendering of George the Fourth of blessed memory, Geoff seized -his hat and coat and let himself out. The fresh night-air revived him -wonderfully, and he was about starting off at his usual headstrong pace, when he -heard a low dismal moan, and looking round, he saw a female figure cowering in a -doorway. The next instant he was kneeling by her side.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> - <h4><a name="div1_03" href="#div1Ref_03">CHAPTER III.</a></h4> -<h5>BLOTTED OUT.</h5> -<br> - <p>THE strange caprices of Fashion were never more strangely illustrated -than by her fixing upon St. Barnabas Square as one of her favourite localities. -There are men yet living among us whose mothers had been robbed on their way -from Ranelagh in crossing the spot, then a dreary swampy marsh, on which now -stands the city of palaces known as Cubittopolis. For years on years it remained -in its dismal condition, until an enterprising builder, seeing the army of -civilisation advancing with grand strides south-westward, and perceiving at a -glance the immediate realisation of an enormous profit on his outlay, bought up -the entire estate, had it thoroughly cleansed and drained, and proceeded to -erect thereon a series of terraces, places, and squares, each vying with the -other in size, perfection of finish, and, let it be said, general ghastliness. -The houses in St. Barnabas Square resemble those in Chasuble Crescent, and -scarcely differ in any particular from the eligible residences in Reredos Road: -they are all very tall, and rather thin; they have all enormous porticoes, over -which are little conservatories, railed in with ecclesiastical ironwork; dismal -little back-rooms no bigger than warm-baths, but described as "libraries" by the -house-agents; gaunt drawing-rooms connected by an arch; vast landings, leading -on to other little conservatories, where "blacks," old flower-pots, and a few -geranium stumps, are principally conserved; and a series of gaunt towny -bedrooms. In front they have Mr. Swiveller's prospect,--a delightful view of -over-the-way; across the bit of square enclosure like a green -pocket-handkerchief; while at the back they look immediately on to the -back-premises of other eligible residences. The enterprising builder has done -his best for his neighbourhood, but he has been unable to neutralise the effects -of the neighbouring Thames; and the consequence is, that during the winter -months a chronic fog drifts up from the pleasant Kentish marshes, and finding -ample room and verge enough, settles permanently down in the St. Barnabas -district; while in the summer, the new roads which intersect the locality, being -mostly composed of a chalky foundation, peel off under every passing wheel, and -emit enormous clouds of dust, which are generally drifting on the summer wind -into the eyes and mouths of stray passengers, and in at the doors and windows of -regular residents. Yet this is one of Fashion's chosen spots here in this -stronghold of stucco reside scores of those whose names and doings the courtly -journalist delighteth to chronicle; hither do county magnates bring, to -furnished houses, their wives and daughters, leaving them to entertain those of -the proper set during the three summer months, while they, the county magnates -themselves, are sleeping the sleep of the just on the benches of the House of -Commons, or nobly discharging their duty to their country by smoking cigars on -the terrace; here reside men high up in the great West-end public offices, -commissioners and secretaries, anxious to imbue themselves with the scent of the -rose, and <i>vivre près d'elle</i>, City magnates, judges of the land, and -counsel learned in the law. The situation is near to Westminster for the lawyers -and politicians; and the address has quite enough of the true ring about it to -make it much sought after by all those who go-in for a fashionable -neighbourhood.</p> -<p>A few hours before the events described in the preceding chapters took place, -a brougham, perfectly appointed, and drawn by a splendid horse, came dashing -through the fog and driving mist, and pulled up before one of the largest houses -in St. Barnabas Square. The footman jumped from the box, and was running to the -door, when, in obedience to a sharp voice, he stopped, and the occupant of the -vehicle, who had descended, crossed the pavement with rapid strides, and opened -the door with a pass-key. He strode quickly through the hall, up the staircase, -and into the drawing-room, round which he took a rapid glance. The room was -empty; the gas was lit, and a fire burned brightly on the hearth; while an open -piano, covered with music, on the one side of the fireplace, and a book turned -down with open leaves, showed that the occupants had but recently left. The -newcomer, finding himself alone, walked to the mantelpiece, and leaning his back -against it, passed his hands rapidly across his forehead; then plunging both of -them into his pockets, seemed lost in thought. The gaslight showed him to be a -man of about sixty years of age, tall, wiry, well-proportioned; his head was -bald, with a fringe of grayish hair, his forehead broad, his eyes deep-set, his -mouth thin-lipped, and ascetic; he wore two little strips of whisker, but his -chin was closely shaved. He was dressed in high stiff shirt-collars, a blue-silk -neckerchief with white dots, in which gleamed a carbuncle pin; a gray overcoat, -under which was a cutaway riding-coat, high waistcoat with onyx buttons, and -tight-fitting cord-trousers. This was George Brakespere, third Earl Beauport, of -whom and of whose family it behoves one to speak in detail.</p> -<p>They were <i>novi homines</i>, the Brakesperes, though they always claimed to -be sprung from ancient Norman blood. Only seventy years ago old Martin -Brakespere was a wool-stapler in Uttoxeter; and though highly respected for the -wealth he was reported to have amassed, was very much jeered at privately, and -with bated breath, for keeping an apocryphal genealogical tree hanging up in his -back-shop, and for invariably boasting, after his second glass of grog at the -Greyhound, about his lineage. But when, after old Martin had been some score -years quietly resting in Uttoxeter churchyard, his son Sir Richard Brakespere, -who had been successively solicitor and attorney general, was raised to the -peerage, and took his seat on the woolsack as Baron Beauport, Lord High -Chancellor of England, the Herald's College, and all the rest of the -genealogical authorities, said that the line was thoroughly made out and -received the revival of the ancient title with the greatest laudation. A wiry, -fox-headed, thin chip of a lawyer, the first Baron Beauport, as knowing as a -ferret, and not unlike one in the face. He administered the laws of his country -very well, and he lent some of the money he had inherited from his father to the -sovereign of his country and the first gentleman in Europe at a very high rate -of interest, it is said. Rumour reports that he did not get all his money back -again, taking instead thereof an increase in rank, and dying, at an advanced -age, as Earl Beauport, succeeded in his title and estates by his only son, -Theodore Brakespere, by courtesy Viscount Caterham.</p> -<p>When his father died, Lord Caterham, the second Earl Beauport, was nearly -fifty years old, a prim little gentleman who loved music and wore a wig; a -dried-up chip of a little man, who lived in a little house in Hans Place with an -old servant, a big violoncello, and a special and peculiar breed of pug-dogs. To -walk out with the pug-dogs in the morning, to be carefully dressed and -tittivated and buckled and curled by the old servant in the afternoon, and -either to play the violoncello in a Beethoven or Mozart selection with some -other old amateur fogies, or to be present at a performance of chamber-music, or -philharmonics, or oratorio-rehearsals in the evening, constituted the sole -pleasure of the second Earl Beauport's life. He never married; and at his death, -some fifteen years after his father's, the title and, with the exception of a -few legacies to musical charities, the estates passed to his cousin George -Brakespere, Fellow of Lincoln College, Oxon, and then of Little Milman Street, -Bedford Row, and the Northern Circuit, briefless barrister.</p> -<p>Just in the very nick of time came the peerage and the estates to George -Brakespere, for he was surrounded by duns, and over head and ears in love. With -all his hard work at Oxford, and he had worked hard, he had the reputation of -being the best bowler at Bullingdon, and the hardest rider after hounds; of -having the best old port and the finest cigars (it was before the days of claret -and short pipes), and the best old oak furniture, library of books, and -before-letter proofs in the University. All these could not be paid for out of -an undergraduate's income; and the large remainder of unpaid bills hung round -him and plagued him heavily long after he had left Oxford and been called to the -bar. It was horribly up-hill work getting a connection among the attorneys; he -tried writing for reviews, and succeeded, but earned very little money. And -then, on circuit, at an assize-ball, he fell in love with Gertrude Carrington, a -haughty county beauty, only daughter of Sir Joshua Carrington, Chairman of -Quarter Sessions; and that nearly finished him. Gertrude Carrington was very -haughty and very wilful; she admired the clever face and the bold bearing of the -young barrister; but in all probability she would have thought no more of him, -had not the eminent Sir Joshua, who kept his eyes very sharply about him, marked -the flirtation, and immediately expressed his total disapproval of it. That was -enough for Gertrude, and she at once went in for George Brakespere, heart and -soul. She made no objection to a clandestine correspondence, and responded -regularly and warmly to George's passionate letters. She gave him two or three -secret meetings under an old oak in a secluded part of her father's -park,--Homershams was a five-hours' journey from town,--and these assignations -always involved George's sleeping at an inn, and put him to large expense; and -when she came up to stay with her cousins in town, she let him know all the -parties to which they were going, and rendered him a mendicant for invitations. -When the change of fortune came, and George succeeded to the title, Sir Joshua -succumbed at once, and became anxious for the match. Had George inherited money -only, it is probable that from sheer wilfulness Gertrude would have thrown him -over; but the notion of being a countess, of taking precedence and pas of all -the neighbouring gentry, had its influence, and they were married. Two sons were -born to them,--Viscount Caterham and the Hon. Lionel Brakespere,--and a -daughter, who only survived her birth a few weeks. As Earl Beauport, George -Brakespere retained the energy and activity of mind and body, the love of -exercise and field-sports, the clear brain and singleness of purpose, which had -distinguished him as a commoner: but there was a skeleton in his house, whose -bony fingers touched his heart in his gayest moments, numbed his energies, and -warped his usefulness; whose dread presence he could not escape from, whose -chilling influence nor wine, nor work, nor medicine, nor gaiety, could palliate. -It was ever present in a tangible shape; he knew his weakness and wickedness in -permitting it to conquer him,--he strove against it, but vainly; and in the dead -watches of the night often he lay broad awake railing against the fate which had -mingled so bitter an ingredient in his cup of happiness.</p> -<p>The door swung open and the Countess entered, a woman nearly fifty now, but -not looking her age by at least eight years. A tall handsome woman, with the -charms of her former beauty mellowed but not impaired; the face was more full, -but the firm chiselling of the nose and lips, the brightness of the eyes, the -luxurious dark gloss of the hair, were there still. As she entered, her husband -advanced to meet her; and as he touched her forehead with his lips, she laid her -hand on his, and asked "What news?"</p> -<p>He shook his head sadly, and said, "The worst."</p> -<p>"The worst!" she repeated, faintly; "he's not dead? Beauport, you--you would -not say it in that way--he's not dead?"</p> -<p>"I wish to God he were!" said Lord Beauport through his teeth. "I wish it had -pleased God to take him years and years ago! No! he's not dead." Then throwing -himself into a chair, and staring vacantly at the fire, he repeated, "I wish to -God he were!"</p> -<p>"Anything but that!" said the Countess, with a sense of immense relief; -"anything but that! whatever he has done may be atoned for, and repented, -and--But what has he done? where is he? have you seen Mr. Farquhar?"</p> -<p>"I have--and I know all. Gertrude, Lionel is a scoundrel and a criminal--no, -don't interrupt me! I myself have prosecuted and transported men for less crimes -than he has committed; years ago he would have been hanged. He is a forger!"</p> -<p>"A forger!"</p> -<p>"He has forged the names of two of his friends--old brother officers; Lord -Hinchenbrook is one, and young Latham the other--to bills for five thousand -pounds. I've had the bills in my hands, and seen letters from the men denying -their signatures to-night, and--"</p> -<p>"But Lionel--where is he? in prison?"</p> -<p>"No; he saw the crash coming, and fled from it. Farquhar showed me a blotted -letter from him, written from Liverpool, saying in a few lines that he had -disgraced us all, that he was on the point of sailing under a feigned name for -Australia, and that we should never see him again."</p> -<p>"Never see him again! my boy, my own darling boy!" and Lady Beauport burst -into an agony of tears.</p> -<p>"Gertrude," said her husband, when the first wild storm of grief had -subsided, "calm yourself for one instant."</p> -<p>He rang the bell, and to the servant answering it, said:</p> -<p>"Tell Lord Caterham I wish to speak to him, and beg Miss Maurice to be good -enough to step here."</p> -<p>Lady Beauport was about to speak, but the Earl said coldly:</p> -<p>"I wish it, if you please;" and reiterated his commands to the servant, who -left the room. "I have fully decided, Gertrude, on the step I am about to take. -To-morrow those forged bills will be mine. I saw young Latham at Farquhar's, and -he said--" Lord Beauport's voice shook here--"said everything that was kind and -noble; and Hinchenbrook has said the same to Farquhar. It--it cannot be kept -quiet, of course. Every club is probably ringing with it now; but they will let -me have the bills. And from this moment, Gertrude, that boy's name must never be -uttered, save in our prayers--in our prayers for his forgiveness and--and -repentance--by you, his mother; by me his father,--nor by any one in this house. -He is dead to us for ever!"</p> -<p>"Beauport, for Heaven's sake--"</p> -<p>"I swear it, Gertrude, I swear it! and most solemnly will keep the oath. I -have sent for Caterham, who must know, of course; his good sense will approve -what I have done; and for Annie, she is part of our household now, and must be -told. Dead to us all henceforth; dead to us all!"</p> -<p>He sank into a chair opposite the fire and buried his face in his hands, but -roused himself at advancing footsteps. The door opened, and a servant entered, -pushing before him a library-chair fitted on large wheels, in which sat a man of -about thirty, of slight spare frame, with long arms and thin womanly hands--a -delicately-handsome man, with a small head, soft grey eyes, and an almost -feminine mouth; a man whom Nature had intended for an Apollo, whom fortune had -marked for her sport, blighting his childhood with some mysterious disease for -which the doctors could find neither name nor cure, sapping his marrow and -causing his legs to wither into the shrunken and useless members which now hung -loosely before him utterly without strength, almost without shape, incapable of -bearing his weight, and rendering him maimed, crippled, blasted for life. This -was Viscount Caterham, Earl Beauport's eldest son, and heir to his title and -estates. His father cast one short, rapid glance at him as he entered, and then -turned to the person who immediately followed him.</p> -<p>This was a tall girl of two-and-twenty, of rounded form and winning -expression. Her features were by no means regular; her eyes were brown and -sleepy; she had a pert inquisitive nose; and when she smiled, in her decidedly -large mouth gleamed two rows of strong white teeth. Her dark-brown hair was -simply and precisely arranged; for she had but a humble opinion of her own -charms, and objected to any appearance of coquetry. She was dressed in a -tight-fitting black silk, with linen collar and cuffs, and her hands and feet -were small and perfectly shaped. Darling Annie Maurice, orphan daughter of a -second cousin of my lord's, transplanted from a suburban curacy to be companion -and humble friend of my lady, the one bright bit of sunshine and reality in that -palace of ghastly stucco and sham. Even now, as she came in, Lord Beauport -seemed to feel the cheering influence of her presence, and his brow relaxed for -an instant as he stepped forward and offered his hand; after taking which, she, -with a bow to the Countess, glided round and stood by Lord Caterham's chair.</p> -<p>Lord Caterham was the first to speak.</p> -<p>"You sent for us--for Annie and me, sir," he said in a low tremulous voice; -"I trust you have no bad news of Lionel."</p> -<p>Lady Beauport hid her face in her hands; but the Earl, who had resumed his -position against the mantelpiece, spoke firmly.</p> -<p>"I sent for you, Caterham, and for you, Annie, as members of my family, to -tell you that Lionel Brakespere's name must never more be mentioned in this -house. He has disgraced himself, and us through him; and though we cannot wipe -away that disgrace, we must strive as far as possible to blot him out from our -memories and our lives. You know, both of you--at least you, Caterham, know well -enough,--what he has been to me--the love I had for him--the--yes, my God, the -pride I had in him!"</p> -<p>His voice broke here, and he passed his hand across his eyes. In the -momentary pause Annie Maurice glanced up at Lord Caterham, and marked his face -distorted as with pain, and his head reclining on his chest. Then, gulping down -the knot rising in his throat, the Earl continued:</p> -<p>"All that is over now; he has left the country, and the chances are that we -shall never see nor even hear from him again." A moan from the Countess shook -his voice for a second, but he proceeded: "It was to tell you this that I sent -for you. You and I, Caterham, will have to enter upon this subject once more -to-morrow, when some business arrangements have to be made. On all other -occasions, recollect, it is tabooed. Let his name be blotted out from our -memories, and let him be as if he had never lived."</p> -<p>As Earl Beauport ceased speaking he gathered himself together and walked -towards the door, never trusting himself to look for an instant towards where -his wife sat cowering in grief, lest his firmness should desert him. Down the -stairs he went, until entering his library he shut the door behind him, locked -it, and throwing himself into his chair, leant his head on the desk, and -covering it with his hands gave way to a passion of sobs which shook his strong -frame as though he were convulsed. Then rising, he went to the book-case, and -taking out a large volume, opened it, and turned to the page immediately -succeeding the cover. It was a big old-fashioned Bible, bound in calf, with a -hideous ancient woodcut as a frontispiece representing the Adoration of the Wise -Men; but the page to which Lord Beauport turned, yellow with age, was inscribed -in various-coloured inks, many dim and faded, with the names of the old -Brakespere family, and the dates of their births, marriages, and deaths. Old -Martin Brakespere's headed the list; then came his son's, with "created Baron -Beauport" in the lawyer's own skimpy little hand, in which also was entered the -name of the musical-amateur peer, his son; then came George Brakespere's bold -entry of his own name and his wife's, and of the names of their two sons. Over -the last entry Lord Beauport paused for a few minutes, glaring at it with eyes -which did not see it, but which had before them a chubby child, a bright -handsome Eton boy, a dashing guardsman, a "swell" loved and petted by all, a -fugitive skulking in an assumed name in the cabin of a sea-tossed ship; then he -took up a pen and ran it through the entry backwards and forwards until the name -was completely blotted out; and then he fell again into his train of thought. -The family dinner-hour was long since passed; the table was laid, all was ready, -and the French cook and the grave butler were in despair: but Lord Beauport -still sat alone in his library with old Martin Brakespere's Bible open before -him.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> - <h4><a name="div1_04" href="#div1Ref_04">CHAPTER IV</a></h4> -<h5>ON THE DOORSTEP.</h5> -<br> - <p>It is cheap philosophy to moralise on the importance of events led up -to by the merest trifles; but the subject comes so frequently before us as to -furnish innumerable pegs whereon the week-day preacher may hang up his little -garland of reflections, his little wreath of homely truisms. If Ned Waldron had -not been crossing into the Park at the exact moment when the shortsighted -Godalming banker was knocked down by the hansom at the Corner, he would have -still been enjoying eighty pounds a-year as a temporary extra-clerk at -Whitehall, instead of groaning over the villanous extortion of the malt-tax, as -a landed proprietor of some thousands of inherited acres. If Dr. Weston's -red-lamp over the surgery-door had been blown out when the servant rushed off -for medical advice for Master Percy Buckmaster's ear-ache, the eminent -apothecary would never have had the chance of which he so skilfully availed -himself--of paying dutiful attention to Mrs. Buckmaster, and finally stepping -into the shoes of her late husband, the wealthy Indian indigo-planter.</p> -<p>If Geoffrey Ludlow, dashing impetuously onward in his career, had not heard -that long low heart-breaking moan, he might have gone on leading his easy, -shiftless, drifting life, with no break greater than the excitement consequent -on the sale of a picture or the accomplishment of a resolution. But he <i>did</i> -hear it, and, rare thing in him, acting at once on his first impulse, he dropped -on his knees just in time to catch the fainting form in his outstretched arms. -That same instant he would have shrunk back if he could; but it was too late; -that same instant there came across him a horrible feeling of the ludicrousness -of his position: there at midnight in a London thoroughfare holding in his -arms--what! a drunken tramp, perhaps; a vagrant well known to the Mendicity -Society; a gin-sodden streetwalker, who might requite his good Samaritanism with -a leer and a laugh, or an oath and a blow. And yet the groan seemed to come from -the lowest depths of a wrung and suffering heart; and the appearance--no, there -could be no mistake about that. That thin, almost emaciated, figure; those -pinched features; drawn, haggard, colourless cheeks; that brow, half hidden by -the thick, damp, matted hair, yet in its deep lines and indentations revealing -the bitter workings of the mind; the small thin bony hands now hanging flaccid -and motionless--all these, if there were anything real in this life, were -outward semblances such as mere imposters could not have brought forward in the -way of trade.</p> -<p>Not one of them was lost on Geoffrey Ludlow, who, leaning over the prostrate -figure, narrowly scanned its every feature, bent his face towards the mouth, -placed his hands on the heart, and then, thoroughly alarmed, looked round and -called for aid. Perhaps his excitement had something to do with it, but Geoff's -voice fell flat and limp on the thick damp air, and there was no response, -though he shouted again and again. But presently the door whence he had issued -opened widely, and in the midst of a gush of tobacco smoke a man came out, -humming a song, twirling a stick, and striding down the street. Again Geoffrey -Ludlow shouted, and this time with success, for the newcomer stopped suddenly, -took his pipe from his mouth, and turning hist-doo head towards the spot whence -the voice proceeded, he called out, simply but earnestly, "Hallo there! what's -the row?"</p> -<p>Ludlow recognised the speaker at once. It was Charley Potts, and Geoffrey -hailed him by name.</p> -<p>"All right!" said Charley in return. "You've picked up my name fast enough, -my pippin; but that don't go far. Better known than trusted is your obedient -servant, C. P. Hallo, Geoff, old man, is it you? Why, what the deuce have you -got there? an 'omeless poor, that won't move on, or a----- By George, Geoff, -this is a bad case!" He had leant over the girl's prostrate body, and had -rapidly felt her pulse and listened at her heart. "This woman's dying of -inanition and prostration. I know it, for I was in the red-bottle and -Plaster-of-Paris-horse line before I went in for Art. She must be looked to at -once, or she'll slip off the hooks while we're standing by her. You hold on -here, old man, while I run back and fetch the brandy out of Dabb's room; I know -where he keeps it. Chafe her hands, will you, Geoff? I shan't be a second."</p> -<p>Charley Potts rushed off, and left Geoffrey still kneeling by the girl's -side. In obedience to his friend's instructions, he began mechanically to chafe -her thin worn hands; but as he rubbed his own over them to and fro, to and fro, -he peered into her face, and wondered dreamily what kind of eyes were hidden -behind the drooped lids, and what was the colour of the hair hanging in dank -thick masses over the pallid brow. Even now there began to spring in his mind a -feeling of wonder not unmixed with alarm, as to what would be thought of him, -were he discovered in his then position; whether his motives would be rightly -construed; whether he were not acting somewhat indiscreetly in so far committing -himself: for Geoffrey Ludlow had been brought up in the strict school of dire -respectability, where a lively terror of rendering yourself liable to Mrs. -Grundy's remarks is amongst the doctrines most religiously inculcated. But a -glance at the form before him gave him fresh assurance; and when Charley Potts -returned he found his friend rubbing away with all his energy.</p> -<p>"Here it is," said Charley; "Dabb's particular. I know it's first-rate, for -Dabb only keeps it medicinally, taking Sir Felix Booth Bart. as his ordinary -tipple. I know this water-of-life-of-cognac of old, sir, and always have -internal qualms of conscience when I go to see Dabb, which will not be allayed -until I have had what Caniche calls a suspicion. Hold her head for a second, -Geoff, while I put the flask to her mouth. There! Once more, Geoff. Ah! I -thought so. Her pulse is moving now, old fellow, and she'll rouse in a bit; but -it was very nearly a case of Walker."</p> -<p>"Look at her eyes--they're unclosing."</p> -<p>"Not much wonder in that, is there, my boy? though it is odd, perhaps. A -glass of brandy has made many people shut their eyes before now; but as to -opening them--Hallo! steady there!"</p> -<p>He said this as the girl, her eyes glaring straight before her, attempted to -raise herself into an erect position, but after a faint struggle dropped back, -exclaiming feebly:</p> -<p>"I cannot, I cannot."</p> -<p>"Of course you can't, my dear," said Charley Potts, not unkindly; "of course -you can't. You musn't think of attempting it either. I say, Geoff,"--(this was -said in a lower tone)--"look out for the policeman when he comes round, and give -him a hail. Our young friend here must be looked after at once, and he'd better -take her in a cab to the workhouse."</p> -<p>As he said the last words, Geoffrey Ludlow felt the girl's hand which he held -thrill between his, and, bending down, thought he saw her lips move.</p> -<p>"What's the matter?" said Charley Potts.</p> -<p>"It's very strange," replied Geoffrey; "I could swear I heard her say 'Not -there!' and yet--"</p> -<p>"Likely enough been there before, and knows the treatment. However, we must -get her off at once, or she'll go to grief; so let us--"</p> -<p>"Look here, Charley: I don't like the notion of this woman's going to a -workhouse, specially as she seems to--object, eh? Couldn't we--isn't there any -one where we could--where she could lodge for a night or two, until--the doctor, -you know--one might see? Confound it all, Charley, you know I never can explain -exactly; can't you help me, eh?"</p> -<p>"What a stammering old idiot it is!" said Charley Potts, laughing. "Yes, I -see what you mean--there's Flexor's wife lives close by, in Little Flotsam -Street--keeps a lodging-house. If she's not full, this young party can go in -there. She's all right now so far as stepping it is concerned, but she'll want a -deal of looking after yet. O, by Jove! I left Rollit in at the Titians, the -army-doctor, you know, who sketches so well. Let's get her into Flexor's, and -I'll fetch Rollit to look at her. Easy now! Up!"</p> -<p>They raised her to her feet, and half-supported, half-carried her round the -church and across the broad road, and down a little bystreet on the other side. -There Charley Potts stopped at a door, and knocking at it, was soon confronted -by a buxom middle-aged woman, who started with surprise at seeing the group.</p> -<p>"Lor, Mr. Potts! what can have brought you 'ere, sir? Flexor's not come in, -sir, yet--at them nasty Titiums, he is, and joy go with him. If you're wanting -him, sir, you'd better--"</p> -<p>"No, Mrs. Flexor, we don't want your husband just now. Here's Mr. Ludlow, -who--"</p> -<p>"Lord, and so it is! but seeing nothing but the nape of your neck, sir, I did -not recognise--"</p> -<p>"All right, Mrs. Flexor," said Geoffrey; "we want to know if your house is -full. If not, here is a poor woman for whom we--at least Mr. Potts--and I -myself, for the matter of that--"</p> -<p>"Stuttering again, Geoff! What stuff! Here, Mrs. Flexor, we want a room for -this young woman to sleep in; and just help us in with her at once into your -parlour, will you? and let us put her down there while I run round for the -doctor."</p> -<p>It is probable that Mrs. Flexor might have raised objections to this -proposition; but Charley Potts was a favourite with her, and Geoffrey Ludlow was -a certain source of income to her husband; so she stepped back while the men -caught up their burden, who all this time had been resting, half-fainting, on -Geoffrey's shoulder, and carried her into the parlour. Here they placed her in a -big, frayed, ragged easy-chair, with all its cushion-stuffing gone, and palpable -bits of shaggy wool peering through its arms and back; and after dragging this -in front of the expiring fire, and bidding Mrs. Flexor at once prepare some hot -gruel, Charley Potts rushed away to catch Dr. Rollit.</p> -<p>And now Geoffrey Ludlow, left to himself once more (for the girl was lying -back in the chair, still with unclosing eyes, and had apparently relapsed into a -state of stupor), began to turn the events of the past hour in his mind, and to -wonder very much at the position in which he found himself. Here he was in a -room in a house which he had never before entered, shut up with a girl of whose -name or condition he was as yet entirely ignorant, of whose very existence he -had only just known; he, who had always shirked anything which afforded the -smallest chance of adventure, was actually taking part in a romance. And -yet--nonsense! here was a starving wanderer, whom he and his friend had rescued -from the street; an ordinary every-day case, familiar in a thousand phases to -the relieving-officers and the poor-law guardians, who, after her certain -allowance of warmth, and food, and physic, would start off to go--no matter -where, and do--no matter what. And yet he certainly had not been deceived in -thinking of her faint protest when Charley proposed to send her to the -workhouse. She had spoken then; and though the words were so few and the tone so -low, there was something in the latter which suggested education and refinement. -Her hands too, her poor thin hands, were long and well-shaped, with tapering -fingers and filbert-nails, and bore no traces of hard work: and her face--ah, he -should be better able to see her face now.</p> -<p>He turned, and taking the flaring candle from the table, held it above her -head. Her eyes were still closed; but as he moved, they opened wide, and fixed -themselves on him. Such large, deep-violet eyes, with long sweeping lashes! such -a long, solemn, stedfast gaze, in which his own eyes were caught fast, and -remained motionless. Then on to his hand, leaning on the arm of the chair, came -the cold clammy pressure of feeble fingers; and in his ear, bent and listening, -as he saw a fluttering motion of her lips, murmured very feebly the words, -"Bless you!--saved me!" twice repeated. As her breath fanned his cheek, Geoffrey -Ludlow's heart beat fast and audibly, his hand shook beneath the light touch of -the lithe fingers; but the next instant the eyelids dropped, the touch relaxed, -and a tremulousness seized on the ashy lips. Geoffrey glanced at her for an -instant, and was rushing in alarm to the door, when it opened, and Charley Potts -entered, followed by a tall grave man, in a long black beard, whom Potts -introduced as Dr. Rollit.</p> -<p>"You're just in time," said Geoffrey; "I was just going to call for help. -She--"</p> -<p>"Pardon me, please," said the doctor, calmly pushing him on one side. "Permit -me to--ah!" he continued, after a glance--"I must trouble you to leave the room, -Potts, please, and take your friend with you. And just send the woman of the -house to me, will you? There is a woman, I suppose?"</p> -<p>"O yes, there is a woman, of course.--Here, Mrs. Flexor, just step up, will -you?--Now, Geoff, what are you staring at, man? Do you think the doctor's going -to eat the girl? Come on old fellow; we'll sit on the kitchen-stairs, and catch -blackbeetles to pass the time. Come on!"</p> -<p>Geoff roused himself at his friend's touch, and went with him, but in a -dreamy sullen manner. When they got into the passage, he remained with -outstretched ear, listening eagerly; and when Charley spoke, he savagely bade -him hold his tongue. Mr. Potts was so utterly astonished at this conduct, that -he continued staring and motionless, and merely gave vent to his feelings in one -short low whistle. When the door was opened, Geoffrey Ludlow strode down the -passage at once, and confronting the doctor, asked him what news. Dr. Rollit -looked his questioner steadily in the eyes for a moment; and when he spoke his -tone was softer, his manner less abrupt than before. "There is no special -danger, Mr. Ludlow," said he; "though the girl has had a narrow escape. She has -been fighting with cold and want of proper nourishment for days, so far as I can -tell."</p> -<p>"Did she say so?"</p> -<p>"She said nothing; she has not spoken a word." Dr. Rollit did not fail to -notice that here Geoffrey Ludlow gave a sigh of relief. "I but judge from her -appearance and symptoms. I have told this good person what to do; and I will -look round early in the morning. I live close by. Now, goodnight."</p> -<p>"You are sure as to the absence of danger?"</p> -<p>"Certain."</p> -<p>"Goodnight; a thousand thanks!--Mrs. Flexor, mind that your patient has every -thing wanted, and that I settle with you.--Now, Charley, come; what are you -waiting for?"</p> -<p>"Eh?" said Charley. "Well, I thought that, after this little excitement, -perhaps a glass out of that black bottle which I know Mrs. Flexor keeps on the -second shelf in the right-hand cupboard--"</p> -<p>"Get along with you, Mr. Potts!" said Mrs. Flexor, grinning.</p> -<p>"You know you do Mrs. F.--a glass of that might cheer and not -inebriate.--What do you say, Geoff?"</p> -<p>"I say no! You've had quite enough; and all Mrs. Flexor's attention is -required elsewhere.--Goodnight, Mrs. Flexor; and"--by this time they were in the -street--"goodnight, Charley."</p> -<p>Mr. Potts, engaged in extracting a short-pipe from the breast-pocket of his -pea-jacket, looked up with an abstracted air, and said, "I beg your pardon."</p> -<p>"Goodnight, Charley."</p> -<p>"Oh, certainly, if you wish it. Goodnight, Geoffrey Ludlow, Esquire; and -permit me to add, Hey no nonny! Not a very lucid remark, perhaps, but one which -exactly illustrates my state of mind." And Charley Potts filled his pipe, lit -it, and remained leaning against the wall, and smoking with much deliberation -until his friend was out of sight.</p> -<p>Geoffrey Ludlow strode down the street, the pavement ringing under his firm -tread, his head erect, his step elastic, his whole bearing sensibly different -even to himself. As he swung along he tried to examine himself as to what was -the cause of his sudden light-heartedness; and at first he ascribed it to the -sale of his picture, and to the warm promises of support he had received at the -hands of Mr. Stompff. But these, though a few hours since they had really -afforded him the greatest delight, now paled before the transient glance of two -deep-violet eyes, and the scarcely-heard murmur of a feeble voice. "'Bless -you!--saved me!' that's what she said!" exclaimed Geoff, halting for a second -and reflecting. "And then the touch of her hand, and the--ah! Charley was right! -Hey no nonny is the only language for such an ass as I'm making of myself." So -home through the quiet streets, and into his studio, thinking he would smoke one -quiet pipe before turning in. There, restlessness, inability to settle to any -thing, mad desire to sketch a certain face with large eyes, a certain fragile -helpless figure, now prostrate, now half-reclining on a bit of manly shoulder; a -carrying-out of this desire with a bit of crayon on the studio-wall, several -attempts, constant failure, and consequent disgust. A feeling that ought to have -been pleasure, and yet had a strong tinge of pain at his heart, and a constant -ringing of one phrase, "'Bless you!--saved me!" in his ears. So to bed; where he -dreamt he saw his name, Geoffrey Ludlow, in big black letters at the bottom of a -gold frame, the picture in which was Keat's "Lamia;" and lo! the Lamia had the -deep-violet eyes of the wanderer in the streets.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> - <h4><a name="div1_05" href="#div1Ref_05">CHAPTER V.</a></h4> -<h5>THE LETTER.</h5> -<br> - <p>The houses in St. Barnabas Square have an advantage over most other -London residences in the possession of a "third room" on the ground-floor. Most -people who, purposing to change their domicile, have gone in for a study of the -<i>Times</i> Supplement or the mendacious catalogues of house-agents, have read -of the "noble dining-room, snug breakfast-room, and library," and have found the -said breakfast-room to be about the size and depth of a warm-bath, and the -"library" a soul-depressing hole just beyond the glazed top of the -kitchen-stairs, to which are eventually relegated your old boots, the bust of -the friend with whom since he presented it you have had a deadly quarrel, some -odd numbers of magazines, and the framework of a shower-bath which, in a moment -of madness, you bought at a sale and never have been able to fit together.</p> -<p>But the houses in St. Barnabas Square have each, built over what in other -neighbourhoods is called "leads,"--a ghastly space where the cats creep -stealthily about in the daytime, and whence at night they yowl with -preternatural pertinacity,--a fine large room, devoted in most instances to the -purposes of billiards, but at Lord Beauport's given up entirely to Lord -Caterham. It had been selected originally from its situation on the ground-floor -giving the poor crippled lad easy means of exit and entrance, and preventing any -necessity for his being carried--for walking was utterly impossible to him--up -and down stairs. It was <i>his</i> room; and there, and there alone, he was -absolute master; there he was allowed to carry out what his mother spoke of as -his "fads," what his father called "poor Caterham's odd ways." His brother, -Lionel Brakespere, had been in the habit of dropping in there twice or three -times a-week, smoking his cigar, turning over the "rum things" on the table, -asking advice which he never took, and lounging round the room, reading the -backs of the books which he did not understand, and criticising the pictures -which he knew nothing about. It would have been impossible to tell to what -manner of man the room belonged from a cursory survey of its contents. -Three-fourths of the walls were covered with large bookcases filled with a -heterogeneous assemblage of books. Here a row of poets, a big quarto Shakespeare -in six volumes, followed by <i>Youatt on the Horse, Philip Van Artevelde</i>, -and Stanhope's <i>Christian Martyr</i>. In the next shelf Voltaire, all the -Tennysons, <i>Mr. Sponge's Sporting-Tour</i>, a work on Farriery, and <i>Blunt -on the Pentateuch</i>. So the -<i>mélange</i> ran throughout the bookshelves; and on the fourth wall, where -hung the pictures, it was not much better. For in the centre were Landseer's -"Midsummer-Night's Dream," where that lovely Titania, unfairy-like if you -please, but one of the most glorious specimens of pictured womanhood, pillows -her fair face under the shadow of that magnificent ass's head; and Frith's -"Coming of Age," and Delaroche's "Execution of Lady Jane Grey," and three or -four splendid proof-engravings of untouchable Sir Joshua; and among them, dotted -here and there, hunting-sketches by Alken, and coaching bits from Fores. -Scattered about on tables were pieces of lava from Vesuvius, photographs from -Pompeii, a collection of weeds and grasses from the Arctic regions (all duly -labelled in the most precise handwriting), a horse's shoe specially adapted for -ice-travelling, specimens of egg-shell china, a box of gleaming carpenter's -tools, boxes of Tunbridge ware, furs of Indian manufacture, caricature -statuettes by Danton, a case of shells, and another of geological specimens. -Here stood an easel bearing a half-finished picture, in one corner was a sheaf -of walking-sticks, against the wall a rack of whips. Before the fire was a -carved-oak writing-desk, and on it, beside the ordinary blotting and writing -materials, wee an aneroid barometer, a small skeleton clock, and a silver -handbell. And at it sat Viscount Caterham, his head drooping, his face pale, his -hands idly clasped before him.</p> -<p>Not an unusual position this with him, not unusual by any means when he was -alone. In such society as he forced himself to keep--for with him it was more -than effort to determine occasionally to shake off his love of solitude, to be -present amongst his father's guests, and to receive some few special favourites -in his own rooms--he was more than pleasant, he was brilliant and amusing. Big, -heavy, good-natured guardsmen, who had contributed nothing to the "go" of the -evening, and had nearly tugged off their tawny beards in the vain endeavour to -extract something to say, would go away, and growl in deep bas voices over their -cigars about "that strordinary fler Caterham. Knows a lot, you know, that f'ler, -'bout all sorts things. Can't 'ceive where picks it all up; and as jolly as old -boots, by Jove!"</p> -<p>Old friends of Lord Beauport's, now gradually dropping into fogiedom, and -clutching year by 672 year more tightly the conventional prejudices instilled -into them in early life, listened with elevated eyebrows and dropping jaws to -Lord Caterham's outspoken opinions, now clothed in brilliant tropes, now -crackling with smart antithesis, but always fresh, earnest, liberal, and -vigorous; and when they talked him over in club-windows, these old boys would -say that "there was something in that deformed fellow of Beauport's, but that he -was all wrong; his mind as warped as his body, by George!" And women,--ah, that -was the worst of all,--women would sit and listen to him on such rare occasions -as he spoke before them, sit many of them steadfast-eyed and ear-attentive, and -would give him smiles and encouraging glances, and then would float away and -talk to their next dancing-partner of the strange little man who had such odd -ideas, and spoke so--so unlike most people, you know.</p> -<p>He knew it all, this fragile, colourless, delicate cripple, bound for life to -his wheelchair, dependent for mere motion on the assistance of others; a -something apart and almost without parallel, helpless as a little child, and yet -with the brain, the heart, the passions of a man. No keener observer of outward -show, no clearer reader of character than he. From out his deep-set melancholy -eyes he saw the stare of astonishment, sometimes the look of disgust, which -usually marked a first introduction to him; his quick ear caught the would-be -compassionate inflection of the voice addressing him on the simplest matters; he -knew what the old fogies were thinking of as they shifted uneasily in their -chairs as he spoke; and he interpreted clearly enough the straying glances and -occasional interjections of the women. He knew it all, and bore it--bore it as -the cross is rarely borne.</p> -<p>Only three times in his life had there gone up from his lips a wail to the -Father of mercies, a passionate outpouring of his heart, a wild inquiry as to -why such affliction had been cast upon him. But three times, and the first of -these was when he was a lad of eighteen. Lord Beauport had been educated at -Charterhouse, where, as every one knows, Founder's Day is kept with annual -rejoicings. To one of these celebrations Lord Beauport had gone, taking Lord -Caterham with him. The speeches and recitations were over, and the crowd of -spectators were filing out into the quadrangle, when Lord Caterham, whose chair -was being wheeled by a servant close by his father's side, heard a cheery voice -say, "What, Brakespere! Gad, Lord Beauport, I mean! I forgot. Well, how are you, -my dear fellow? I haven't seen you since we sat on the same form in that old -place." Lord Caterham looked up and saw his father shaking hands with a -jolly-looking middle-aged man, who rattled on--"Well, and you've been in luck -and are a great gun! I'm delighted to hear it. You're just the fellow to bear -your honours bravely. O yes, I'm wonderfully well, thank God. And I've got my -boy here at the old shop, doing just as we used to do, Brakespere--Beauport, I -mean. I'll introduce you. Here, Charley!" calling to him a fine handsome lad; -"this is Lord Beauport, an old schoolfellow of mine. And you, Beauport,--you've -got children, eh?"</p> -<p>"O yes," said Lord Beauport--"two boys."</p> -<p>"Ah! that's right. I wish they'd been here; I should have liked to have seen -them." The man rattled on, but Lord Caterham heard no more. He had heard enough. -He knew that his father was ashamed to acknowledge his maimed and crippled -child--ashamed of a comparison between the stalwart son of his old schoolfellow -and his own blighted lad; and that night Lord Caterham's pillow was wet with -tears, and he prayed to God that his life might be taken from him.</p> -<p>Twice since then the same feelings had been violently excited; but the sense -of his position, the knowledge that he was a perpetual grief and affliction to -his parents, was ever present, and pervaded his very being. To tell truth, -neither his father nor his mother ever outwardly manifested their disappointment -or their sorrow at the hopeless physical state of their firstborn son; but Lord -Caterham read his father's trouble in thousands of covert glances thrown towards -the occupant of the wheeled chair, which the elder man thought were all -unmarked, in short self-suppressed sighs, in sudden shiftings of the -conversation when any subject involving a question of physical activity or -muscular force happened to be touched upon, in the persistent way in which his -father excluded him from those regular solemn festivities of the season, held at -certain special times, and at which he by right should certainly have been -present.</p> -<p>No man knew better than Lord Beauport the horrible injustice he was -committing; he felt that he was mutely rebelling against the decrees of -Providence, and adding to the affliction already mysteriously dispensed to his -unfortunate son by his treatment. He fought against it, but without avail; he -could not bow his head and kiss the rod by which he had been smitten. Had his -heir been brainless, dissipated, even bad, he could have forgiven him. He did in -his heart forgive his second son when he became all three; but that he, George -Brakespere, handsome Brakespere, one of the best athletes of the day, should -have to own that poor misshapen man as his son and heir!--it was too much. He -tried to persuade himself that he loved his son; but he never looked at him -without a shudder, never spoke of him with unflushed cheeks.</p> -<p>As for Lady Beauport, from the time that the child's malady first was -proclaimed incurable, she never took the smallest interest in him, but devoted -herself, as much as devotion was compatible with perpetual attendance at ball, -concert, and theatre, to her second son. As a child, Lord Caterham had, by her -express commands, been studiously kept out of her sight; and now that he was a -man, she saw very much less of him than of many strangers. A dozen times in the -year she would enter his room and remain a few minutes, asking for his taste in -a matter of fancy-costume, or something of the kind; and then she would brush -his forehead with her lips, and rustle away perfectly satisfied with her manner -of discharging the duties of maternity.</p> -<p>And Lord Caterham knew all this; read it as in a book; and suffered, and was -strong. Who know most of life, discern character most readily, and read it most -deeply? We who what we call "mix in the world," hurry hither and thither, -buffeting our way through friends and foes, taking the rough and the smooth, -smiling here, frowning there, but ever pushing onward? Or the quiet ones, who -lie by in the nooks and lanes, and look on at the strife, and mark the quality -and effect of the blows struck; who see not merely how, but why the battle has -been undertaken; who can trace the strong and weak points of the attack and -defence, see the skirmishers thrown out here, the feigned retreat there, the -mine ready prepared in the far distance? How many years had that crippled man -looked on at life, standing as it were at the gates and peering in at the antics -and dalliances, the bowings and scrapings, the mad moppings and idiotic mowings -of the puppets performing? And had he not arrived during this period at a -perfect knowledge of how the wires were pulled, and what was the result?</p> -<p>Among them but not of them, in the midst of the whirl of London but as -isolated as a hermit, with keen analytical powers, and leisure and opportunity -to give them full swing, Lord Caterham passed his life in studying the lives of -other people, in taking off the padding and the drapery, the paint and the -tinsel, in looking behind the grins, and studying the motives for the sneers. -Ah, what a life for a man to pass! situated as Lord Caterham was, he must under -such circumstances have become either a Quilp or an angel. The natural tendency -is to the former: but Providence had been kind in one instance to Lord Caterham, -and he, like Mr. Disraeli, went in for the angel.</p> -<p>His flow of spirits was generally, to say the least of it, equable. When the -dark hour was on him he suffered dreadfully; but this morning he was more than -usually low, for he had been pondering over his brother's insane downfall, and -it was with something like real pleasure that he heard his servant announce "Mr. -Barford," and gave orders for that gentleman's admittance.</p> -<p>The Honourable Algernon Barford by prescriptive right, but "Algy Barford" to -any one after two days' acquaintance with him, was one of those men whom it is -impossible not to call by their Christian names; whom it is impossible not to -like as an acquaintance; whom it is difficult to take into intimate friendship; -but with whom no one ever quarrelled. A big, broad-chested, broad-faced, -light-whiskered man, perfectly dressed, with an easy rolling walk, a pleasant -presence, a way of enarming and "old boy-ing" you, without the least appearance -of undue familiarity; on the contrary, with a sense of real delight in your -society; with a voice which, without being in the least affected, or in the -remotest degree resembling the tone of the stage-nobleman, had the real swell -ring and roll in it; a kindly, sunny, chirpy, world-citizen, who, with what was -supposed to be a very small income, lived in the best society, never borrowed or -owed a sovereign, and was nearly always in good temper. Algy Barford was the -very man to visit you when you were out of spirits. A glance at him was -cheering; it revived one at once to look at his shiny bald forehead fringed with -thin golden hair, at his saucy blue eyes, his big grinning mouth furnished with -sparkling teeth; and when he spoke, his voice came ringing out with a cheery -music of its own.</p> -<p>"Hallo, Caterham!" said he, coming up to the chair and placing one of his big -hands on the occupant's small shoulder; "how goes it, my boy? Wanted to see you, -and have a chat. How are you, old fellow, eh? Where does one put one's hat, by -the way, dear old boy? Can't put it under my seat, you know, or I should think I -was in church; and there's no place in this den of yours; and--ah, that'll do, -on that lady's head. Who is it? O, Pallas Athené; ah, very well then, <i>non -invitâ Minervâ</i>, she'll support my castor for me. Fancy my recollecting -Latin, eh? but I think I must have seen it on somebody's crest. Well, and now, -old boy, how are you?"</p> -<p>"Well, not very brilliant this morning, Algy. I--"</p> -<p>"Ah, like me, got rats, haven't you?"</p> -<p>"Rats?"</p> -<p>"Yes; whenever I'm out of spirits I think I've got rats--sometimes boiled -rats. Oh, it's all very well for you to laugh, Caterham; but you know, though -I'm generally pretty jolly, sometimes I have a regular file-gnawing time of it. -I think I'll take a peg, dear old boy--a sherry peg--just to keep me up."</p> -<p>"To be sure. Just ring for Stevens, will you? he'll--"</p> -<p>"Not at all; I recollect where the sherry is and where the glasses live. -<i>Nourri dans le sérail, j'en connais les detours</i>. Here they are. Have a -peg, Caterham?"</p> -<p>"No, thanks, Algy; the doctor forbids me that sort of thing. I take no -exercise to carry it off, you know; but I thought some one told me you had -turned teetotaller."</p> -<p>"Gad, how extraordinarily things get wind, don't you know! So I did, -honour!--kept to it all strictly, give you my word, for--ay, for a fortnight; -but then I thought I might as well die a natural death, so I took to it again. -This is the second peg I've had to-day--took number one at the Foreign Office, -with my cousin Jack Lambert. You know Jack?--little fellow, short and dirty, -like a winter's day."</p> -<p>"I know him," said Caterham, smiling; "a sharp fellow."</p> -<p>"O yes, deuced cute little dog--knows every thing. I wanted him to recommend -me a new servant--obliged to send my man away--couldn't stand him any -longer--always worrying me."</p> -<p>"I thought he was a capital servant?"</p> -<p>"Ye-es; knew too much though, and went to too many evening-parties--never -would give me a chance of wearing my own black bags and dress-boots--kept 'em in -constant requisition, by Jove! A greedy fellow too. I used to let him get just -outside the door with the breakfast-things, and then suddenly call him back; and -he never showed up without his mouth full of kidney, or whatever it was. And he -always would read my letters--before I'd done with them, I mean. I'm -shortsighted, you know, and obliged to get close to the light: he was in such a -hurry to find out what they were about, that he used to peep in through the -window, and read them over my shoulder. I found this out; and this morning I was -ready for him with my fist neatly doubled-up in a thick towel. I saw his shadow -come stealing across the paper, and then I turned round and let out at him slap -through the glass. It was a gentle hint that I had spotted his game; and so he -came in when he had got his face right, and begged me to suit myself in a month, -as he had heard of a place which he thought he should like better. Now, can you -tell me of any handy fellow, Caterham?"</p> -<p>"Not I; I'm all unlikely to know of such people. Stay, there was a man -that--"</p> -<p>"Yes; and then you stop. Gad, you are like the rest of the world, old fellow: -you have an <i>arrière pensée</i> which prevents your telling a fellow a good -thing."</p> -<p>"No, not that, Algy. I was going to say that there was a man who was Lionel's -servant. I don't know whether he has got another place; but Lionel, you know--" -and Lord Caterham stopped with a knot in his throat and burning cheeks.</p> -<p>"I know, dear old boy," said Algy Barford, rising from his seat and again -placing his hand on Caterham's shoulder; "of course I know. You're too much a -man of the world"--(Heaven help us! Caterham a man of the world! But this was -Algy Barford's pleasant way of putting it)--"not to know that the clubs rang -with the whole story last night. Don't shrink, old boy. It's a bad business; but -I never heard such tremendous sympathy expressed for a--for a buffer--as for -Lionel. Every body says he must have been no end cornered before he--before -he--well, there's no use talking of it. But what I wanted to say to you is -this,--and I'm deuced glad you mentioned Lionel's name, old fellow, for I've -been thinking all the time I've been here how I could bring it in. Look here! he -and I were no end chums, you know; I was much older than he; but we took to each -other like any thing, and--and I got a letter from him from Liverpool with--with -an enclosure for you, old boy."</p> -<p>Algy Barford unbuttoned his coat as he said these last words, took a long -breath, and seemed immensely relieved, though he still looked anxiously towards -his friend.</p> -<p>"An enclosure for me?" said Lord Caterham, turning deadly white; "no further -trouble--no further misery for--"</p> -<p>"On my honour, Caterham, I don't know what it is," said Algy Barford; "he -doesn't hint it in his letter to me. He simply says, 'Let the enclosed be given -to Caterham, and given by your own hand.' He underlines that last sentence; and -so I brought it on. I'm a bungling jackass, or I should have found means to -explain it myself, by Jove! But as you have helped me, so much the better."</p> -<p>"Have you it with you?"</p> -<p>"O yes; brought it on purpose," said Algy, rising and taking his coat from a -chair, and his hat from the head of Pallas Athené; "here it is. I don't suppose -anything from poor Lionel can be very brilliant just now; but still, I know -nothing. Goodby, Caterham, old fellow; can't help me to a servant-man, eh? See -you next week; meantime,--and this earnest, old boy,--if there's anything I can -do to help Lionel in any shape, you'll let me know, won't you, old fellow?"</p> -<p>And Algy Barford handed Lord Caterham the letter, kissed his hand, and -departed in his usual airy, cheery fashion.</p> -<p>That night Lord Caterham did not appear at the dinner-table; and his servant, -on being asked, said that his master "had been more than usual queer-like," and -had gone to bed very early.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> - <h4><a name="div1_06" href="#div1Ref_06">CHAPTER VI.</a></h4> -<h5>THE FIRST VISIT.</h5> -<br> - <p>Geoffrey Ludlow was in his way a recognisant and a grateful man, -grateful for such mercies as he knew he enjoyed; but from never having -experienced its loss, he was not sufficiently appreciative of one of the -greatest of life's blessings, the faculty of sleep at will. He could have slept, -had he so willed it, under the tremendous cannonading, the <i>feu-d'enfer</i>, -before Sebastopol, or while Mr. Gladstone was speaking his best speech, or Mr. -Tennyson was reading aloud his own poetry; whenever and wherever he chose he -could sleep the calm peaceful sleep of an infant. Some people tell you they are -too tired to sleep--that was never the case with Geoffrey; others that their -minds are too full, that they are too excited, that the weather is too hot or -too cold, that there is too much noise, or that the very silence is too -oppressive. But, excited or comatose, hot or cold, in the rumble of London -streets or the dead silence of--well, he had never tried the Desert, but let us -say Walton-on-the-Naze, Geoffrey Ludlow no sooner laid his head on the pillow -than he went off into a sound, glorious, healthy sleep--steady, calm, and -peaceful; not one of your stertorous, heavy, growling slumbers, nor your -starting, fly-catching, open-mouthed, moaning states, but a placid, regular -sleep, so quiet and undisturbed that he scarcely seemed to breathe; and often as -a child had caused his mother to examine with anxiety whether the motionless -figure stretched upon the little bed was only sleeping naturally, or whether the -last long sleep had not fallen on it.</p> -<p>Dreams he had, no doubt; but they by no means disturbed the refreshing, -invigorating character of his repose. On the night of his adventure in the -streets, he dreamt the Lamia dream without its in the least affecting his -slumber; and when he opened his eyes the next morning, with the recollection of -where he was, and what day it was, and what he had to do--those post-waking -thoughts which come to all of us--there came upon him an indefinable sensation -of something pleasurable and happy, of something bright and sunshiny, of -something which made his heart feel light within him, and caused him to open his -eyes and grapple with the day at once.</p> -<p>Some one surely must long ere this have remarked how our manner of waking -from slumber is affected by our state of mind. The instant that consciousness -comes upon us, the dominant object of our thoughts, be it pleasant or horrible, -is before us: the absurd quarrel with the man in the black beard last night, -about--what <i>was</i> it about? the acceptance which Smith holds, which must be -met, and can't be renewed; the proposal in the conservatory to Emily Fairbairn, -while she was flushed with the first <i>valse</i> after supper, and we with Mrs. -Tresillian's champagne;--or, <i>per contra</i>, as they say in the City, the -thrilling pressure of Flora Maitland's hand, and the low whisper in which she -gave us rendezvous at the Botanical Fête this afternoon the lawyer's letter -informing us of our godfather's handsome legacy;--all these, whether for good or -ill, come before us with the first unclosing of our eyelids. If agreeable we -rouse ourselves at once, and lie simultaneously chewing the cud of pleasant -thoughts and enjoying the calm haven of our bed; if objectionable, we try and -shut them out yet for a little while, and turning round court sleep once more.</p> -<p>What was the first thought that flashed across Geoffrey Ludlow's brain -immediately on his waking, and filled him with hope and joy? Not the remembrance -of the purchase of his picture by Mr. Stompff, though that certainly occurred to -him, with Stompff's promises of future employment, and the kind words of his old -friends at the Titians, all floating simultaneously across his mind. But with -these thoughts came the recollection of a fragile form, and a thin hand with -long lithe fingers wound round his own, and a low feeble voice whispering the -words "Bless you!--saved me!" in his listening ear.</p> -<p>Beneath the flickering gas-lamps, or in the dim half-light of Mrs. Flexor's -room, he had been unable to make out the colour of the eyes, or of the thick -hair which hung in heavy masses over her cheeks; it was a spiritual recollection -of her at the best; but he would soon change that into a material inspection. -So, after settling in his own mind--that mind which coincides so readily with -our wishes--that it was benevolence which prompted his every action, and which -roused in him the desire to know how the patient of the previous night was -getting on, he sprang from his bed, and pulled the string of his shower-bath -with an energy which not even the knowledge of the water's probable temperature -could mitigate. But he had not proceeded half-way through his toilet, when the -old spirit of irresolution began to exercise its dominion over him. Was it not -somewhat of a Quixotic adventure in which he was engaging? To succour a starving -frozen girl on a wet night was merely charitable and humane; there was no man of -anything like decent feeling but would have acted as he had done, and--by -George!--here the hair-brushes were suspended in mid-air, just threatening a -descent one on either side of his bushy head--wouldn't it have been better to -have accepted Charley Pott's suggestion, and let the policeman take her to the -workhouse? There she would have had every attention and--bah! every attention! -the truckle-bed in a gaunt bare room, surrounded by disease in every shape; the -perfunctory visits of the parish-doctor; the--O no! and, moreover, had he not -heard, or at all events imagined he heard, the pallid lips mutter "Not there!" -No! there was something in her which--which--at all events--well, <i>ruat caelum</i>, -it was done, and he must take the consequences; and down came the two -hair-brushes like two avalanches, and worried his unresisting scalp like two -steam-harrows. The recollection of the fragile frame, and the thin hands, and -the broken voice, supported by the benevolent theory, had it all their own way -from that time out, until he had finished dressing, and sent him downstairs in a -happy mood, pleased with what he had done, more pleased still with the notion of -what he was about to do. He entered the room briskly, and striding up to an old -lady sitting at the head of the breakfast-table, gave her a sounding kiss.</p> -<p>"Goodmorning, dearest mother.--How do, Til, dear?" turning to a young woman -who was engaged in pouring out the tea. "I'm late again, I see."</p> -<p>"Always on sausage mornings, I notice, Geoffrey," said Mrs. Ludlow, with a -little asperity. "It does not so much matter with haddock, though it becomes -leathery; or eggs, for you like them hard; but sausages should be eaten hot, or -not at all; and to-day, when I'd sent specially for these, knowing that nasty -herb-stuffing is indigestible--let them deny it if they can--it does seem hard -that--well, never mind--"</p> -<p>Mrs. Ludlow was a very good old lady, with one great failing: she was under -the notion that she had to bear what she called "a cross," a most uncomfortable -typical object, which caused all her friends the greatest annoyance, but in -which, though outwardly mournful, she secretly rejoiced, as giving her a -peculiar status in her circle. This cross intruded itself into all the social -and domestic details of her life, and was lugged out metaphorically on all -possible occasions.</p> -<p>"Don't mind me, mother," said Geoff; "the sausages will do splendidly. I -overslept myself; I was a little late last night."</p> -<p>"O, at those everlasting Titians.--I declare I forgot," said the young woman -who had been addressed as "Til," and who was Geoffrey's only sister. "Ah, poor -fellow! studying his art till two this morning, wasn't he?" And Miss Til made a -comic sympathetic <i>moue</i>, which made Geoff laugh.</p> -<p>"Two!" said Mrs. Ludlow; "nearer three, Matilda. I ought to know, for I had -water running down my back all night, and my feet as cold as stone; and I had a -perfect recollection of having left the key of the linen closet in the door, -owing to my having been hurried down to luncheon yesterday when I was giving -Martha out the clean pillowcases. However, if burglars do break into that -linen-closet, it won't be for my not having mentioned it, as I call you to -witness, Matilda."</p> -<p>"All right, mother," said Geoffrey; "we'll run the risk of that. I'm very -sorry I disturbed the house, but I <i>was</i> late, I confess; but I did some -good, though."</p> -<p>"O yes, Geoffrey, we know," said Matilda. "Got some new notions for a -subject, or heard some aesthetic criticism; or met some wonderful lion, who's -going to astonish the world, and of whom no one ever hears again! You always -have done something extraordinary when you're out very late, I find."</p> -<p>"Well, I did something really extraordinary last night. I sold my picture the -'Ballroom,' you know; and for what do you think?--two hundred pounds."</p> -<p>"O, Geoff, you dear, darling old Geoff! I am so glad! Two hundred pounds! O, -Geoff, Geoff! You dear, lucky old fellow!" and Miss Till flung her arms round -her brother's neck and hugged him with delight. Mrs. Ludlow said never a word; -but her cross melted away momentarily, her eyes filled with tears, and her lips -quivered. Geoffrey noticed this, and so soon as he had returned his sister's -hearty embrace, he went up to his mother, and kneeling by her side, put up his -face for her kiss.</p> -<p>"God bless you, my son!" said the old lady reverently, as she gave it; "God -bless you! This is brave news, indeed. I knew it would come in time; but--"</p> -<p>"Yes; but tell us all about it, Geoff. How did it come about? and however did -you pluck up courage, you dear, bashful, nervous old thing, to ask such a -price?"</p> -<p>"I--why, Til, you know that I--and you, dear mother, you know too that--not -that I am bashful, as Til says; but still there's something. O, I should never -have sold the picture, I believe, if I'd been let alone. It was Charley Potts -sold it for me."</p> -<p>"Charles Potts! That ridiculous young man! Well, I should never have thought -it," said Mrs. Ludlow.</p> -<p>Miss Matilda said nothing, but a faint flush rose on her neck and cheeks, and -died away again as quickly as it came.</p> -<p>"O, he's a capital man of business--for anybody else, that's to say. He don't -do much good for himself. He sold the picture for me, and prevented my saying a -word in the whole affair. And who do you think has bought it? Mr. Stompff, the -great dealer, who tells me he'll take as many more of the same style as I like -to paint."</p> -<p>"This is great news, indeed, my boy," said the old lady. "You've only to -persevere, and your fortune's made. Only one thing, Geoffrey,--never paint on -Sunday, or you'll never become a great man."</p> -<p>"Well but, mother," said Geoff, smiling, "Sir Joshua Reynolds painted always -on Sundays until Johnson's death and he was a great man."</p> -<p>"Ah, well, my dear," replied his mother forcibly, if not logically, "that's -nothing to do with it."</p> -<p>Then Geoffrey, who had been hurrying through his sausage, and towards the -last began to grow nervous and fidgety--accounted for by his mother and sister -from his anxiety to go and see Mr. Stompff, and at once fling himself on to -fresh canvases--finished his breakfast, and went out to get his hat. Mrs. -Ludlow, with her "cross" rapidly coming upon her, sat down to "do the -books,"--an inspection of the household brigade of tradesmen's accounts which -she carried on weekly with the sternest rigour; and Matilda, who was by no means -either a romantic or a strong-minded woman commenced to darn a basketful of -Geoffrey's socks. Then the sock-destroyer put his head in at the door, his mouth -ornamented with a large cigar, and calling out "Goodbye," departed on his way.</p> -<p>The fragile form, the thin hands, and the soft low voice had it all their own -way with Geoffrey Ludlow now. He was going to see their owner; in less than an -hour he should know the colour of the eyes and the hair; and figuratively -Geoffrey walked upon air; literally, he strode along with bright eyes and -flushed cheeks, swinging his stick, and, but for the necessity of clenching his -cigar between his teeth, inclined to hum a tune aloud. He scarcely noticed any -of the people he met; but such as he did casually glance at he pitied from the -bottom of his soul: there were no thin hands or soft voices waiting for them. -And it must be owned that the passers-by who noticed him returned his pity. The -clerks on the omnibuses, sucking solemnly at their briar-root pipes, or immersed -in their newspapers, solemn staid men going in "to business," on their regular -daily routine, looked up with wonder on this buoyant figure, with its black -wideawake hat and long floating beard, its jerky walk, its swinging stick, and -its general air of light-hearted happiness. The cynical clerks, men with large -families, whom nothing but an increase of salary could rouse, interchanged -shoulder-shrugs of contempt, and the omnibus-conductor, likewise a cynic, after -taking a long stare at Geoffrey, called out to his driver, "'Appy cove that! -looks as if he'd found a fourpennypiece, don't he?"</p> -<p>Entirely ignorant of the attention he was attracting, Geoff blithely pursued -his way. He lived at Brompton, and he was bound for the neighbourhood of -Portland Place; so he turned in at the Albert Gate, and crossing the enclosure -and the Row, made for Grosvenor Gate. In the Park he was equally the object of -remark: the nurse-girls called their charges to come "to heel" out of the way of -that "nasty ugly big man;" the valetudinarians taking their constitutional in -the Row loathed him for swinging his stick and making their horses shy as he -passed; the park-keepers watched him narrowly, as one probably with felonious -intent to the plants or the ducks.</p> -<p>Still, utterly unconscious, Geoffrey went swinging along across Grosvenor -Square, down Brook Street; and not until he turned into Bond Street did he begin -to realise entirely the step he was about to take. Then he wavered, in mind and -in gait; he thought he would turn back: he did turn back, irresolute, doubtful. -Better have nothing more to do with it; nip it in the bud; send Charley Potts -with a couple of sovereigns to Mrs. Flexor's, and tell her to set the girl on -her way again, and wish her God-speed. But what if she were still ill, unable to -move? people didn't gain sufficient strength in twelve hours; and Charley, -though kind-hearted, was rather <i>brusque</i>; and then the low voice, with the -"Bless you!--saved me!" came murmuring in his ear; and Geoffrey, like -Whittington, turned again, and strode on towards Little Flotsam Street.</p> -<p>When he got near Flexor's door, he faltered again, and very nearly gave in: -but looking up, saw Mrs. Flexor standing on the pavement; and perceiving by her -manner that his advent had been noticed, proceeded, and was soon alongside that -matron.</p> -<p>"Good morning, Mrs. Flexor."</p> -<p>"Good momin', sir; thought you'd be over early, though not lookin' for you -now, but for Reg'las, my youngest plague, so called after Mr. Scumble's Wictory -of the Carthageniums, who has gone for milk for some posset for our dear; who is -much better this momin', the Lord a mussy! Dr. Rollix have been, and says we may -sit up a little, if taking nourishment prescribed; and pleased to see you we -shall be. A pretty creetur, Mr. Ludlow, though thin as thin and low as low: but -what can we expect?"</p> -<p>"She is better, then?"</p> -<p>"A deal better, more herself like; though not knowing what she was before, I -can't exactly say. Flexor was fine and buffy when he came home last night, after -you was gone, sir. Them nasty Titiums, he always gets upset there. And now he's -gone to sit to Mr. Potts for--ah, well, some Roman party whose name I never can -remember."</p> -<p>"Is your patient up, Mrs. Flexor?"</p> -<p>"Gettin'. We shall be ready to see you in five minutes, sir. I'll go and see -to her at once."</p> -<p>Mrs. Flexor retired, and Geoffrey was left to himself for a quarter of an -hour standing in the street, during which time he amused himself as most people -would under similar circumstances. That is to say, he stared at the houses -opposite and at the people who passed; and then he beat his stick against his -leg, and then he whistled a tune, and then, having looked at his watch five -times, he looked at it for the sixth. Then he walked up the street, taking care -to place his foot on the round iron of every coal-shoot; and then he walked down -the street, carrying out a determination to step in the exact centre of every -flagstone; and then, after he had pulled his beard a dozen times, and lifted his -wideawake hat as many, that the air might blow upon his hot forehead, he saw -Mrs. Flexor's head protrude from the doorway, and he felt very much inclined to -run away. But he checked himself in time, and entered the house, and, after a -ghostly admonition from Mrs. Flexor "not to hagitate her," he opened the -parlour-door, which Mrs. Flexor duly shut behind him, and entered the room.</p> -<p>Little light ever groped its way between the closely-packed rows of houses in -Little Flotsam Street, even on the brightest summer day; and on a dark and -dreary winter's morning Mrs. Flexor's little front parlour was horribly dark. -The worthy landlady had some wild notion, whence derived no one knew, that an -immense amount of gentility was derived from keeping the light out; and -consequently the bottom parts of her windows were fitted with dwarf wire-blinds, -and the top parts with long linen-blinds, and across both were drawn curtains -made of a kind of white fishing-net; so that even so little daylight as Little -Flotsam Street enjoyed was greatly diluted in the Flexorian establishment.</p> -<p>But Geoffrey Ludlow saw stretched out on a miserable black horsehair sofa -before him there this fragile form which had been haunting his brain for the -last twelve hours. Ah, how thin and fragile it was; how small it looked, even -in, its worn draggled black-merino dress! As he advanced noiselessly, he saw -that the patient slept; her head was thrown back, her delicate white hands (and -almost involuntarily Geoffrey remarked that she wore no wedding-ring) were -clasped across her breast, and her hair, put off her dead-white face, fell in -thick clusters over her shoulders.</p> -<p>With a professional eye Geoffrey saw at once that whatever trouble she might -have taken, she could not have been more artistically posed than in this natural -attitude. The expression of her eyes was wanting; and, as he sunk into a chair -at her feet, her eyes opened upon him. Then he saw her face in its entirety; saw -large deep-violet eyes, with dark lashes and eyebrows; a thin, slightly aquiline -nose; small thin close lips, and a little chin; a complexion of the deadest -white, without the smallest colour and hair, long thick rich luxuriant hair, of -a deep, red-god colour--not the poetic "auburn," not the vulgar "carrots;" a -rich metallic red, unmistakable, admitting of no compromise, no darkening by -grease or confining by fixature--a great mass of deep-red hair, strange, weird, -and oddly beautiful. The deep-violet eyes, opening slowly, fixed their regard on -his face without a tremor, and with a somewhat languid gaze; then brightening -slowly, while the hands were unclasped, and the voice--how well Geoff remembered -its tones, and how they thrilled him again!--murmured faintly, "It is you!"</p> -<p>What is that wonderful something in the human voice which at once proclaims -the social status of the speaker? The proletary and the <i>roturier</i>, Nature -willing, can have as good features, grow as flowing beards, be as good in -stature, grace, and agility, as the noblest patrician, or the man in whose veins -flows the purest <i>sangre azul</i>; but they fail generally in hands, always in -voice. Geoffrey Ludlow, all his weakness and irresolution notwithstanding, was -necessarily by his art a student of life and character; and no sooner did he -hear those three little words spoken in that tone, than all his floating ideas -of shamming tramp or hypocritical streetwalker, as connected with the recipient -of his last night's charity, died away, and he recognised at once the soft -modulations of education, if not of birth.</p> -<p>But those three words, spoken in deep low quivering tones, while they set the -blood dancing in Geoffrey Ludlow's veins, made him at the same time very -uncomfortable. He had a dread of anything romantic; and there flashed through -his mind an idea that he could only answer this remark by exclaiming, "Tis I!" -or "Ay, indeed!" or something else equally absurd and ridiculous. So he -contented himself with bowing his head and putting out his hand--into which the -long lithe fingers came fluttering instantly. Then with burning cheeks Geoffrey -bent forward, and said, "You are better to-day?"</p> -<p>"Oh, so much--so much better! thanks to you, thanks to you!"</p> -<p>"Your doctor has been?" She bowed her head in reply.</p> -<p>"And you have everything you wish for?" She bowed again, this time glancing -up--with, O, such a light in the deep-violet eyes--into Geoffrey's face!</p> -<p>"Then--then I will leave you now," said he, awkwardly enough. The glance fell -as he said this; but flashed again full and earnest in an instant; the lithe -fingers wound round his wrist, and the voice, even lower and more tremulously -than before, whispered, "You'll come to-morrow?"</p> -<p>Geoff flushed again, stammered, "Yes, O, by all means!" made a clumsy bow, -and went out.</p> -<p>Now this was a short, and not a particularly satisfactory, interview; but the -smallest detail of it remained in Geoffrey Ludlow's mind, and was reproduced -throughout the remainder of that day and the first portion of the succeeding -night, for him to ponder over. He felt the clasp of her fingers yet on his -wrist, and he heard the soft voice, "You'll come to-morrow?" It must be a long -distance, he thought, that he would not go to gaze into those eyes, to touch -that hand, to hear that voice again!</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> - <h4><a name="div1_07" href="#div1Ref_07">CHAPTER VII.</a></h4> -<h5>CHEZ POTTS.</h5> -<br> - <p>Mr. Potts lived in Berners Street, on the second floor of a rambling -big old-fashioned house, which in its palmy days had been inhabited by people of -distinction; and in which it was rumoured in the art-world that the great Mr. -Fuseli had once lived, and painted those horrors which sprung from the nightmare -consequent on heavy suppers of pork-chops. But these were the days of its -decadence, and each of its floors had now a separate and distinct tenant. The -ground-floor was a kind of half showroom, half shop, held by Mr. Lectern, the -great church-upholsterer. Specimens of stained-glass windows, croziers, and -brass instruments like exaggerated beadles'-staves, gilt sets of -communion-service, and splendidly-worked altar-cloths, occupied the walls; the -visitor walked up to the desk at which Mr. Lectern presided between groves of -elaborately-carved pulpits and reading-desks, and brazen eagles were extending -their wings in every available corner. On the first-floor Mdlle. Stetti gave -lessons to the nobility, gentry, and the public in general in the fashionable -dances of the day, and in the Magyar sceptre-exercises for opening the chest and -improving the figure. Mdlle. Stetti had a very large connection; and as many of -her pupils were adults who had never learned to dance while they were supple and -tender, and as, under the persevering tuition of their little instructress, they -gambolled in a cumbrous and rather elephantine manner, they earned for -themselves many hearty anathemas from Mr. Potts, who found it impossible to work -with anything like a steady hand while the whole house was rocking under the -influence of a stout stockbroker doing the "changes," or while the walls -trembled at every bound of the fourteen-stone lady from Islington, who was being -initiated into the mysteries of the gavotte. But Charley Potts' pipe was the -only confidant of his growled anathemas, and on the whole he got on remarkably -well with his neighbours; for Mr. Lectern had lent him bits of oak furniture to -paint from; and once, when he was ill, Mdlle. Stetti, who was the dearest, -cheeriest, hardest-working, best-tempered little creature in existence, had made -him broths and "goodies" with her own hand, and when he was well, had always a -kind word and a smile for him--and, indeed, revelled in the practical humour and -buffoonery of "<i>ce farceur</i> Pott." For Mr. Potts was nothing if not funny; -the staircase leading to his rooms began to be decorated immediately after you -had passed Mdlle. Stetti's apartments; an enormous hand, sketched in crayon, -with an outstretched finger, directed attention to an inscription--"To the halls -of Potts!" Just above the little landing you were confronted by a big -beef-eater's head, out of the mouth of which floated a balloon-like -legend--"Walk up, walk up, and see the great Potts!" The aperture of the -letter-box in the door formed the mouth in a capital caricatured head of Charley -himself; and instead of a bell-handle there hung a hare's-foot, beneath which -was gummed a paper label with a written inscription "Tug the trotter."</p> -<p>Three days after the gathering at the Titian Sketching-Club, Mr. Potts sat in -his studio, smoking a pipe, and glaring vacantly at a picture on an easel in -front of him. It was not a comfortable room; its owner's warmest friend could -not have asserted that. There was no carpet, and the floor was begrimed with the -dirt of ages, and with spilt tobacco and trodden-in cigar-ash. The big window -was half stopped-up, and had no curtain. An old oak-cabinet against the wall, -surmounted by the inevitable plaster torso, and studies of hands and arms, had -lost one of its supporting feet, and looked as though momentarily about to -topple forward. A table in the middle of the room was crowded with litter, -amongst which a pewter-pot reared itself conspicuously. Over an old sofa were -thrown a big rough Inverness-cape, a wideawake hat, and a thick stick; while on -a broken, ragged, but theatrically-tawdry arm-chair, by the easel, were a big -palette already "set," a colour-box, and a sheaf of brushes. Mr. Potts was -dressed in a shepherd's-plaid shooting coat, adorned here and there with dabs of -paint, and with semi-burnt brown patches, the result of the incautious dropping -of incandescent tobacco and vesuvians. He had on a pair of loose rough trousers, -red-morocco slippers without heels, and he wore no neckcloth; but his big -turned-down shirt-collar was open at the throat. He wore no beard, but had a -large sweeping Austrian moustache, which curled fiercely at the ends; had thin -brown hair, light blue eyes, and the freshest and healthiest of complexions. No -amount of late hours, of drinking and smoking, could apparently have any effect -on this baby-skin; and under the influence of cold water and yellow soap, both -of which he used in large quantities, he seemed destined to remain--so far as -his complexion was concerned--"beautiful for ever,"--or at least until long -after Madame Rachel's clients had seen the worthlessness of pigments. Looking at -him as he sat there--his back bent nearly double, his eyes fixed on his picture, -his pipe fixed stiffly between his teeth, and his big bony hands clasped in -front of him--there was no mistaking him for anything but a gentleman; -ill-dressed, slatternly, if you like; but a true gentleman, every inch of him.</p> -<p>The "trotter" outside being tugged with tremendous violence, roused him from -his reverie, and he got up and opened the door, saying, as he did so, "Why -didn't you ring? I would, if I'd been you. You're in the bell-hanging line, I -should think, by the way you jerked my wire. Hollo, Bowker, my boy! is it you? -What's the matter? Are you chivied by a dun on the staircase, or fainting for a -pull at the pewter, that you come with such a ring as that? Bring your body in, -old man; there's a wind here enough to shave you."</p> -<p>Mr. Bowker preceded his friend into the room, looked into the pewter-pot, -drained it, wiped his beard with a handkerchief; which he took out of his hat, -and said, in a solemn deep voice: "Potts, my pipkin, how goes it?"</p> -<p>"Pretty well, old man, pretty well--considering the weather. And you?"</p> -<p>"Your William <i>se porte bien</i>. Hallo!" glancing at the easel, while he -took a pipe from his pocket and filled it from a jar on the table; "hallo! -something new! What's the subject? Who is the Spanish party in tights? and -what's the venerable buffer in the clerical get-up of the period putting out his -hand about?"</p> -<p>"Oh, it's a scene from <i>Gil Blas</i>, where the Archbishop of Grenada -discharges him, you know."</p> -<p>"No, I don't, and I don't want to hear; your William, dear boy, has -discovered that life is too short to have anything explained to him: if he don't -see it at first, he let's it pass. The young party's right leg is out of -drawing, my chick; just give your William a bit of chalk. There--not being a -patient at the Orthopaedic Hospital--that's where his foot would come to. The -crimson of the reverend gent's gown is about as bad as anything Ive seen for a -long time, dear boy. Hand over the palette and brushes for two minutes. Your -William is a rum old skittle; but if there's one thing he knows about, it is -colour." And Charley, who knew that, with all his eccentricity, Mr. Bowker, or -"your William," as he always spoke of himself; was a thorough master of his art, -handed him what he required, and sat by watching him.</p> -<p>A fat bald-headed man with a grizzled beard, a large paunch and flat splay -feet, badly dressed and not too clean, Mr. Bowker did not give one the idea of -ever having been an "object of interest" to any one save the waiter at the -tavern where he dined, or the tobacconist where he bought his Cavendish. But yet -there had been a day when bright eyes grew brighter at his approach, tiny ears -latticed with chestnut-hair had eagerly drunk in the music of his voice, gentle -hands had thrilled beneath his touch. He had bright blue eyes himself then, and -long hair, and a slim figure. He was young Mr. Bowker, whose first pictures -exhibited at Somerset House had made such a sensation, and who was so much -noticed by Sir David Wilkie, and for whom Mr. Northcote prophesied such a -future, and whom Mr. Fuseli called a "coot prave poy!" He was the young Mr. -Bowker who was recommended by Sir Thomas Lawrence as drawing-master to the -lovely young wife of old Mr. Van Den Bosch, the Dutch banker and financier long -resident in London. He was "that scoundrel Bowker, sir," who, being wildly -romantic, fell head-over-ears in love with his pupil; and finding that she was -cruelly ill-treated by the old ruffian her husband, ran away with her to Spain, -and by that rash act smashed-up his career and finally settled himself for ever. -Old Van Den Bosch got a divorce, and died, leaving all his money to his nephews; -and then William Bowker and the woman he had eloped with returned to England, to -find himself universally shunned and condemned. His art was as good, nay a -thousand times better than ever; but they would not hear of him at the Royal -Academy now; would not receive his pictures; would not allow the mention of his -name. Patrons turned their backs on him, debts accumulated, the woman for whom -he had sacrificed everything died,--penitent so far as she herself was -concerned, but adoring her lover to the last, and calling down blessings on him -with her latest breath. And then William Bowker strove no more, but accepted his -position and sunk into what he was, a kindly, jolly, graceless vagabond, doing -no harm, but very little good. He had a little private money on which he lived; -and as time progressed, some of his patrons, who found he painted splendidly and -cheaply, came back to him and gave him commissions; but he never again attempted -to regain his status; and so long as he had enough to supply his simple daily -wants, seemed content. He was a great favourite with some half-dozen young men -of Charley Potts's set, who had a real love and regard for him, and was never so -happy as when helping them with advice and manual assistance.</p> -<p>Charley watched him at his work, and saw with delight the archbishop's robe -gradually growing all a-glow beneath the master's touch; and then, to keep him -in good-humour and amused, began to talk, telling him a score of anecdotes, and -finally asking him if he'd heard anything of Tommy Smalt.</p> -<p>"Tommy Smalt, sir?" cried Bowker, in his cheery voice; "Tommy Smalt, sir, is -in clover! Your William has been able to put Tommy on to a revenue of at least -thirty shillings a-week. Tommy is now the right-hand man of Jacobs of Newman -Street; and the best judges say that there are no Ostades, Jan Steens, or Gerard -Dows like Tommy's."</p> -<p>"What do you mean?--copies?"</p> -<p>"Copies! no, sir: originals."</p> -<p>"Originals!"</p> -<p>"Certainly! original Tenierses, of boors drinking; Wouvermanns, not -forgetting the white horse; or Jan Steens, with the never-failing episode;--all -carefully painted by Tommy Smalt and his fellow-labourers! Ah, Jacobs is a -wonderful man! There never was such a fellow; he sticks at nothing; and when he -finds a man who can do his particular work, he keeps him in constant -employment."</p> -<p>"Well, but is the imposition never detected? Don't the pictures look new?"</p> -<p>"Oh, most verdant of youths, of course not! The painting is clobbered with -liquorice-water; and the varnish is so prepared that it cracks at once; and the -signature in the corner is always authentic; and there's a genuine look of -cloudy vacancy and hopeless bankruptcy about the whole that stamps it at once to -the connoisseur as the real thing. Tommy's doing a 'Youth's Head' by Rembrandt -now, which ought to get him higher pay; it ought indeed. It's for a Manchester -man. They're very hot about Rembrandts at Manchester."</p> -<p>"Well, you've put me up to a new wrinkle. And Jacobs lives by this?"</p> -<p>"Lives by it! ay, and lives like a prince too. Mrs. J. to fetch him every day -in an open barouche, and coachman and footman in skyblue livery, and all the -little J.'s hanging over the carriage-doors, rendering Newman Street dark with -the shadow of their noses. Lives by it! ay, and why not? There will always be -fools in the world, thank Heaven!--or how should you and I get on, Charley, my -boy?--and so long as people will spend money on what they know nothing about, -for the sake of cutting-out their friends, gaining a spurious reputation for -taste, or cutting a swell as 'patrons of the fine-arts,'--patrons indeed! that -word nearly chokes me!--it's quite right that they should be pillaged and done. -No man can love art in the same manner that he can love pancakes. He must know -something about it, and have some appreciation of it. Now no man with the -smallest knowledge would go to Jacobs; and so I say that the lords and -railway-men and cotton-men who go there simply as a piece of duff--to buy -pictures as they would carpets--are deuced well served out. There! your William -has not talked so much as that in one breath for many a long day. The pewter's -empty. Send for some more beer, and let's have a damp; my throat's as dry as a -lime-burner's wig."</p> -<p>Charley Potts took up the pewter-measure, and going on to the landing outside -the door, threw open the staircase-window, and gave a shrill whistle. This twice -repeated had some effect! for a very much-be-ribboned young lady in the bar of -the opposite public-house looked up, and nodded with great complaisance; and -then Charley, having made a solemn bow, waved the empty quart-pot three times -round his head. Two minutes afterwards a bare-headed youth, with his -shirt-sleeves rolled up to his shoulders, crossed the road, carefully bearing a -pasteboard hat-box, with which he entered the house, and which he delivered into -Mr. Potts' hands.</p> -<p>"Good boy, Richard I never forget the hat-box; come for it this evening, and -take back both the empty pewters in it.--It would never do, Bowker, my boy, to -have beer--vulgar beer, sir--in its native pewter come into a respectable house -like this. The pious parties, who buy their rattletraps and properties of old -Lectern down below, would be scandalised; and poor little Mossoo woman Stetti -would lose her swell connection. So Caroline and I--that's Caroline in the bar, -with the puce-coloured ribbons--arranged this little dodge; and it answers -first-rate."</p> -<p>"Ha--a!" said Mr. Bowker, putting down the tankard half-empty, and drawing a -long breath; "beer is to your William what what's-his-name is to thingummy; -which, being interpreted, means that he can't get on without it. I never take a -big pull at a pewter without thinking of our Geoff. How is our Geoff?"</p> -<p>"Our Geoff is--hush! some one coming up stairs. What's to-day? Friday. The -day I told the tailor to call. Hush!"</p> -<p>The footsteps came creaking up the stairs until they stopped outside Charley -Potts' door, on which three peculiar blows were struck,--one very loud, then two -in rapid succession.</p> -<p>"A friend!" said Charley, going to the door and opening it. "Pass, friend, -and give the countersign! Hallo, Flexor! is it you? I forgot our appointment for -this morning. Come in."</p> -<p>It was, indeed, the great model, who, fresh-shaved, and with his hair neatly -poodled under his curly-brimmed hat, entered the room with a swagger, which, -when he perceived a stranger, he allowed to subside into an elaborate bow.</p> -<p>"Now then, Flexor, get to work! we won't mind my friend here; he knows all -this sort of game of old," said Charley; while Flexor began to arrange himself -into the position of the expelled secretary of the archbishop.</p> -<p>"Ay, and I know M. Flexor of old, that's another thing!" said Bowker, with a -deep chuckle, expelling a huge puff of smoke.</p> -<p>"Do you, sir?" said Flexor, still rigid in the Gil-Bias position, and never -turning his head; "maybe, sir; many gents knows Flexor."</p> -<p>"Yes; but many gents didn't know Flexor five-and-twenty years ago, when he -stood for Mercutio discoursing of Queen Mab."</p> -<p>"Lor' a mussy!" cried Flexor, forgetting all about his duty, parting the -smoke with his hand and bending down to look into William's face. "It's Mr. -Bowker, and I ought to have knowed him by the voice. And how are you, sir? -hearty you look, though you'yve got a paucity of nobthatch, and what ''ir you -'ave is that gray, you might be your own grandfather. Why, I haven't seen you -since you was gold-medallist at the 'cademy, 'cept once when you come with -Mrs.----"</p> -<p>"There, that'll do, Flexor! I'm alive still, you see; and so I see are you. -And your wife, is she alive?"</p> -<p>"O yes, sir; but, Lord, how different from what you know'd her! None of your -Wenuses, nor Dalilys, nor Nell Gwyns now! she's growed stout and cumbersome, and -never sits 'cept some gent wants a Mrs. Primrose in that everlastin' Wicar, or a -old woman a-scoldin' a gal because she wants to marry a poor cove, or somethin' -in that line; and then I says, 'Well, Jane, you may as well earn a shillin' an -hour as any one else,' I says."</p> -<p>"And you've been a model all these years, Flexor?"</p> -<p>"Well, no sir--off and on; but Ive always come back to it. I was a actor for -three years; did Grecian stators,--Ajax defyin' the lightnin'; Slave a-listenin' -to conspirators; Boy a-sharpenin' his knife, and that game, you know, in a -cirkiss. But I didn't like it; they're a low lot, them actors, with no feelin' -for art. And then Iwas a gentleman's servant; but that wouldn't do; they do dam' -and cuss their servants so, the gentlemen do, as I couldn't stand it; and I was -a mute."</p> -<p>"A mute!--what, a funeral mute?"</p> -<p>"Yes, sir; black-job business; and wery good that is,--plenty of pleasant -comp'ny and agreeable talk, and nice rides in the summer time on the 'earses to -all the pleasant simmetries in the suburbs! But in the winter it's frightful! -and my last job I was nearly killed. We had a job at 'Ampstead, in the debth of -snow; and it was frightful cold on the top of the 'Eath. It was the party's good -lady as was going to be interred, and the party himself were frightful near; in -fact, a reg'lar screw. Well, me and my mate had been standin' outside the -'ouse-door with the banners in our 'ands for an hour, until we was so froze we -could scarcely hold the banners. So I says, I won't stand no longer, I says; and -I gev a soft rap, and told the servant we must have a drop of somethin' short, -or we should be killed with cold. The servant goes and tells her master, and -what do you think he says? 'Drink!' he says. 'Nonsense!' he says; '<i>if they're -cold, let 'em jump about and warm 'emselves</i>,' he says. Fancy a couple of -mutes with their banners in their 'ands a-jumpin' about outside the door just -before the party was brought out. So that disgusted me, and I gev it up, and -come back to the old game agen."</p> -<p>"Now, Flexor," said Charley, "if you've finished your biography, get back -again."</p> -<p>"All right, sir!" and again Flexor became rigid, as the student of -Santillane.</p> -<p>"What were we talking of when Flexor arrived? O, I remember; I was asking you -about Geoff Ludlow. What of him?"</p> -<p>"Well, sir, Geoff Ludlow has made a thundering <i>coup</i> at last. The other -night at the Titians he sold a picture to Stompff for two hundred pounds; more -than that, Stompff promised him no end of commissions."</p> -<p>"That's first-rate! Your William pledges him!" and Mr. Bowker finished the -stout.</p> -<p>"He'll want all he can make, gentlemen," said Flexor, who, seeing the pewter -emptied, became cynical; "he'll want all he can make, if he goes on as he's -doin' now."</p> -<p>"What do you mean?" asked Bowker.</p> -<p>"He's in love, Mr. Ludlow is; that's wot I mean. That party--you know, Mr. -Potts--as you brought to our place that night--he's been to see her every day, -he has; and my missis says, from what she 'ave seen and 'eard--well, that's -neither 'ere nor there," said Flexor, checking himself abruptly as he remembered -that the keyhole was the place whence Mrs. Flexor's information had been -derived.</p> -<p>Charley Potts gave a loud whistle, and said, "The devil!" then turning to -Bowker, he was about to tell the story of the wet night's adventure, but William -putting up his finger warningly, grunted out "<i>Nachher!</i>" and Charley, who -understood German, ceased his chatter and went on with his painting.</p> -<p>When the sitting was over, and Flexor had departed, William Bowker returned -to the subject, saying, "Now, Charley, tell your William all about this story of -Geoff and his adventure."</p> -<p>Charley Potts narrated it circumstantially, Bowker sitting grimly by and -puffing his pipe the while. When he had finished, Bowker never spoke for full -five minutes; but his brow was knit, and his teeth clenched round his pipe. At -length he said, "This is a bad business, so far as I see; a devilish bad -business! If the girl were in Geoff's own station or if he were younger, it -wouldn't so much matter; but Geoff must be forty now, and at that age a man's -deuced hard to turn from any thing he gets into his head. Well, we must wait and -see. I'd rather it were you, Charley, by a mile; one might have some chance -then. But you never think of any thing of that sort, eh?"</p> -<p>What made Charley Potts colour as he said, "Welt--not in Geoff's line, at all -events?"</p> -<p>William Bowker noticed the flush, and said ruefully, "Ah, I see! Always the -way! Now let's go and get some beef or something to eat: I'm hungry."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> - <h4><a name="div1_08" href="#div1Ref_08">CHAPTER VIII.</a></h4> -<h5>THROWING THE FLY.</h5> -<br> - <p>Mr. Flexor was by nature mendacious; indeed his employers used -pleasantly to remark, that when he did not lie, it was simply by accident; but -in what he had mentioned to Charley Potts about Geoffrey Ludlow's visits to the -nameless female then resident in his, Flexor's, house, he had merely spoken the -truth. To be sure there had been an <i>arrière pensée</i> in his remark; the -fact being that Flexor objected to matrimony as an institute amongst his -patrons. He found that by an artist in a celibate state beer was oftener sent -for, donations of cigars were more frequent, cupboards were more constantly -unlocked, and irregularities of attendance on his part, consequent on the -frivolities of the preceding night, were more easily overlooked, than when there -was a lady to share confidence and keys, and to regard all models, both male and -female, as "horrid creatures." But although Mr. Flexor had spoken somewhat -disparagingly of Geoffrey's frequent visits, and had by his hints roused up a -certain amount of suspicion in the breasts of Charley Potts and that grim old -cynic William Bowker, he was himself far from knowing what real ground for -apprehension existed, or how far matters had progressed, at least with one of -the parties concerned.</p> -<p>For Geoffrey Ludlow was hard hit! In vain he attempted to argue with himself -that all he had done, was doing, and might do, was but prompted by benevolence. -A secret voice within him told him that his attempts at self-deceit were of the -feeblest, and that, did he but dare to confess it, he knew that there was in -this woman whom he had rescued from starvation an attraction more potent than he -had ever yet submitted to. It was, it may be said, his duty to call and see how -she was getting on, to learn that she wanted for nothing, to hear from her own -lips that his orders for her comfort had been obeyed; but it was not his duty to -sit watching jealously every glance of her eye, every turn of her head, every -motion of her lithe fingers. It was <i>not</i> his duty to bear away with him -recollections of how she sat when she said this or answered that; of the manner -in which, following a habit of hers, she would push back the thick masses of her -gleaming hair, and tuck them away behind her pretty ears; or, following another -habit, she would drum petulantly on the floor with her little foot, when talking -of any thing that annoyed her--as, for instance, Mrs. Flexor's prying curiosity.</p> -<p>What was it that caused him to lie awake at night, tossing from side to side -on his hot pillow, ever before him the deep-violet eyes, the pallid face set in -masses of deep-red hair, the slight frail figure? What was it that made his -heart beat loudly, his breath come thickly, his whole being tingle with a -strange sensation--now ecstatic delight, now dull blank misery? Not -philanthropy, I trow. The superintendents of boys' reformatories and refuges for -the houseless poor may, in thinking over what good they have achieved, enjoy a -comfortable amount of self-satisfaction and proper pride; but I doubt if the -feeling ever rises to this level of excitement. Not much wonder if Geoffrey -himself, suffering acutely under the disease, knew not, or refused to avow to -himself, any knowledge of the symptoms. Your darling child, peacefully sleeping -in his little bed, shall show here and there an angry skin-spot, which you think -heat or cold, or any thing else, until the experienced doctor arrives, and with -a glance pronounces it scarlet-fever. Let us be thankful, in such a case, that -the prostrate patient is young. Geoffrey's was as dire a malady, and one which, -coming on at forty years of age, usually places the sufferer in a perilous -state. It was called Love; not the ordinary sober inclination of a middle-aged -man, not that thin line of fire quivering amongst a heap of ashes which betokens -the faded passion of the worn and sated voluptuary; this was boy-love, -calf-love, mad-spooniness--any thing by which you can express the silliest, -wildest, pleasantest, most miserable phase of human existence. It never comes -but once to any one. The <i>caprices</i> of the voluptuary are as like to each -other as peas or grains of sand; the platonic attachments or the sentimental -<i>liaisons</i> indulged in by foolish persons of both sexes with nothing to do -may have some slight shade of distinction, but are equally wanting in backbone -and -<i>vis</i>. Not to man or woman is it given to be ever twice "in love"--a simple -phrase, which means every thing, but needs very little explanation. My readers -will comprehend what I want to convey, and will not require my feeble efforts in -depicting the state. Suffice it to say, that Geoffrey Ludlow, who had hitherto -gone through life scot-free, not because he was case-hardened, not because he -was infection-proof, or that he had run no risks, but simply from the merest -chance,--now fell a victim to the disease, and dropped powerless before its -attack.</p> -<p>He did not even strive to make head against it much. A little of his -constitutional wavering and doubtfulness came into play for a short time, -suggesting that this passion--for such he must allow it--was decidedly an -unworthy one; that at present he knew nothing of the girl's antecedents; and -that her actual state did not promise much for all she had to tell of what had -gone before. At certain times too, when things present themselves in their least -roseate garb, notably on waking in the morning, for instance, he allowed, to -himself, that he was making a fool of himself; but the confidence extended no -farther. And then, as the day grew, and the sun came out, and he touched up his -picture, and thought of the commissions Mr. Stompff had promised him, he became -brighter and more hopeful, and he allowed his thoughts to feast on the figure -then awaiting him in Little Flotsam Street, and he put by his sheaf of brushes -and his palette, and went up and examined himself in the glass over the -mantelpiece. He had caught himself doing this very frequently within the last -few days, and, half-chuckling inwardly, had acknowledged that it was a bad sign. -But though he laughed, he tweaked out the most prominent gray hairs in his -beard, and gave his necktie a more knowing twist, and removed the dabs of stray -paint from his shooting-coat. Straws thrown up show which way the wind blows, -and even such little sacrifices to vanity as these were in Geoffrey Ludlow very -strong signs indeed.</p> -<p>He had paid three visits to Little Flotsam Street; and on the fourth morning, -after a very poor pretence of work, he was at the looking-glass settling himself -preparatory to again setting out. Ever since that midnight adventure after the -Titians meeting, Geoffrey had felt it impossible to take his usual daily spell -at the easel, had not done five-pounds' worth of real work in the whole time, -had sketched-in and taken out, and pottered, and smoked over his canvas, -perfectly conscious that he was doing no good, utterly unable to do any better. -On this fourth morning he had been even more unsuccessful than usual; he was -highly nervous; he could not even set his palette properly, and by no manner of -means could he apply his thoughts to his work. He had had a bad night; that is, -he had woke with a feeling that this kind of penny-journal romance, wherein a -man finds a starving girl in the streets and falls desperately in love with her, -could go on no longer in London and in the nineteenth century. She was better -now, probably strong enough to get about; he would learn her history, so much of -it at least as she liked to tell; and putting her in some way of earning an -honest livelihood, take his leave of her, and dismiss her from his thoughts.</p> -<p>He arrived at this determination in his studio; he kept it as he walked -through the streets; he wavered horribly when he came within sight of the door; -and by the time he knocked he had resolved to let matters take their chance, and -to act as occasion might suggest. It was not Mrs. Flexor who opened the door to -him, but that worthy woman's youngest plague, Reg'las, who, with a brown -eruption produced by liquorice round his lips, nodded his head, and calmly -invited the visitor, as he would have done any one else, to "go up 'tairs." -Geoffrey entered, patted the boy's head, and stopped at the parlour-door, at -which he gave a low rap, and immediately turning the handle, walked in.</p> -<p>She was lying as usual on the sofa, immediately opposite the door; but, what -he had never seen before, her hair was freed from the confining comb, and was -hanging in full luxuriance over her shoulders. Great heavens, how beautiful she -looked! There had been a certain piquancy and <i>chic</i> in her appearance when -her hair had been taken saucily off her face and behind her ears; but they were -nothing as compared to the profound expression of calm holy resignation in that -dead-white face set in that deep dead-gold frame of hair. Geoff started when he -saw it; was it a Madonna of Raphael's, or a St. Teresa of Guido's, which flashed -across his mind? And as he looked she raised her eyes, and a soft rosy flush -spread over her face, and melted as quickly as it came. He seated himself on a -chair by her side as usual, and took her hand as usual, the blood tingling in -his fingers as he touched hers--as usual. She was the first to speak.</p> -<p>"You are very early this morning. I scarcely expected you so soon--as you may -see;" and with a renewed flush she took up the ends of her hair, and was about -to twist them up, when Geoffrey stopped her.</p> -<p>"Leave it as it is," said he in a low tone; "it could not be better; leave it -as it is."</p> -<p>She looked at him as he spoke; not a full straight glance, but through -half-closed lids; a prolonged gaze,--half-dreamy, half-intense; then released -her hair, and let it again fall over her shoulders in a rich red cloud.</p> -<p>"You are much better?"</p> -<p>"Thanks to you, very much; thanks to you!" and her little hand came out -frankly, and was speedily swallowed up in his big palm.</p> -<p>"No thanks at all; that is--well, you know. Let us change the subject. I came -to say--that--that--"</p> -<p>"You hesitate because you are afraid of hurting my feelings. I think I can -understand. I have learnt the world--God knows in no easy school; you came to -say that I had been long enough a pensioner on your charity, and now must make -my own way. Isn't that it?"</p> -<p>"No, indeed; not, that is not entirely what I meant. You see--our meeting--so -strange--"</p> -<p>"Strange enough for London and this present day. You found me starving, -dying, and you took care of me; and you knew nothing of me--not even my -name--not even my appearance."</p> -<p>There was a something harsh and bitter in her tone which Geoffrey had never -remarked before. It jarred on his ear; but he did not further notice it. His -eyes dropped a little as he said, "No, I didn't; I do not know your name."</p> -<p>She looked up at him from under her eyelids; and the harshness had all faded -out of her voice as she said, "My name is Margaret Dacre." She stopped, and -looked at him; but his face only wore its grave honest smile. Then she suddenly -raised herself on the sofa, and looking straight into his face, said hurriedly, -"You are a kind man, Mr. Ludlow; a kind, generous, honourable man; there are -many men would have given me food and shelter--there are very few who would have -done it unquestioning, as you have."</p> -<p>"You were my guest, Miss Dacre, and that was enough, though the temptation -was strong. How one evidently born and bred a lady could have--"</p> -<p>"Ah, now," said she, smiling fainting, "you are throwing off your bonds, and -all man's curiosity is at work."</p> -<p>"No, on my honour; but--I don't know whether you know, but any one acquainted -with the world would see that--gad! I scarcely know how to put it--but--fact is, -that--people would scarcely understand--you must excuse me, but--but the -position, Miss Dacre!" and Geoff pushed his hands through his hair, and knew -that his cheeks were flaming.</p> -<p>"I see what you mean," said she, "and you are only explaining what I have for -the last day or two felt myself; that the--the position must be altered. But you -have so far been my friend, Mr. Ludlow--for I suppose the preserver of one's -life is to be looked upon as a friend, at all events as one actuated by friendly -motives--that I must ask you to advise me how to support it."</p> -<p>"It would be impossible to advise unless--I mean, unless one knew, or had -some idea--what, in fact, one had been accustomed to."</p> -<p>The girl sat up on the sofa, and this time looked him steadily in the face -for a minute or so. Then she said, in a calm unbroken voice, "You are coming to -what I knew must arise, to what is always asked, but what I hitherto have always -refused to tell. You, however, have a claim to know--what I suppose people would -call my history." Her thin lips were tightly pressed and her nostrils curved in -scorn as she said these words. Geoffrey marked the change, and spoke out at -once, all his usual hesitation succumbing before his earnestness of purpose.</p> -<p>"I have asked nothing," said he; "please to remember that; and further, I -wish to hear nothing. You are my guest for so long as it pleases you to remain -in that position. When you wish to go, you will do so, regretted but certainly -unquestioned." If Geoffrey Ludlow ever looked handsome, it was at this moment. -He was a little nettled at being suspected of patronage, and the annoyance -flushed his cheek and fired his eyes.</p> -<p>"Then I am to be a kind of heroine of a German fairytale; to appear, to -sojourn for a while--then to fade away and never to be heard of ever after, save -by the good fortune which I leave behind me to him who had entertained an angel -unawares. Not the last part of the story, I fear, Mr. Ludlow; nor indeed any -part of it. I have accepted your kindness; I am grateful--God knows how grateful -for it--and now, being strong again--you need not raise your eyebrows; I am -strong, am I not, compared with the feeble creature you found in the streets?--I -will fade away, leaving gratitude and blessings behind me."</p> -<p>"But what do you intend to do?"</p> -<p>"Ah! there you probe me beyond any possibility of reply. I shall--"</p> -<p>"I--I have a notion, Miss Dacre, just come upon me. It was seeing you with -your hair down--at least, I think it was--suggested it; but I'm sure it's a good -one. To sit, you know, as a model--of course I mean your face, you know, and -hair, and all that sort of thing, so much in vogue just now; and so many fellows -would be delighted to get studies of you--the pre-Raphaelite fellows, you know; -and it isn't much--the pay, you know: but when one gets a connexion--and I'm -sure that I could recommend--O, no end of fellows." It was not that this was -rather a longer speech than usual that made Geoffrey terminate it abruptly; it -was the expression in Margaret Dacre's gray eyes.</p> -<p>"Do you think I could become a model, Mr. Ludlow--at the beck and call of -every man who chose to offer me so much per hour? Would you wish to see me -thus?" and as she said the last words she knit her brows, leaning forward and -looking straight at him under her drooping lids.</p> -<p>Geoffrey's eyes fell before that peculiar glance, and he pushed his hands -through his hair in sheer doubtful desperation.</p> -<p>"No!" he said, after a minute's pause "it wouldn't do. I hadn't thought of -that. You see, I--O by Jove, another idea! You play? Yes, I knew you did by the -look of your hands! and talk French and German, I daresay? Ah, I thought so! -Well, you know, I give lessons in some capital families--drawing and -water-colour sketching--and I'm constantly asked if I know of governesses. Now -what's to prevent my recommending you?"</p> -<p>"What, indeed? You have known me so long! You are so thoroughly acquainted -with my capabilities--so persuaded of my respectability!"</p> -<p>The curved lips, the petulant nostril, the harsh bitter voice again! Geoff -winced under them. "I think you are a little prejudiced," he began. "A little--"</p> -<p>"A little nothing! Listen, Mr. Ludlow! You have saved me from death, and you -are kind enough to wish me, under your auspices, to begin life again. Hear, -first, what was my former life. Hear it, and then see the soundness of your -well-intentioned plans. My father was an infantry captain, who was killed in the -Crimea. After the news came of his death, my mother's friends, wealthy -tradespeople, raised a subscription to pay her an annuity of 150<i>l</i>, on -condition of her never troubling them again. She accepted this, and she and I -went to live for cheapness at Tenby in Wales. There was no break in my life -until two years since, when I was eighteen years old. Up to that time, school, -constant practice at home (for I determined to be well educated), and attendance -on my mother, an invalid, formed my life. Then came the usual character--without -which the drama of woman's life is incomplete--a man!"</p> -<p>She hesitated for a moment, and looked up as Geoffrey Ludlow leaned forward, -breathing thickly through his nostrils; then she continued--</p> -<p>"This one was a soldier, and claimed acquaintance with a dead comrade's -widow; had his claim allowed, and came to us morning, noon, and night. A man of -the world, they called him; could sit and talk with my mother of her husband's -virtues and still-remembered name, and press my hand, and gaze into my eyes, and -whisper in my ear whenever her head was turned."</p> -<p>"And you?"</p> -<p>"And I! What would a girl do, brought up at a sleepy watering-place, and -seeing nobody but the curate or the doctor? I listened to his every word, I -believed his every look; and when he said to me, 'On such a night fly with me,' -I fled with him without remorse."</p> -<p>Geoffrey Ludlow must have anticipated something of this kind, and yet when he -heard it, he dropped his head and shook it, as though under the effect of a -staggering blow. The action was not unnoticed by Margaret.</p> -<p>"Ah," said she, in low tones and with a sad smile, "I saw how your schemes -would melt away before my story."</p> -<p>This time it was his hand that came out and caught hers in its grip.</p> -<p>"Ah, wait until you have heard the end, now very close at hand. The old, old -story: a coming marriage, which never came, protracted and deferred now for one -excuse, now for another--the fear of friends, the waiting for promotion, -the--ah, every note in the whole gamut of lies! And then--"</p> -<p>"Spare yourself and me--I know enough!"</p> -<p>"No; hear it out! It is due to you, it is due to me. A sojourn in Italy, a -sojourn in England--gradual coolness, final flight. But such flight! One line to -say that he was ruined, and would not drag me down in his degradation--no hope -of a future meeting--no provision for present want. I lived for a time by the -sale of what he had given me,--first jewels, then luxuries, then--clothes. And -then, just as I dropped into death's jaws, you found me."</p> -<p>"Thank God!" said Geoffrey earnestly, still retaining the little hand within -his own; "thank God! I can hear no more to-day--yes; one thing, his name?"</p> -<p>"His name," said she, with fixed eyes, "I have never mentioned to mortal; but -to you I will tell it. His name was Leonard Brookfield."</p> -<p>"Leonard Brookfield," repeated Geoffrey. "I shall not forget it. Now adieu! -We shall meet to-morrow."</p> -<p>He bowed over her hand and pressed it to his lips, then was gone; but as his -figure passed the window, she raised herself upright, and ere he vanished from -her sight, from between her compressed lips came the words, "At last! at last!"</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> - <h4><a name="div1_09" href="#div1Ref_09">CHAPTER IX.</a></h4> -<h5>SUNSHINE IN THE SHADE.</h5> -<br> - <p>What is a dull life? In what does the enjoyment of existence consist? -It is a comparative matter, after all, I fancy. A Londoner, cantering homeward -down the Row, will lift his hat as he passes three horsemen abreast, the middle -one of whom, comely, stout, and pleasant-looking, bows in return; or, looking -after an olive-coloured brougham with a white horse, out of the window of which -looms a lined leery-looking face, will say, "How well Pam holds out!" and will -go home to dinner without bestowing another thought on the subject; whereas the -mere fact of having seen the Prince of Wales or Lord Palmerston would give a -countryman matter for reflection and conversation for a couple of days. There -are even Londoners who look upon a performance of chamber-music, or a visit to -the Polytechnic Institute as an excitement; while in a provincial town to attend -a lecture on "Mnemonics," or the dinner of the farmers' club, is the acme of -dissipation. Some lives are passed in such a whirl that even the occasional -advent among their kindred of the great date-marker, Death, is scarcely noticed; -others dwindle away with such unvarying pulsations that the purchase of a new -bonnet, the lameness of an old horse, the doctor's visit, the curate's cough, -are all duly set down as notabilia worthy to be recorded. Who does not recollect -the awe and reverence with which one regarded the Bishop of Bosphorus, when, a -benevolent seraph in a wig (they wore wigs in those days) and lawn sleeves, he -arrived at the parish church for the confirmation-service? It was exciting to -see him; it was almost too much to hear his voice; but now, if you are a member -of the Athenaeum Club, you may see him, and two or three other prelates, reading -the evening papers, or drinking their pint of sherry with the joint, and -speaking to the waiters in voices akin to those of ordinary mortals; may even -see him sitting next to Belmont the poet, whose <i>Twilight Musings</i> so -delighted your youth, but whom you now find to be a fat man with a red face and -a tendency to growl if there be not enough schalot sent up with his steak.</p> -<p>If there were ever a man who should have felt the influence of a dull life, -it was Lord Caterham, who never repined. And yet it would be difficult to -imagine any thing more terribly lonely than was that man's existence. Dressed by -his servant, his breakfast over, and he wheeled up to his library-table, there -was the long day before him; how was he to get through it? Who would come to see -him? His father, perhaps, for five minutes, with a talk about the leading topic -treated of in the <i>Times</i>, a remark about the change in the weather, a hope -that his son would "get out into the sunshine," and as speedy a departure as -could be decently managed. His mother, very rarely, and then only for a frosty -peck at his cheek, and a tittered hope that he was better. His brother Lionel, -when in town, when not else engaged, when not too seedy after "a night of -it,"--his brother Lionel, who would throw himself into an easy-chair, and, -kicking out his slippered feet, tell Caterham what a "rum fellow" he, Lionel, -thought him; what a "close file;" what a "reserved, oyster-like kind of a cove!" -Other visitors occasionally. Algy Barford, genial, jolly, and quaint; always -welcome for his bright sunshiny face, his equable temper, his odd salted remarks -on men and things. A bustling apothecary, with telescopic shoulders and -twinkling eyelids, who peered down Lord Caterham's throat like a magpie looking -into a bone, and who listened to the wheezings of Lord Caterham's chest with as -much intentness as a foreigner in the Opera-pit to the prayer in <i>Der -Freischütz</i>. Two or three lounging youths, fresh from school or college, who -were pleased to go away afterwards and talk of their having been with him, -partly because he was a lord, partly because he was a man whose name was known -in town, and one with whom it was rather <i>kudos</i> to be thought intimate. -There are people who, under such circumstances, would have taken their servants -into their confidence; but Lord Caterham was not one of these. Kindly and -courteous to all, he yet kept his servant at the greatest distance; and the man -knew that to take the slightest liberty was more than his place was worth. There -were no women to talk with this exile from his species; there were none on -sufficiently intimate footing to call on him and sit with him, to talk frankly -and unreservedly that pleasant chatter which gives us the keynote to their -characters; and for this at least Lord and Lady Beauport were unfeignedly -thankful. Lord Beauport's knowledge of the world told him that there were women -against whom his son's deformity and isolated state would be no defence, to whom -his rank and position would be indefinable attractions, by whom he would -probably be assailed, and with whom he had no chance of coping. Not bad women, -not <i>intrigantes</i>,--such would have set forth their charms and wasted their -dalliances in vain,--but clever heartless girls, brought up by matchmaking -mothers, graduates in the great school of life, skilled in the deft and -dexterous use of all aggressive weapons, unscrupulous as to the mode of warfare -so long as victory was to be the result. In preventing Lord Caterham from making -the acquaintance of any such persons, Lord Beauport took greater pains than he -had ever bestowed on anything in connection with his eldest son; and, aided by -the astute generalship of his wife, he had succeeded wonderfully.</p> -<p>Only once did there seem a chance of an enemy's scaling the walls and -entering the citadel, and then the case was really serious. It was at an Eton -and Harrow match at Lord's that Lord Caterham first saw Carry Chesterton. She -came up hanging on the arm of her brother, Con Chesterton, the gentleman farmer, -who had the ground outside Homershams, Lady Beauport's family place, and who -begged to present his sister to Lord Caterham, of whom she had heard so much. A -sallow-faced girl, with deep black eyes, arched brows, and raven hair in broad -bands, with a high forehead and a chiselled nose and tight thin lips, was Carry -Chesterton; and as she bent over Lord Caterham's chair and expressed her delight -at the introduction, she shot a glance that went through Caterham's eyes, and -into his very soul.</p> -<p>"She was a poetess, was Carry, and all that sort of thing," said honest Con; -"and had come up to town to try and get some of her writings printed, you know, -and that sort of thing; and your lordship's reputation as a man of taste, you -know, and that sort of thing,--if you'd only look at the stuff and give your -opinion, and that sort of thing."</p> -<p>"That sort of thing," <i>i.e</i>. the compulsory conversion into a Mecaenas, -Lord Caterham had had tried-on before; but only in the case of moon-struck men, -never from such a pair of eyes. Never had he had the request indorsed in such a -deep-toned thrilling voice; and so he acquiesced, and a meeting was arranged for -the morrow, when Con was to bring Carry to St. Barnabas Square; and that night -Lord Caterham lay in a pleasant state of fevered excitement, thinking of his -expected visitor. Carry came next day, but not Con. Con had some arrangements to -make about that dreadful yeomanry which took up so much of his time, to see -Major Latchford or Lord Spurrier, the colonel, and arrange about their horrid -evolutions; but Carry came, and brought her manuscript book of poems. Would she -read them? she could, and did, in a deep low <i>traînante</i> voice, with -wonderful art and pathos, illustrating them with elevations of her thick brows -and with fervid glances from her black eyes. They were above the average of -women's verse, had nothing namby-pamby in them, and were not merely flowing and -musical, but strong and fervid; they were full of passion, which was not merely -a Byronic -<i>refrain</i>, but had a warmth and novelty of its own. Lord Caterham was -charmed with the verses, was charmed with the writer; he might suggest certain -improvements in them, none in her. He pointed out certain lines which might be -altered; and as he pointed them out, their hands met, touched but for an -instant, and on looking up, his eyes lost themselves in hers.</p> -<p>Ah, those hand-touches and eye-glances! The oldest worldling has some -pleasure in them yet, and can recall the wild ecstatic thrill which ran through -him when he first experienced them in his salad-days. But we can conceive -nothing of their effect on a man who, under peculiar circumstances, had lived a -reserved self-contained life until five-and-twenty years of age,--a man with -keen imagination and warm passions, who had "never felt the kiss of love, nor -maiden's hand in his," until his whole being glowed and tingled under the -fluttering touch of Carry Chesterton's lithe fingers, and in the fiery gaze of -her black eyes. She came again and again; and after every visit Lord Caterham's -passion increased. She was a clever woman with a purpose, to the fulfilment of -which her every word, her every action, tended. Softly, delicately, and with the -greatest <i>finesse</i>, she held up to him the blank dreariness of his life, -and showed him how it might be cheered and consoled. In a pitying rather than an -accusing spirit, she pointed out the shortcomings of his own relatives, and -indicated how, to a person in his position, there could be but one who should be -all in all. This was all done with the utmost tact and refinement; a sharp word, -an appearance of eagerness, the slightest showing of the cards, and the game -would have been spoilt; but Carry Chesterton knew her work, and did it well. She -had been duly presented by Lord Caterham to his father and mother, and had duly -evoked first their suspicion, then their rage. At first it was thought that by -short resolute measures the evil might be got rid of. So Lord Beauport spoke -seriously to his son, and Lady Beauport spoke warningly; but all in vain. For -the first time in his life Lord Caterham rebelled, and in his rebellion spoke -his mind; and in speaking his mind he poured forth all that bitterness of spirit -which had been collecting and fermenting so long. To the crippled man's -heartwrung wail of contempt and neglect, to his passionate appeal for some one -to love and to be loved by, the parents had no reply. They knew that he had -bitter cause for complaint; but they also knew that he was now in pursuit of a -shadow; that he was about to assuage his thirst for love with Dead-Sea apples; -that the "set gray life and apathetic end" were better than the wild fierce -conflict and the warming of a viper in the fires of one's heart. Lady Beauport -read Carry Chesterton like a book, saw her ends and aims, and told Lord Caterham -plainly what they were. "This girl is attracted by your title and position, -Caterham,--nothing else," she said, in her hard dry voice; "and the natural -result has ensued." But that voice had never been softened by any infusion of -maternal love. Her opinions had no weight with her son. He made no answer, and -the subject dropped.</p> -<p>Lionel Brakespere, duly apprised by his mother of what was going on, and -urged to put a stop to it, took his turn at his brother, and spoke with his -usual mess-room frankness, and in his usual engaging language. "Every body knew -Carry Chesterton," he said, "all the fellows at the Rag knew her; at least all -who'd been quartered in the neighbourhood of Flockborough, where she was a -regular garrison hack, and had been engaged to Spoonbill of the 18th Hussars, -and jilted by Slummer of the 160th Rifles, and was as well known as the -town-clock, by Jove; and Caterham was a fiat and a spoon, and he'd be dashed if -he'd see the fam'ly degraded; and I say, why the doose didn't Caterham listen to -reason!" So far Captain the Honourable Lionel Brakespere; who, utterly failing -in his purpose and intent, and having any further access to Lord Caterham's -rooms strictly denied him by Lord Caterham's orders, sought out Algy Barford and -confided to him the whole story, and "put him on" to save the fam'ly credit, and -stop Caterham's rediklous 'fatuation.</p> -<p>Now if the infatuation in question had been legitimate, and likely to lead to -good results, Algy Barford would have been the very last man on earth to attempt -to put a stop to it, or to interfere in any way save for its advancement. But -this airy, laughing philosopher, with all his apparent carelessness, was a man -of the world and a shrewd reader of human character; and he had made certain -inquiries, the result of which proved that Carry Chesterton was, if not all that -Lionel Brakespere had made her out, at all events a heartless coquette and -fortune-huntress, always rising at the largest fly. Quite recently jilted by -that charming creature Captain Slummer of the Rifles, she had been heard to -declare she would not merely retrieve the position hereby lost, but achieve a -much greater one; and she had been weak enough to boast of her influence over -Lord Caterham, and her determination to marry him in spite of all his family's -opposition. Then Algy Barford joined the ranks of the conspirators, and brought -his thoroughly practical worldly knowledge to their camp. It was at a council -held in Lady Beauport's boudoir that he first spoke on the subject, his face -radiant with good humour, his teeth gleaming in the light, and his attention -impartially divided between the matter under discussion and the vagaries of a -big rough terrier which accompanied him every where.</p> -<p>"You must pardon me, dear Lady Beauport," said he; "but you've all been -harking forward on the wrong scent.--Down, Tinker! Don't let him jump on your -mother, Lionel; his fleas, give you my honour, big as lobsters!--on the wrong -scent! Dear old Caterham, best fellow in the world; but frets at the curb, don't -you know? Put him a couple of links higher up than usual, and he rides rusty and -jibs--jibs, by Jove! And that's what you've been doing now. Dear old Caterham! -not much to amuse him in life, don't you know? goes on like a blessed old -martyr; but at last finds something which he likes, and you don't. Quite right, -dear Lady Beauport; <i>I</i> see it fast enough, because I'm an old lad, and -have seen men and cities; but dear Caterham, who is all milk and rusks and green -peas, and every thing that is innocent, don't you know, don't see it at all. And -then you try to shake him by the shoulder and rouse him out of his dream, and -tell him that he's not in fairyland, not in Aladdin's palace, not in a two-pair -back in Craven Street, Strand. Great mistake that, Lionel, dear boy. Dear Lady -Beauport, surely your experience teaches you that it is a great mistake to cross -a person when they're in that state?"</p> -<p>"But, Mr. Barford, what is to be done?"</p> -<p>"Put the helm about, Lady Beauport, and--Tinker! you atrocious desperado, you -shameless caitiff! will you get down?--put the helm about, and try the other -tack. Weve failed with dear old Caterham: now let's try the lady. Caterham is -the biggest fish she's seen yet; but my notion is that if a perch came in her -way, and seemed likely to bite, she'd forget she'd ever seen a gudgeon. Now my -brother Windermere came to town last week, and he's an earl, you know, and just -the sort of fellow who likes nothing so much as a flirtation, and is all the -time thunderingly well able to take care of himself. I think if Miss Chesterton -were introduced to Windermere, she'd soon drop poor dear Caterham."</p> -<p>Both Lionel and his mother agreed in this notion, and an early opportunity -was taken for the presentation of Lord Windermere to Miss Chesterton. An -acknowledged <i>parti</i>; a man of thews and sinews; frank, generous, and -affable: apparently candid and unsuspecting in the highest degree, he seemed the -very prize for which that accomplished fortune-huntress had long been waiting; -and forgetting the old fable of the shadow and the substance she at once turned -a decided cold shoulder upon poor Lord Caterham, ceased visiting him, showed him -no more poetry, and within a week of her making Lord Windermere's acquaintance, -cut her old friend dead in Kensington Gardens, whither he had been wheeled in -the hope of seeing her. Ah, in how few weeks, having discovered the sandy -foundation on which she had been building, did she come back, crouching and -fawning and trying all the old devices, to find the fire faded out of Caterham's -eyes and the hope out of his breast, and the prospect of any love or -companionship as distant from him as ever!</p> -<p>Yes, that was Lord Caterham's one experience of love; and after its lame and -impotent conclusion he determined he would never have another. We have all of us -determined that in our time; but few of us have kept to our resolution so -rigidly as did Lord Caterham, possibly because opportunities have not been so -wanting to us as to him. It is all that horrible opportunity which saps our -strongest resolutions; it is the close proximity of the magnum of "something -special" in claret which leads to the big drink; it is the shaded walk, and the -setting sun behind the deep bank of purple clouds, and the solemn stillness, and -the upturned eyes and the provoking mouth, which lead to all sorts of horrible -mistakes. Opportunity after the Chesterton <i>escapade</i> was denied to Lord -Caterham both by himself and his parents. He shut himself up in solitude: he -would see no one save the apothecary and Algy Barford, who indeed came -constantly, feeling all the while horribly treacherous and shamefaced. And then -by degrees--by that blessed process of Time against which we rail so much, but -which is so beneficial, of Time the anodyne and comforter, he fell back into his -old ways of life; and all that little storm and commotion was as though it had -never been. It left no marks of its fury on Caterham; he kept no relics of its -bright burning days: all letters had been destroyed. There was not a glove nor a -flower in his drawers--nothing for him to muse and shake his head over. So soon -as his passion had spent itself--so soon as he could look calmly upon the doings -of the few previous months, he saw how unworthy they had been, and blotted them -from his memory for ever.</p> -<p>So until Annie Maurice had come to take up her position as his mother's -companion, Lord Caterham had been entirely without female society, and since her -advent he had first learned the advantages of associating with a pure, genuine -healthy woman. Like Carry Chesterton, she seemed to take to the crippled man -from her first introduction to him; but ah, how unlike that siren did sweet -Annie Maurice show her regard! There was no more romance in her composition, so -she would have told you herself, than in the statue at Charing Cross; no eyebrow -elevations, no glances, no palpable demonstrations of interest. In quite a -household and domestic manner did this good fairy discharge her duties. She was -not the Elf, the Wili, the Giselle; in book-muslin and star-sprent hair; she was -the ordinary "Brownie," the honest Troll, which shows its presence in help -rather than ornament. Ever since Miss Maurice had been an inmate of the house in -Barnabas Square, Caterham's books had been dusted, his books and papers -arranged, his diurnal calendar set, his desk freshened with a glass of -newly-gathered flowers. Never before had his personal wants been so readily -understood, so deftly attended to. No one smoothed his pillows so softly, -wheeled his chair so easily, his every look so quickly comprehended. To all that -dreary household Annie Maurice was a sunbeam; but on no one did she shine so -brightly as on that darkened spirit. The Earl felt the beaming influence of her -bright nature; the Countess could not deny her meed of respect to one who was -always "in her place;" the servants, horribly tenacious of interference, could -find no fault with Miss Maurice; but to none appeared she in so bright a light -as to Lord Caterham.</p> -<p>It was the morning after the receipt of the letter which Algy Barford had -left with him, and which had seemingly so much upset him, that Caterham was -sitting in his room, his hands clasped idly before him, his looks bent, not on -the book lying open on the desk, but on the vacant space beyond it. So -delicately constituted was his frame, that any mental jar was immediately -succeeded by acute bodily suffering; he was hurt, not merely in spirit but in -body; the machinery of his being was shaken and put out of gear, and it took -comparatively some length of time for all to get into working order again. The -strain on this occasion had evidently been great, his head throbbed, his eyes -were surrounded with bistre rings, and the nervous tension of his clasped -fingers showed the unrest of his mind. Then came a gentle tap on the door, a -sound apparently instantly recognisable, for Lord Caterham raised his head, and -bade the visitor "Come in." It was Annie Maurice. No one else opened the door so -quickly and closed it so quietly behind her, no one came with so light and yet -so firm a step, no one else would have seen that the sun was pouring in through -the window on to the desk, and would have crossed the room and arranged the -blind before coming up to the chair. Caterham knew her without raising his eyes, -and had said, "Ah, Annie dear!" before she reached him.</p> -<p>"I feared you were ill, my lord," she commenced; but a deep growl from -Caterham stopped her. "I feared you were ill, Arthur," she then said; "you did -not show at dinner last night, nor in the evening; but I thought you might be -disinclined for society--the Gervises were here, you know, and the Scrimgeours, -and I know you don't care for our classical music, which is invariable on such -occasions; but I met Stephens on the staircase, and he gave me such a desponding -account, that I really feared you were ill."</p> -<p>"Only a passing dull fit, Annie; only a passing dull fit of extra heaviness, -and consequently extra duration! Stephens is a croaker, you know; and having, I -believe, an odd sort of Newfoundland-dog attachment to me, is frightened if I -have a finger-ache. But I'm very glad you've come in, Annie, for I'm not really -very bright even now, and you always help to set me straight. Well, and how goes -it with you, young lady?"</p> -<p>"Oh, very well, Arthur, very well."</p> -<p>"You feel happier than you did on your first coming among us? You feel as -though you were settling down into your home?"</p> -<p>"I should be worse than foolish if I did not, for every one tries to be kind -to me."</p> -<p>"I did not ask you for moral sentiments, Annie, I asked you for facts. Do you -feel settling down into your home?" And as Caterham said this, he shot a keen -scrutinising glance at the girl.</p> -<p>She paused for a moment ere she answered, and when she spoke she looked at -him straight out of her big brown eyes.</p> -<p>"Do I feel as if I were settling down into my home, Arthur? No; in all -honesty, no. I have no home, as you know well enough; but I feel that--"</p> -<p>"Why no home?" he interrupted; "isn't--No, I understand."</p> -<p>"No, you do not understand; and it is for that reason I speak. You do not -understand me, Lord--Arthur. You have notions which I want to combat, and set -right at once, please. I know you have, for Ive heard hints of them in something -you've said before. It all rises out of your gentlemanly and chivalrous feeling, -I know; but, believe me, you're wrong. I fill the position of your mother's -companion here, and you have fallen into the conventional notion that I'm not -well treated, put upon, and all that kind of thing. On my honour, that is -utterly wrong. No two people could be kinder, after their lights, than Lord and -Lady Beauport are to me. Of your own conduct I need say no word. From the -servants I have perfect respect; and yet--"</p> -<p>"And yet?"</p> -<p>"Well, simply you choose the wrong word; there's no homey feeling about it, -and I should be false were I to pretend there were."</p> -<p>"But pardon me for thus pursuing the subject into detail,--my interest in you -must be my excuse,--what 'homey feeling,' as you call it, had you at -Ricksborough Vicarage, whence you came to us? The people there are no closer -blood-relations than we are; nor did they, as far as I know--"</p> -<p>"Nor did they try more to make me happy. No, indeed, they could not have -tried more in that way than you do. But I was much younger when I first went -there, Arthur--quite a little child--and had all sorts of childish reminiscences -of cow-milking, and haymaking, and harvest-homes, and all kinds of ruralities, -with that great balloon-shaped shadow of St. Paul's ever present on the horizon -keeping watch over the City, where dear old uncle Frank told me I should have to -get my living after he was gone. Its home-influence gained on me even from the -sorrow which I saw and partook of in it; from the sight of my aunt's deathbed -and my uncle's meek resignation overcoming his desperate grief; from the holy -comfort inspired in him by the discharge of his holy calling; by the respect and -esteem in which he was held by all around, and which was never so much shown as -when he wanted it most acutely. These things, among many others, made that place -home to me."</p> -<p>"Yes," said Lord Caterham, in a harsh dry voice; "I understand easily enough. -After such innocence and goodness I can fully comprehend what it must be to you -to read blue-books to my father, to listen to my mother's <i>fade</i> nonsense -about balls, operas, and dresses, or to attend to the hypochondriacal fancies of -a valetudinarian like myself--"</p> -<p>"Lord Caterham! I don't think that even you have a right to insult me in this -way!"</p> -<p>"<i>Even</i> I! thank you for the compliment, which implies--Bah! what a -brute I am! You'll forgive me, Annie, won't you? I'm horribly hipped and low. -Ive not been out for two days; and the mere fact of being a prisoner to the -house always fills my veins with bile instead of blood. Ah, you won't keep that -knit brow and those tightened lips any longer, will you? No one sees more -plainly than I do that your life here wants certain--"</p> -<p>"Pray say no more, I--"</p> -<p>"Ah, Annie, for Heaven's sake don't pursue this miserable growl of mine. Have -some pity for my ill-health. But I want to see you with as many surroundings -natural to your age and taste as we can find in this--hospital. There's music: -you play and sing very sweetly; but you can't--I know you can't--sit down with -any ease or comfort to that great furniture-van of a grand-piano in that gaunt -drawing-room; that's only fit for those long-haired foreigners who let off their -fireworks on Lady Beauport's reception-nights. You must have a good piano of -your own, in your own room or here, or somewhere where you can practise quietly. -I'll see about that. And drawing--for you have a great natural talent for that; -but you should have some lessons: you must keep it up; you must have a master. -There's a man goes to Lady Lilford's, a capital fellow, whom I know; you must -have him. What's his name? Ludlow--"</p> -<p>"What, Geoffrey Ludlow! dear old Geoff! He used to be papa's greatest friend -when we were at Willesden, you know,--and before that dreadful bankruptcy, you -know, Mr. Ludlow was always there. Ive sat on his knee a thousand times; and he -used to sketch me, and call me his little elf. Oh yes, dear Arthur, I should -like that,--I should like to have lessons from Mr. Ludlow! I should so like to -see him again!"</p> -<p>"Well, Annie, you shall. I'll get his address from the Lilfords and write to -him, and settle about his coming. And now, Annie, leave me, dear; I'm a little -tired, and want rest."</p> -<p>He was tired, and wanted rest; but he did not get it just then. Long after -Annie left the room he sat pondering, pondering, with a strange feeling for -which he himself could not account, but which had its keynote in this: How -strongly she spoke of the man Ludlow; how he disliked her earnestness on the -subject; and what would he not have given, could he have thought she would have -spoken so strongly of him.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> - <h4><a name="div1_10" href="#div1Ref_10">CHAPTER X.</a></h4> -<h5>YOUR WILLIAM.</h5> -<br> - <p>When you feel yourself gradually becoming enthralled, falling a victim -to a fascination all-potent, but scarcely all-satisfactory, be it melancholy, or -gambling, or drink, or love, there is nothing so counteracting to the horrible -influence as to brace your nerves together, and go in for a grand spell of work. -That remedy is always efficacious, of course. It never fails, as Geoffrey Ludlow -knew very well; and that was the reason why, on the morning after his -last-described interview with Margaret Dacre, he dragged out from behind a -screen, where it had been turned with its face to the wall, his half-finished -picture intended for the Academy, and commenced working on it with wonderful -earnestness. It was a large canvas with three principal figures: a young man, a -"swell" of modern days, turning away from the bold and eager glances of a -somewhat brazen coquette, and suddenly struck by the modest bashful beauty of a -girl of the governess-order seated at a piano. "Scylla and Charybdis" Geoff had -intended calling it, with the usual <i>Incidit in &c</i>. motto; and when the -idea first struck him he had taken pains with his composition, had sketched his -figures carefully, and had painted-in the flirt and the man very successfully. -The governess had as yet been a failure; he had had no ideal to work from; the -model who had sat to him was a little coarse and clumsy, and irritated at not -being able to carry out his notion, he had put the picture by. But he now felt -that work was required of him, not merely as a distraction from thought, but as -an absolute duty which he owed to himself; and as this was a subject likely to -be appreciated by Mr. Stompff, he determined to work at it again, and to have it -ready for submission to the Hanging Committee of the Academy. He boggled over it -a little at first; he smoked two pipes, staring at the canvas, occasionally -shading his eyes with one hand, and waving the other in a dreamy possessed -manner in front of him. Then he took up a brush and began to lay on a bit of -colour, stepping back from time to time to note the effect; and then the spirit -came upon him, and he went to work with all his soul.</p> -<p>What a gift is that of the painter, whose whole story can be read at one -glance, who puts what we require three thick volumes to narrate into a few feet -of canvas, who with one touch of his brush gives an expression which we -pen-and-ink workers should take pages to convey, and even then could never hope -to do it half so happily!--who sees his work grow beneath his hand, and can -himself judge of its effect on others;--who can sit with his pipe in his mouth, -and chirp away merrily to his friend, the while his right hand is gaining him -wealth and honour and fame!</p> -<p>The spirit was on Geoffrey Ludlow, and the result came out splendidly. He -hoped to gain a good place on the Academy walls, he hoped to do justice to the -commissions which Mr. Stompff had given him; but there was something beyond -these two incentives which spurred his industry and nerved his touch. After all -his previous failures, it seemed as though Scylla the governess would have the -best of it at last. Charybdis was a splendid creature, a bold, black-eyed, -raven-haired charmer, with her hair falling in thick masses over her shoulders, -and with a gorgeous passion-flower hanging voluptuously among her tresses; a -goddess amongst big Guardsmen, who would sit and suck their yellow moustaches -and express their admiration in fragmentary ejaculations, or amongst youths from -the Universities, with fluff instead of hair, and blushes in place of <i>aplomb</i>. -But in his later work the artist's heart seemed to have gone with Scylla, who -was to her rival as is a proof after Sir Joshua to a French print, as a glass of -Amontillado to a <i>petit verre</i> of Chartreuse,--a slight delicate creature, -with violet eyes and pallid complexion, and deep-red hair brought down in thick -braids, and tucked away behind such dainty little ears; her modest gray dress -contrasting, in its quaker-like simplicity, with the brilliant-hued robe and -rich laces of her rival. His morning's work must have been successful, for--rare -thing with him--Geoff himself was pleased with it; no doubt of the inspiration -now, he tried to deny it to himself, but could not--the likeness came out so -wonderfully. So he gave way to the charm, and as he sat before the canvas, -thoughtfully gazing at it, he let his imagination run riot, and gave his -pleasant memories full play.</p> -<p>He had worked well and manfully, and had tolerably satisfied himself, and was -sitting resting, looking at what he had done, and thinking over what had -prompted his work, when there came a tap at the door, and his sister Til crept -noiselessly in. She entered softly, as was her wont when her brother was -engaged, and took up her position behind him. But Miss Til was demonstrative by -nature, and after a minute's glance could not contain herself.</p> -<p>"Oh, you dear old Geoff; that is charming! oh, Geoff, how you have got on! -But I say, Geoff; the governess--what do you call her? I never can recollect -those Latin names, or Greek is it?--you know, and it does not matter; but she -is--you know, Geoff, I know you don't like me to say so, but I can't find any -other word--she is stunning! Not that I think--I don't know, you know, of -course, because we don't mix in that sort of society--not that--that I think -that people who--well, I declare, I don't know any other word for them I--I mean -swells--would allow their governess to have her hair done in that style; but she -is de-licious! you've got a new model, Geoff; at least you've never attempted -any thing in that style before and I declare you've made a regular hit. You -don't speak, Geoff; don't you like what I'm saying?"</p> -<p>"My dear child, you don't give me the chance of saying any thing. You rattle -on with 'I know' and 'you know' and 'don't you know,' till I can scarcely tell -where I am. One thing I do manage to glean, however, and that is that you are -pleased with the picture, which is the very best news that I could have. For -though you're a most horrible little rattletrap, and talk nineteen to the dozen, -there is some sense in what you say and always a great deal of truth."</p> -<p>"Specially when what I say is complimentary, eh, Geoff? Not that I think I -have ever said much in any other strain to you. But you haven't told me about -your new model, Geoff. Where did she come from?"</p> -<p>"My new model?"</p> -<p>"Yes, yes, for the governess, you know. That's new--I mean that hair and -eyes, and all that. You've never painted any thing like that before. Where did -she come from?"</p> -<p>There were few things that Geoffrey Ludlow would have kept from his sister, -but this was one of them; so he merely said:</p> -<p>"O, a model, Til dear--one of the usual shilling-an-hour victims."</p> -<p>"Sent you by Mr. Charles Potts, I suppose," said Miss Til, with unusual -asperity; "sent you for--" But here a knock at the door cut short the young -lady's remarks. "O, but if that is Mr. Potts," she resumed, "don't say a word -about what I said just now; don't, Geoff, there's a dear."</p> -<p>It was not Mr. Potts who responded to Geoffrey Ludlow's "Come in." It was Mr. -Bowkees head which was thrust through the small space made by the opening of the -door; and it was Mr. Bowker's deep voice which exclaimed:</p> -<p>"Engaged, eh? Your William will look in again."</p> -<p>But Til, with whom Mr. Bowker was a special favourite, from his strange -unconventional manners and rough <i>bonhomie</i>, called out at once: "Mr. -Bowker, it's only I--Geoff's sister Til;" and Geoff himself roaring out that -"Bowker was growing modest in his old age," that gentleman was persuaded to come -in; and closing the door lightly behind him, he went up to the young lady, and -bending over her hand, made her a bow such as any <i>preux chevalier</i> might -have envied. A meeting with a lady was a rare oasis in the desert of William -Bowkees wasted life; but whenever he had the chance he showed that he had been -something more than the mere pot-walloping boon-companion which most men thought -him.</p> -<p>"Geoff's sister Til!" he repeated, looking at the tall handsome girl before -him,--"Geoff's sister Til! Ah, then it's perfectly right that I should have lost -all my hair, and that my beard should be grizzled, and that I have a general -notion of the omnipresence of old age. I was inclined to grumble; but if -'Geoff's sister Til,' who I thought was still a little child, is to come up and -greet me in this guise, I recant: Time is right; and your William is the only -old fool in the matter."</p> -<p>"It is your own fault, Mr. Bowker, that you don't know the changes that take -place in us. You know we are always glad to see you, and that mamma is always -sending you messages by Geoff."</p> -<p>"You are all very good, and--well, I suppose it is my fault; let's say it is, -at all events. What! going? There, you see the effect my presence has when I -come up on a chance visit."</p> -<p>"Not at all," said Til; "I should have gone five minutes ago if you had not -come in. I'll make a confidant of you, Mr. Bowker, and let you into a secret. -Those perpetual irritable pulls at the bell are the tradespeople waiting for -orders; and I must go and settle about dinner and all sorts of things. Now -goodbye." She shook hands with him, nodded brightly at her brother, and was -gone.</p> -<p>"That's a nice girl," said William Bowker, as the door closed after her; "a -regular nice girl--modest, ladylike, and true; none of your infernal fal-lal -affectations--honest as the day; you can see that in her eyes and in every word -she says. Where do you keep your tobacco? All right. Your pipes want looking -after, Geoff. Ive tried three, and each is as foul as a chimney. Ah, this will -do at last; now I'm all right, and can look at your work. H--m! that seems good -stuff. You must tone-down that background a little, and put a touch of light -here and there on the dress, which is infernally heavy and Hamlet-like. Hallo, -Geoff, are you going in for the P.-R.-B. business?"</p> -<p>"Not I. What do you mean?"</p> -<p>"What do <i>you</i> mean by this red-haired party, my boy? This is a new -style for you, Geoff, and one which no one would have thought of your taking up. -You weren't brought up to consider this the right style of thing in old -Sassoon's academy, Geoff. If the old boy could rise from his grave, and see his -favourite pupil painting a frizzy, red-haired, sallow-faced woman as the -realisation of beauty, I think he'd be glad he'd been called away before such -awful times."</p> -<p>There was a hesitation in Geoff's voice, and a hollowness in his smile, as he -answered:</p> -<p>"P.-R.-B. nonsense! Old Sassoon couldn't teach everything; and as for his -ideas of beauty, look how often he made us paint Mrs. S. and the Miss S.'s, who, -Heaven knows, were anything but reproductions of the Venus Calipyge. The simple -question, as I take it, is this--is the thing a good thing or a bad one? Tell me -that."</p> -<p>"As a work of art?"</p> -<p>"Of course; as you see it. What else could I mean?"</p> -<p>"As a work of art, it's good--undeniably good, in tone, and treatment, and -conception; as a work of prudence, it's infernally bad."</p> -<p>Geoff looked at him sharply for a minute, and William Bowker, calmly puffing -at his pipe, did not shrink from his friend's glance. Then, with a flush, Geoff -said:</p> -<p>"It strikes me that it is as a work of art you have to regard it. As to what -you say about a work of prudence, you have the advantage of me. I don't -understand you."</p> -<p>"Don't you?" said William. "I'm sorry for you. What model did you paint that -head from?"</p> -<p>"From no model."</p> -<p>"From life?"</p> -<p>"N-no; from memory--from--Upon my soul, Bowker, I don't see what right you -have to cross-question me in this way."</p> -<p>"Don't you?" said Bowker. "Give your William something to drink, please; he -can't talk when he's dry. What is that? B. and soda. Yes, that'll do. Look here, -Geoffrey Ludlow, when you were little more than a boy, grinding away in the -Life-School, and only too pleased if the Visitor gave you an encouraging word, -your William, who is ten years your senior, had done work which made him be -looked upon as the coming man. He had the ball at his foot, and he had merely to -kick it to send it where he chose. He does not say this out of brag--you know -it?"</p> -<p>Geoffrey Ludlow inclined his head in acquiescence.</p> -<p>"Your William didn't kick the bail; something interfered just as his foot was -lifted to send it flying to the goal--a woman."</p> -<p>Again Geoffrey Ludlow nodded in acquiescence.</p> -<p>"You have heard the story. Every body in town knew it, and each had his -peculiar version; but I will tell you the whole truth myself. You don't know how -I struggled on against that infatuation;--no, you may think you do, but I am a -much stronger man than you--am, or was--and I saw what I was losing by giving -way. I gave way. I knocked down the whole fabric which, from the time I had had -a man's thoughts, a man's mind, a man's energy and power, I had striven to -raise. I kicked it all down, as Alnaschar did his basket of eggs, and almost as -soon found how vain had been my castle-building. I need scarcely go into detail -with you about that story: it was published in the Sunday newspapers of the -time; it echoed in every club-room; it has remained lingering about art-circles, -and in them is doubtless told with great gusto at the present day, should ever -my name be mentioned. I fell in love with a woman who was married to a man of -more than double her age,--a woman of education, taste, and refinement; of -singular beauty too--and that to a young artist was not her least charm--tied -for life to an old heartless scoundrel. My passion for her sprung from the day -of my first seeing her; but I choked it down. I saw as plainly as I see this -glass before me now what would be the consequence of any absurd escapade on my -part; how it would crush me, how, infinitely more, it would drag <i>her</i> -down. I knew what was working in each of us; and, so help me Heaven! I tried to -spare us both. I tried--and failed, dismally enough. It was for no want of -arguing with myself--from no want of forethought of all the consequences that -might ensue. I looked at all point-blank; for though I was young and mad with -passion, I loved that woman so that I could even have crushed my own selfishness -lest it should be harm to her. I could have done this: I did it until--until one -night I saw a blue livid mark on her shoulder. God knows how many years that is -ago, but I have the whole scene before me at this moment. It was at some fine -ball (I went into what is called 'society' then), and we were standing in a -conservatory, when I noticed this mark. I asked her about it, and she hesitated; -I taxed her with the truth, which she first feebly denied, then admitted. He had -struck her, the hound! in a fit of jealous rage,--had struck her with his -clenched fist! Even as she told me this, I could see him within a few yards of -us, pretending to be rapt in conversation, but obviously noting our conduct. I -suppose he guessed that she had told me of what had occurred. I suppose he -guessed it from my manner and the expression of my face, for a deadly pallor -came over his grinning cheeks; and as we passed out of the conservatory, he -whispered to her--not so low but that I caught the words--'You shall pay for -this, madam--you shall pay for this!' That determined me, and that night we -fled.--Give me some more brandy and soda, Geoff. Merely to tell this story drags -the heart out of my breast."</p> -<p>Geoff pushed the bottle over to his friend, and after a gulp Bowker -proceeded:</p> -<p>"We went to Spain, and remained there many months; and there it was all very -well. That slumbering country is even now but little haunted by your infernal -British tourist; but then scarcely any Englishman came there. Such as we came -across were all bachelors, your fine lad can't stand the mule-travelling and the -roughing it in the posadas; and they either had not heard the story, or didn't -see the propriety of standing on any squeamishness, more especially when the -acquaintance was all to their advantage, and we got on capitally. Nelly had seen -nothing, poor child, having left school to be married; and all the travel, and -the picturesque old towns, and the peasantry, and the Alhambra, and all the rest -of it, made a sort of romantic dream for her. But then old Van den Bosch got his -divorce; and so soon as I had heard of that, like a madman as I was, I -determined to come back to England. The money was running short, to be sure; but -I had made no end of sketches, and I might have sent them over and sold them; -but I wanted to get back. A man can't live on love alone; and I wanted to be -amongst my old set again, for the old gossip and the old <i>camaraderie</i>; and -so back we came. I took a little place out at Ealing, and then I went into the -old haunts, and saw the old fellows, and--for the first time--so help me Heaven! -for the first time I saw what I had done. They cut me, sir, right and left! -There were some of them--blackguards who would have hobnobbed with Greenacre, if -he'd stood the drink--who accepted my invitations, and came Sunday after Sunday, -and would have eaten and drunk me out of house and home, if I'd have stood it; -but the best--the fellows I really cared about--pretty generally gave me the -cold shoulder. Some of them had married during my absence, and of course they -couldn't come; others were making their way in their art, working under the -patronage of big swells in the Academy, and hoping for election there, and they -daren't be mixed up with such a notoriously black sheep as your William. I felt -this, Geoff, old boy. By George, it cut me to the heart; it took all the change -out of me; it made me low and hipped, and, I fear, sometimes savage. And I -suppose I showed it at home; for poor Nell seemed to change and wither from the -day of our return. She had her own troubles, poor darling, though she thought -she kept them to herself. In a case like that, Geoff, the women get it much -hotter than we do. There were no friends for her, no one to whom she could tell -her troubles. And then the story got known, and people used to stare and nudge -each other, and whisper as she passed. The parson called when we first came, and -was a good pleasant fellow; but a fortnight afterwards he'd heard all about it, -and grew purple in the face as he looked straight over our heads when we met -him. And once a butcher, who had to be spoken to for cheating, cheeked her and -alluded to her story; but I think what I did to him prevented any repetition of -that kind of conduct. But I couldn't silence the whole world by thrashing it, -old fellow; and Nell drooped and withered under all the misery--drooped -and--died! And I--well, I became the graceless, purposeless, spiritless brute -you see me now!"</p> -<p>Mr. Bowker stopped and rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes, and gave -a great cough before finishing his drink; and then Geoffrey patted him on the -shoulder and said, "But you know how we all love you, old friend; how that -Charley Potts, and I, and Markham, and Wallis, and all the fellows, would do -anything for you."</p> -<p>Mr. Bowker gave his friend's hand a tight grip as he said, "I know, Geoff; I -know you boys are fond of your William but it wasn't to parade my grief, or to -cadge for sympathy from them, that I told you that story. I had another motive."</p> -<p>"And that was--"</p> -<p>"To set myself up as an example and a warning to--any one who might be going -to take a similar step. You named yourself just now, Geoff, amongst those who -cared for me. Your William is a bit of a fogy, he knows; but some of you do care -for him, and you amongst them."</p> -<p>"Of course. You know that well enough."</p> -<p>"Then why not show your regard for your William, dear boy?</p> -<p>"Show my regard--how shall I show it?"</p> -<p>"By confiding in him, Geoff; by talking to him about yourself; telling him -your hopes and plans; asking him for some of that advice which seeing a great -many men and cities, and being a remarkably downy old skittle, qualifies him to -give. Why not confide in him, Geoff?"</p> -<p>"Confide in you? About what? Why on earth not speak out plainly at once?"</p> -<p>"Well, well, I won't beat about the bush any longer. I daresay there's -nothing in it; but people talk and cackle so confoundedly, and, by George, -men--some men, at least--are quite as bad as women in that line; and they say -you're in love, Geoff; regularly hard hit--no chance of recovery!"</p> -<p>"Do they?" said Geoff, flushing very red--"do they? Who are 'they,' by the -way?--not that it matters, a pack of gabbling fools! But suppose I am, what -then?"</p> -<p>"What then! Why, nothing then--only it's rather odd that you've never told -your William, whom you've known so long and so intimately, any thing about it. -Is that" (pointing to the picture) "a portrait of the lady?"</p> -<p>"There--there is a reminiscence of her--her head and general style."</p> -<p>"Then your William would think that her head and general style must be doosid -good. Any sisters?"</p> -<p>"I--I think not."</p> -<p>"Are her people pleasant--do you get on with them?"</p> -<p>"I don't know them."</p> -<p>"Ah, Geoff, Geoff, why make me go on in this way? Don't you know me well -enough to be certain that I'm not asking all these questions for impertinence -and idle curiosity? Don't you see that I'm dragging bit by bit out of you -because I'm coming to the only point any of your friends can care about? Is this -girl a good girl; is she respectable; is she in your own sphere of life; can you -bring her home and tell the old lady to throw her arms round her neck, and -welcome her as a daughter? Can you introduce her to that sweet sister of yours -who was here when I came in?"</p> -<p>There came over Geoffrey Ludlow's face a dark shadow such as William Bowker -had never seen there before. He did not speak nor turn his eyes, but sat fixed -and rigid as a statue.</p> -<p>"For God's sake think of all this, Geoff! Ive told you a thousand times that -you ought to be married; that there was no man more calculated to make a woman -happy, or to have his own happiness increased by a woman's love. But then she -must be of your own degree in life, and one of whom you could be every where -proud. I would not have you married to an ugly woman or a drabby woman, or any -thing that wasn't very nice; how much less, then, to any one whom you would feel -ashamed of, or who could not be received by your dear ones at home! Geoff, dear -old Geoff, for heaven's sake think of all this before it is too late! Take -warning by my fatal error, and see what misery you would prepare for both of -you."</p> -<p>Geoffrey Ludlow still sat in the same attitude. He made no reply for some -minutes; then he said, dreamily, "Yes--yes, you're quite right, of -course,--quite right. But I don't think we'll continue the conversation now. -Another time, Bowker, please--another time." Then he ceased, and Mr. Bowker rose -and pressed his hand, and took his departure. As he closed the door behind him, -that worthy said to himself: "Well, I've done my duty, and I know I've done -right; but it's very little of Geoff's mutton that your William will cut, and -very little of Geoff's wine that your William will drink, if that marriage comes -off. For of course he'll tell her all I've said, and <i>won't</i> she love your -William!"</p> -<p>And for hours Geoffrey Ludlow sat before his easel, gazing at the Scylla -head, and revolving all the detail of Mr. Bowker's story in his mind.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> - <h4><a name="div1_11" href="#div1Ref_11">CHAPTER XI.</a></h4> -<h5>PLAYING THE FISH.</h5> -<br> - <p>When did the giver of good, sound, unpalatable, wholesome advice ever -receive his due? Who does not possess, amongst the multitude of acquaintances, a -friend who says, "Such and such are my difficulties: I come to you because I -want advice;" and who, after having heard all that, after a long struggle with -yourself, you bring yourself to say, wrings your hand, goes away thinking what -an impertinent idiot you are, and does exactly the opposite of all you have -suggested? All men, even the most self-opinionated and practical, are eager for -advice. None, even the most hesitating and diffident, take it, unless it agrees -with their own preconceived ideas. There are, of course, exceptions by which -this rule is proved; but there are two subjects on which no man was ever yet -known to take advice, and they are horses and women. Depreciate your friend's -purchase as delicately as Agag came unto Saul; give every possible encomium to -make and shape and breeding; but hint, <i>per contra</i>, that the animal is -scarcely up to his weight, or that that cramped action looks like a possible -blunder; suggest that a little more slope in the shoulder, a little less -cowiness in the general build, might be desirable for riding purposes, and your -friend will smile, and shake his head, and canter away, convinced of the utter -shallowness of your equine knowledge. In the other matter it is much worse. You -must be very much indeed a man's friend if you can venture to hint to him, even -after his iterated requests for your honest candid opinion, that the lady of his -love is any thing but what he thinks her. And though you iterate and reiterate, -moralise as shrewdly as Ecclesiasticus, bring chapter and verse to support your -text, he must be more or less than a man, and cast in very different clay from -that of which we poor ordinary mortals are composed, if he accepts one of your -arguments or gives way one atom before your elucidations.</p> -<p>Did William Bowker's forlorn story, commingled with his earnest passionate -appeal, weigh one scruple with Geoffrey Ludlow? Not one. Geoff was taken aback -by the story. There was a grand human interest in that laying bare before him of -a man's heart, and of two persons' wasted lives, which aroused his interest and -his sympathy, made him ponder over what might have been, had the principal -actors in the drama been kept asunder, and sent him into a fine drowsy state of -metaphysical dubiety. But while Bowker was pointing his moral, Geoff was merely -turning over the various salient points which had adorned his tale.</p> -<p>He certainly heard Bowker drawing a parallel between his own unhappy passion -and Geoff's regard for the original owner of that "Scylla head;" but as the -eminent speaker was arguing on hypothetical facts, and drawing deductions from -things of which he knew absolutely nothing, too much reliance was not to be -placed on his arguments. In Bowker's case there had been a public scandal, a -certain betrayal of trust, which was the worst feature in the whole affair, a -trial and an <i>exposé</i>, and a denunciation of the--well, the world used hard -words--the seducer; which--though Bowker was the best fellow in the world, and -had obviously a dreadful time of it--was only according to English custom. Now, -in his own case, Margaret (he had already accustomed himself to think of her as -Margaret) had been victimised by a scoundrel, and the blame--for he supposed -blame would, at least in the minds of very strait-laced people, attach to -her--was mitigated by the facts. Besides--and here was his great -thought--nothing would be known of her former history. Her life, so far as any -one in his set could possibly know any thing about it, began on the night when -he and Charley Potts found her in the street. She was destitute and starving, -granted; but there was nothing criminal in destitution and starvation, which -indeed would, in the eyes of a great many weak and good-natured (the terms are -synonymous) persons, bind a kind of romance to the story. And as to all that had -gone before, what of that? How was any thing of that love ever to become known? -This Leonard Brookfield, an army swell, a man who, under any circumstances, was -never likely to come across them, or to be mixed up in Geoff's artist-circle, -had vanished, and with him vanished the whole dark part of the story. Vanished -for ever and aye! Margaret's life would begin to date from the time when she -became his wife, when he brought her home to----Ah, by the way, what was that -Bowker said about her worthiness to associate with his mother and sister? Why -not? He would tell them all about it. They were good women, who fully -appreciated the grand doctrine of forgiveness; and yet--He hesitated; he knew -his mother to be a most excellent church-going woman, bearing her "cross" -womanfully, not to say rather flaunting it than otherwise; but he doubted -whether she would appreciate an introduction to a Magdalen, however penitent. To -subscribe to a charity for "those poor creatures;" to talk pleasantly and -condescendingly to them, and to leave them a tract on visiting a "Home" or a -"Refuge," is one thing; to take them to your heart as daughters-in-law is -another. And his sister! Well, young girls didn't understand this kind of thing, -and would put a false construction on it, and were always chattering, and a -great deal of harm might be done by Til's want of reticence; and so, perhaps, -the best thing to be done was to hold his tongue, decline to answer any -questions about former life, and leave matters to take their course. He had -already arrived at that state of mind that he felt, if any disagreements arose, -he was perfectly ready to leave mother and sister, and cleave to his wife--that -was to be.</p> -<p>So Geoffrey Ludlow, tossing like a reed upon the waters, but ever, like the -same reed, drifting with the resistless current of his will, made up his mind; -and all the sage experience of William Bowker, illustrated by the story of his -life, failed in altering his determination. It is questionable whether a younger -man might not have been swayed by, or frightened at, the council given to him. -Youth is impressible in all ways; and however people may talk of the headstrong -passion of youth, it is clear that--nowadays at least--there is a certain amount -of selfish forethought mingled with the heat and fervour; that love--like the -measles--though innocuo us in youth, is very dangerous when taken in middle -life; and Geoffrey Ludlow was as weak, and withal as stubborn, an in-patient, as -ever caught the disease.</p> -<p>And yet?--and yet?--was the chain so strong, were the links already so well -riveted, as to defy every effort to break them? Or, in truth, was it that the -effort was wanting? An infatuation for a woman had been painted in very black -shadows by William Bowker; but it was a great question to Geoff whether there -was not infinite pleasure in the mere fact of being infatuated. Since he had -seen Margaret Dacre--at all events, since he had been fascinated by her--not -merely was he a different man, so far as she was concerned, but all life was to -him a different and infinitely more pleasurable thing. That strange doubting and -hesitation which had been his bane through life seemed, if not to have entirely -vanished, at all events to be greatly modified; and he had recently, in one or -two matters, shown a decision which had astonished the members of his little -household. He felt that he had at last--what he had wanted all through his -life--a purpose; he felt that there was something for him to live for; that by -his love he had learned something that he had never known before; that his soul -was opened, and the whole aspect of nature intensified and beautified; that he -might have said with Maud's lover in that exquisite poem of the Laureate's, -which so few really appreciate--</p> -<p class="continue" style="margin-left:10%; font-size:smaller">"It seems that I -am happy, that to me<br> -A livelier emerald twinkles in the grass,<br> -A purer sapphire melts into the sea."</p> -<p>Then he sat down at his easel again, and worked away at the Scylla head, -which came out grandly, and soon grew all a-glow with Margaret Dacre's peculiar -expression; and then, after contemplating it long and lovingly, the desire to -see the original came madly upon him, and he threw down his palette and brushes, -and went out.</p> -<p>He walked straight to Mrs. Flexor's, and, on his knocking, the door was -opened to him by that worthy dame, who announced to him, with awful solemnity, -that he'd "find a change upstairs."</p> -<p>"A change!" cried Geoffrey, his heart thumping audibly, and his cheek -blanched; "a change!"</p> -<p>"O, nothin' serious, Mr. Ludlows; but she have been a worritin' herself, poor -lamb, and a cryin' her very eyes out. But what it is I can't make out, though -statin' put your trust in one where trust is doo, continual."</p> -<p>"I don't follow you yet, Mrs. Flexor. Your lodger has been in low spirits--is -that it?"</p> -<p>"Sperrits isn't the name for it, Mr. Ludlows, when downer than dumps is what -one would express. As queer as Dick's hatband have she been ever since you went -away yesterday; and I says to her at tea last evening--"</p> -<p>"I can see her, I suppose?"</p> -<p>"Of course you can, sir; which all I was doing was to prepare you for the--" -but here Mrs. Flexor, who had apparently taken something stronger than usual -with her dinner, broke down and became inarticulate.</p> -<p>Geoffrey pushed past her, and, knocking at the parlour-door, entered at once. -He found Margaret standing, with her arms on the mantelshelf, surveying herself -in the wretched little scrap of looking-glass which adorned the wall. Her hair -was arranged in two large full bands, her eyes were swollen, and her face was -blurred and marked by tears. She did not turn round at the opening of the door, -nor, indeed, until she had raised her head and seen in the glass Geoff's -reflection; even then she moved languidly, as though in pain, and her hand, when -she placed it in his, was dry with burning heat.</p> -<p>"That chattering idiot down stairs was right after all," said Geoff, looking -alarmedly at her; "you are ill?"</p> -<p>"No," she said, with a faint smile; "not ill, at all events not now. I have -been rather weak and silly; but I did not expect you yet. I intended to remove -all traces of such folly by the time you came. It was fit I should, as I want to -talk to you most seriously and soberly."</p> -<p>"Do we not always talk so? did we not the last time I was here--yesterday?"</p> -<p>"Well, generally, perhaps; but not the last time--not yesterday. If I could -have thought so, I should have spared myself a night of agony and a morning of -remorse."</p> -<p>Geoff's face grew clouded.</p> -<p>"I am sorry for your agony, but much more sorry for your remorse, Miss -Dacre," said he.</p> -<p>"Ah, Mr. Ludlow," cried Margaret, passionately, "don't <i>you</i> be angry -with me; don't <i>you</i> speak to me harshly, or I shall give way all together! -O, I watched every change of your face; and I saw what you thought at once; but -indeed, indeed it is not so. My remorse is not for having told you all that I -did yesterday; for what else could I do to you who had been to me what you had? -My remorse was for what I had done--not for what I had said--for the wretched -folly which prompted me to yield to a wheedling tongue, and so ruin myself for -ever."</p> -<p>Her tears burst forth again as she said this, and she stamped her foot upon -the ground.</p> -<p>"Ruin you for ever, Margaret!" said Geoffrey, stealing his arm round her -waist as she still stood by the mantelshelf; "O no, not ruin you, dearest -Margaret--"</p> -<p>"Ah, Mr. Ludlow," she interrupted, neither withdrawing from nor yielding to -his arm, "have I not reason to say ruin? Can I fail to see that you have taken -an interest in me which--which--"</p> -<p>"Which nothing you have told me can alter--which I shall preserve, please -God," said Geoff, in all simplicity and sincerity, "to the end of my life."</p> -<p>She looked at him as he said these words with a fixed regard, half of wonder, -half of real unfeigned earnest admiration.</p> -<p>"I--I'm a very bad hand at talking, Margaret, and know I ought to say a great -deal for which I can't find words. You see," he continued, with a grave smile, -"I'm not a young man now, and I suppose one finds it more difficult to express -oneself about--about such matters. But I'm going to ask you--to--to share my -lot--to be my wife!"</p> -<p>Her heart gave one great bound within her breast, and her face was paler than -ever, as she said:</p> -<p>"Your wife! your wife! Do you know what you are saying, Mr. Ludlow? or is it -I who, as the worldling, must point out to you--"</p> -<p>"I know all," said Geoffrey, raising his hand deprecatingly; but she would -not be silenced.</p> -<p>"I must point out to you what you would bring upon yourself--what you would -have to endure. The story of my life is known to you and to you alone; not -another living soul has ever heard it. My mother died while I was in Italy; and -of--the other person--nothing has ever been heard since his flight. So far, -then, I do not fear that my--my shame--we will use the accepted term--would be -flung in your teeth, or that you would be made to wince under any thing that -might be said about me. But you would know the facts yourself; you could not -hide them from your own heart; they would be ever present to you; and in -introducing me to your friends, your relatives, if you have any, you would feel -that--"</p> -<p>"I don't think we need go into that, Margaret. I see how right and how -honourable are your motives for saying all this; but I have thought it over, and -do not attach one grain of importance to it. If you say 'yes' to me, we shall -live for ourselves, and with a very few friends who will appreciate us for -ourselves. Ah, I was going to say that to you. I'm not rich, Margaret, and your -life would, I'm afraid, be dull. A small income and a small house, and--"</p> -<p>"It would be my home, and I should have you;" and for the first time during -the interview she gave him one of her long dreamy looks out of her half-shut -eyes.</p> -<p>"Then you will say 'yes,' dearest?" asked Geoff passionately.</p> -<p>"Ah, how can I refuse! how can I deny myself such happiness as you hold out -to me after the misery I have zone through!"</p> -<p>"Ah, darling, you shall forget that--"</p> -<p>"But you must not act rashly--must not do in a moment what you would repent -your life long. Take a week for consideration. Go over every thing in your mind, -and then come back to me and tell me the result."</p> -<p>"I know it now. O, don't hesitate, Margaret; don't let me wait the horrid -week!"</p> -<p>"It is right, and so we will do it. It will be more tedious to me than to -you, my--my Geoffrey."</p> -<p>Ah, how caressingly she spoke, and what a look of love and passion glowed in -her deep-violet eyes!</p> -<p>"And I am not to see you during this week?"</p> -<p>"No; you shall be free from whatever little influence my presence may -possess. You shall go now. Goodbye."</p> -<p>"God bless you, my darling!" He bent down and kissed her upturned mouth, then -was gone. She looked after him wistfully; then after some time said softly to -herself: "I did not believe there lived so good a man."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> - <h4><a name="div1_12" href="#div1Ref_12">CHAPTER XII.</a></h4> -<h5>UNDER THE HARROW.</h5> -<br> - <p>Mr. Bowker was not the only one of Geoffrey Ludlow's friends to whom -that gentleman's intentions towards the lodger at Flexor's occasioned much -troubled thought. Charley Potts regarded his friend's intimacy in that quarter -with any thing but satisfaction; and an enormous amount of bird's-eye tobacco -was consumed by that rising young artist in solemn cogitation over what was best -to be done in the matter. For though Geoffrey had reposed no confidence in his -friend, and, indeed, had never called upon him, and abstained as much as -possible from meeting him since the night of the adventure outside the Titian -Sketching-Club, yet Mr. Potts was pretty accurately informed of the state of -affairs, through the medium of Mr. Flexor, then perpetually sitting for the -final touches to Gil Bias; and having a tolerable acquaintance with human -nature,--or being, as he metaphorically expressed it, "able to reckon how many -blue beans made five,"--Mr. Potts was enabled to arrive at a pretty accurate -idea of how affairs stood in Little Flotsam Street. And affairs, as they existed -in Little Flotsam Street, were by no means satisfactory to Mr. Charles Potts. -Had it been a year ago, he would have cared but little about it. A man of the -world, accustomed to take things as they were, without the remotest idea of ever -setting himself up to correct abuses, or protest against a habitude of being not -strictly in accordance with the views of the most strait-laced, Charley Potts -had floated down the stream of life objecting to nothing, objected to by none. -There were fifty ladies of his acquaintance, passing as the wives of fifty men -of his acquaintance, pleasant genial creatures, capital punch-mixers,--women in -whose presence you might wear your hat, smoke, talk slang, chaff, and sing; -women who knew all the art-gossip, and entered into it; whom one could take to -the Derby, or who would be delighted with a cheap-veal-and-ham-pie, -beer-in-a-stone-jar, and bottle-of-hot-sherry picnic in Bushey Park,--the copy -of whose marriage-licenses Charley never expected to see. It was nothing to him, -he used to say. It might or it might not be; but he didn't think that Joe's -punch would be any the stronger, or Tom's weeds any the better, or Bill's -barytone voice one atom more tuneful and chirpy, if the Archbishop of Canterbury -had given out the bans and performed the ceremony for the lot. There was in it, -he thought, a glorious phase of the <i>vie de Bohême</i>, a scorn of the -respectable conventionalities of society, a freedom of thought and action -possessing a peculiar charm of their own; and he looked upon the persons who -married and settled, and paid taxes and tradesmen's bills, and had children, and -went to bed before morning, and didn't smoke clay pipes and sit in their -shirt-sleeves, with that softened pity with which the man bound for Epsom Downs -regards the City clerk going to business on the Clapham omnibus.</p> -<p>But within the last few months Mr. Potts's ideas had very considerably -changed. It was not because he had attained the venerable age of thirty, though -he was at first inclined to ascribe the alteration to that; it was not that his -appetite for fun and pleasure had lost any of its keenness, nor that he had -become "awakened," or "enlightened," or subjected to any of the preposterous -revival influences of the day. It was simply that he had, in the course of his -intimacy with Geoffrey Ludlow, seen a great deal of Geoffrey Ludlow's sister, -Til; and that the result of his acquaintance with that young lady was the entire -change of his ideas on various most important points. It was astonishing, its -effect on him: how, after an evening at Mrs. Ludlow's tea-table--presided over, -of course, by Miss Til--Charley Potts, going somewhere out to supper among his -old set, suddenly had his eyes opened to Louie's blackened eyelids and Bella's -painted cheeks; how Georgie's <i>h</i>-slips smote with tenfold horror on his -ear, and Carry's cigarette-smoking made him wince with disgust. He had seen all -these things before, and rather liked them; it was the contrast that induced the -new feeling. Ah, those preachers and pedants,--well-meaning, right-thinking -men,--how utterly futile are the means which they use for compassing their ends! -In these sceptical times, their pulpit denunciations, their frightful stories of -wrath to come, are received with polite shoulder-shrugs and grins of -incredulity; their twopence coloured pictures of the Scarlet Woman, their -time-worn renderings of the street-wanderer, are sneered at as utterly -fictitious and untrue; and meanwhile detached villas in St. John's Wood, and -first-floors in quiet Pimlico streets, command the most preposterous rents. -Young men will of course be young men; but the period of young-man-ism in that -sense narrows and contracts every year. The ranks of her Scarlet Ladyship's army -are now filled with very young boys who do not know any better, or elderly men -who cannot get into the new groove, and who still think that to be gentlemanly -it is necessary to be immoral. Those writers who complain of the "levelling" -tone of society, and the "fast" manners of our young ladies, scarcely reflect -upon the improved morality of the age. Our girls--all the outcry about fastness -and selling themselves for money notwithstanding--are as good and as domestic as -when formed under the literary auspices of Mrs. Chapone; and--granting the -existence of Casinos and Anonymas--our young men are infinitely more wholesome -than the class for whose instruction Philip Dormer Stanhope, Earl of -Chesterfield, penned his delicious letters.</p> -<p>So Mr. Charles Potts, glowing with newly-awakened ideas of respectability, -began to think that, after all, the <i>vie de Bohême</i> was perhaps a mistake, -and not equal, in the average amount of happiness derived from it, to the <i>vie -de</i> -Camden Town. He began to think that to pay rent and taxes and tradesmen's bills -was very likely no dearer, and certainly more satisfactory, than to invest in -pensions for cast-off mistresses and provisions for illegitimate children. He -began to think, in fact, that a snug little house in the suburbs, with his own -Lares and Penates about him, and Miss Matilda Ludlow, now looking over his -shoulder and encouraging him at his work, now confronting him at the domestic -dinner-table, was about the pleasantest thing which his fancy could conjure up -in his then frame of mind.</p> -<p>Thinking all this, devoutly hoping it might so fall out, and being, like most -converts, infinitely more rabid in the cause of Virtue than those who had served -her with tolerable fidelity for a series of years, Mr. Charley Potts heard with -a dreadful amount of alarm and amazement of Geoffrey Ludlow's close connection -with a person whose antecedents were not comeatable and siftable by a local -committee of Grundys. A year ago, and Charley would have laughed the whole -business to scorn; insisted that every man had a right to do as he liked; -slashed at the doubters; mocked their shaking heads and raised shoulders and -taken no heed of any thing that might have been sad. But matters were different -now. Not merely was Charley a recruit in the Grundy ranks, having pinned the -Grundy colours in his coat, and subscribed to the Grundy oath; but the person -about to be brought before the Grundy <i>Fehmgericht</i>, or court-marshal, was -one in whom, should his hopes be realised, he would have the greatest interest. -Though he had never dared to express his hopes, though he had not the smallest -actual foundation for his little air-castle, Charles Potts naturally and -honestly regarded Matilda Ludlow as the purest and most honourable of her -sex--as does every young fellow regard the girl he loves; and the idea that she -should be associated, or intimately connected, with any one under a moral taint, -was to him terrible and loathsome.</p> -<p>The moral taint, mind, was all hypothetical. Charles Potts had not heard one -syllable of Margaret Dacre's history, had been told nothing about it, knew -nothing of her except that he and Geoffrey had saved her from starvation in the -streets. But when people go in for the public profession of virtue, it is -astonishing to find how quickly they listen to reports of the shortcomings and -backslidings of those who are not professedly in the same category. It seemed a -bit of fatalism too, that this acquaintance should have occurred immediately on -Geoffrey's selling his picture for a large sum to Mr. Stompff. Had he not done -this, there is no doubt that the other thing would have been heard of by few, -noticed by none; but in art, as in literature, and indeed in most other -professions, no crime is so heavily visited as that of being successful. It is -the sale of your picture, or the success of your novel, that first makes people -find out how you steal from other people, how your characters are mere -reproductions of your own personal friends,--for which you ought to be -shunned,--how laboured is your pathos, and how poor your jokes. It is the -repetition of your success that induces the criticism; not merely that you are a -singular instance of the badness of the public taste, but that you have a red -nose, a decided cast in one eye, and that undoubtedly your grandmother had hard -labour for stealing a clock. Geoff Ludlow the struggling might have done as he -liked without comment; on Geoff Ludlow the possessor of unlimited commissions -from the great Stompff it was meet that every vial of virtuous wrath should be -poured.</p> -<p>Although Charles Potts knew the loquacity of Mr. Flexor,--the story of -Geoff's adventure and fascination had gone the round of the studios,--he did not -think how much of what had occurred, or what was likely to occur, was actually -known, inasmuch as that most men, knowing the close intimacy existing between -him and Ludlow, had the decency to hold their tongues in his presence. But one -day he heard a good deal more than every thing. He was painting on a fancy head -which he called "Diana Vernon," but which, in truth, was merely a portrait of -Miss Matilda Ludlow very slightly idealised (the "Gil Blas" had been sent for -acceptance or rejection by the Academy Committee), and Bowker was sitting by -smoking a sympathetic pipe, when there came a sharp tug at the bell, and Bowker, -getting up to open the door, returned with a very rueful countenance, closely -followed by little Tidd. Now little Tidd, though small in stature, was a great -ruffian. A soured, disappointed little wretch himself, he made it the business -of his life to go about maligning every one who was successful, and -endeavouring, when he came across them personally, to put them out of conceit by -hints and innuendoes. He was a nasty-looking little man, with an always grimy -face and hands, a bald head, and a frizzled beard. He had a great savage mouth -with yellow tusks at either end of it; and he gave you, generally, the sort of -notion of a man that you would rather not drink after. He had been contemporary -with Geoffrey Ludlow at the Academy, and had been used to say very frankly to -him and others, "When I become a great man, as I'm sure to do, I shall cut all -you chaps;" and he meant it. But years had passed, and Tidd had not become a -great man yet; on the contrary, he had subsided from yards of high-art canvas -into portrait-painting, and at that he seemed likely to remain.</p> -<p>"Well, how do <i>you</i> do, Potts?" said Mr. Tidd. "I said 'How do you do?' -to our friend Mr. Bowker at the door. Looks well, don't he? His troubles seem to -sit lightly on him." Here Mr. Bowker growled a bad word, and seemed as if about -to spring upon the speaker.</p> -<p>"And what's this you're doing, Potts? A charming head! acharming--n-no! not -quite so charming when you get close to it; nose a little out of drawing, -and--rather spotty, eh? What do you say, Mr. Bowker?"</p> -<p>"I say, Mr. Tidd, that if you could paint like that, you'd give one of your -ears."</p> -<p>"Ah, yes--well, that's not complimentary, but--soured, poor man; sad affair! -Yes, well! you've sent your Gil Blas to the Academy, I suppose, Potts?"</p> -<p>"O yes; he's there, sir; very likely at this moment being held up by a -carpenter before the Fatal Three."</p> -<p>"Ah! don't be surprised at its being kicked out."</p> -<p>"I don't intend to be."</p> -<p>"That's right; they're sending them back in shoals this year, I'm told--in -shoals. Have you heard any thing about the pictures?"</p> -<p>"Nothing, except that Landseer's got something stunning."</p> -<p>"Landseer, ah!" said Mr. Tidd. "When I think of that man, and the prices he -gets, my blood boils, sir--boils! That the British public should care about and -pay for a lot of stupid horses and cattle-pieces, and be indifferent to real -art, is--well, never mind!" and Mr. Tidd gave himself a great blow in the chest, -and asked, "What else?"</p> -<p>"Nothing else--O yes! I heard from Rushworth, who's on the Council, you know, -that they had been tremendously struck by Geoff Ludlow's pictures, and that one -or two more of the same sort are safe to make him an Associate."</p> -<p>"What!" said Mr. Tidd, eagerly biting his nails. "What!--an Associate! -Geoffrey Ludlow an Associate!"</p> -<p>"Ah, that seems strange to you, don't it, Tidd?" said Bowker, speaking for -the first time. "I recollect you and Geoff together drawing from the life. You -were going to do every thing in those days, Tidd; and old Geoff was as quiet and -as modest as--as he is now. It's the old case of the hare and the tortoise; and -you're the hare, Tidd;--though, to look at you," added Mr. Bowker under his -breath, "you're a d--d sight more like the tortoise, by Jove!"</p> -<p>"Geoffrey Ludlow an Associate!" repeated Mr. Tidd, ignoring Mr. Bowker's -remark, and still greedily biting his nails. "Well, I should hardly have thought -that; though you can't tell what they won't do down in that infernal place in -Trafalgar Square. Theyve treated me badly enough; and it's quite like them to -make a pet of him."</p> -<p>"How have they treated you badly, Tidd?" asked Potts, in the hope of turning -the conversation away from Ludlow and his doings.</p> -<p>"How!" screamed Tidd; "in a thousand ways! Theyve a personal hatred of me, -sir--that's what they have! Ive tried every dodge and painted in every school, -and they won't have me. The year after Smith made a hit with that miserable -picture 'Measuring Heights,' from the <i>Vicar of Wakefield</i>, I sent in 'Mr. -Burchell cries Fudge!'--kicked out! The year after, Mr. Ford got great praise -for his wretched daub of 'Dr. Johnson reading Goldsmith's Manuscript.' I sent in -'Goldsmith, Johnson, and Bozzy at the Mitre Tavern'--kicked out!--a glorious bit -of humour, in which I'd represented all three in different stages of -drunkenness--kicked out!"</p> -<p>"I suppose you've not been used worse than most of us, Tidd," growled Mr. -Bowker. "She's an unjust stepmother, is the R.A. of A. But she snubs pretty -nearly every body alike."</p> -<p>"Not at all!" said Tidd. "Here's this Ludlow--"</p> -<p>"What of him?" interposed Potts quickly.</p> -<p>"Can any one say that his painting is--ah, well! poor devil! it's no good -saying any thing more about him; he'll have quite enough to bear on his own -shoulders soon."</p> -<p>"What, when he's an Associate!" said Bowker, who inwardly was highly -delighted at Tidd's evident rage.</p> -<p>"Associate!--stuff! I mean when he's married."</p> -<p>"Married? Is Ludlow going to be married?"</p> -<p>"Of course he is. Haven't you heard it? it's all over town." And indeed it -would have been strange if the story had not permeated all those parts of the -town which Mr. Tidd visited, as he himself had laboured energetically for its -circulation. "It's all over town--O, a horrible thing! horrible thing!"</p> -<p>Bowker looked across at Charley Potts, who said, "What do you mean by a -horrible thing, Tidd? Speak out and tell us; don't be hinting in that way."</p> -<p>"Well, then, Ludlow's going to marry some dreadful bad woman. O, it's a fact; -I know all about it. Ludlow was coming home from a dinner-party one night, and -he saw this woman, who was drunk, nearly run over by an omnibus at the Regent -Circus. He rushed into the road, and pulled her out; and finding she was so -drunk she couldn't speak, he got a room for her at Flexor's and took her there, -and has been to see her every day since; and at last he's so madly in love with -her that he's going to marry her."</p> -<p>"Ah!" said Mr. Bowker; "who is she? Where did she come from?"</p> -<p>"Nobody knows where she came from; but she's a reg'lar bad 'un,--as common as -dirt. Pity too, ain't it? for Ive heard Ludlow's mother is a nice old lady, and -Ive seen his sister, who's stunnin'!" and Mr. Tidd winked his eye.</p> -<p>This last proceeding finished Charley Potts, and caused his wrath, which had -been long simmering, to boil over. "Look here, Mr. Tidd!" he burst forth; "that -story about Geoff Ludlow is all lies--all lies, do you hear! And if I find that -you're going about spreading it, or if you ever mention Miss Ludlow as you did -just now, I'll break your infernal neck for you!"</p> -<p>"Mr. Potts!" said Tidd,--"Mr. Potts, such language! Mr. Bowker, did you hear -what he said?"</p> -<p>"I did," growled old Bowker over his pipe; "and from what I know of him, I -should think he was deuced likely to do it."</p> -<p>Mr. Tidd seemed to be of the same opinion, for he moved towards the door, and -slunk out, muttering ominously.</p> -<p>"There's a scoundrel for you!" said Charley, when the door shut behind the -retreating Tidd; "there's a ruffian for you! Ive not the least doubt that -vagabond got a sort of foundation smattering from that blabbing Flexor, and -invented all that about the omnibus and the drunken state and the rest of it -himself. If that story gets noised about, it will do Geoff harm."</p> -<p>"Of course it will," said Bowker; "and that's just what Tidd wants. However, -I think your threat of breaking his neck has stopped that little brute's tongue. -There are some fellows, by Jove! who'll go on lying and libelling you, and who -are only checked by the idea of getting a licking, when they shut up like -telescopes. I don't know what's to be done about Geoff. He seems thoroughly -determined and infatuated."</p> -<p>"I can't understand it."</p> -<p>"<i>I</i> can," said old Bowker, sadly; "if she's any thing like the head -he's painted in his second picture--and I think from his manner it must be -deuced like her--I can understand a man's doing any thing for such a woman. Did -she strike you as being very lovely?"</p> -<p>"I couldn't see much of her that night, and she was deadly white and ill; but -I didn't think her as good-looking as--some that I know."</p> -<p>"Geoff ought to know about this story that's afloat."</p> -<p>"I think he ought," said Charley. "I'll walk up to his place in a day or two, -and see him about it."</p> -<p>"See <i>him?</i>" said Bowker. "Ah, all right! Yesterday was not your -William's natal day."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_13" href="#div1Ref_13">CHAPTER XIII.</a></h4> -<h5>AT THE PRIVATE VIEW.</h5> -<p>The grand epoch of the artistic year had arrived; the tremendous -Fehmgericht--appointed to decide on the merits of some hundreds of struggling -men, to stamp their efforts with approval or to blight them with rejection--had -issued their sentence. The Hanging-Committee had gone through their labours and -eaten their dinners; every inch of space on the walls in Trafalgar Square was -duly covered; the successful men had received intimation of the "varnishing -day," and to the rejected had been despatched a comforting missive, stating that -the amount of space at the command of the Academy was so small, that, sooner -than place their works in an objectionable position, the Council had determined -to ask for their withdrawal. Out of this ordeal Geoffrey Ludlow had come -splendidly. There had always been a notion that he would "do something;" but he -had delayed so long--near the mark, but never reaching it--that the original -belief in his talents had nearly faded out. Now, when realisation came, it came -with tenfold force. The old boys--men of accepted name and fame--rejoiced with -extra delight in his success because it was one in their own line, and without -any giving in to the doctrines of the new school, which they hated with all -their hearts. They liked the "Sic vos non vobis" best (for Geoffrey had sternly -held to his title, and refused all Mr. Stompff's entreaties to give it a more -popular character); they looked upon it as a more thoroughly legitimate piece of -work. They allowed the excellences of the "Scylla and Charybdis," and, indeed, -some of them were honest enough to prefer it, as a bit of real excellence in -painting; but others objected to the pre-Raphaelite tendency to exalt the white -face and the dead-gold hair into a realisation of beauty. But all were agreed -that Geoffrey Ludlow had taken the grand step which was always anticipated from -him, and that he was, out and away, the most promising man of the day: So Geoff -was hung on the line, and received letters from half-a-dozen great names -congratulating him on his success, and was in the seventh heaven of happiness, -principally from the fact that in all this he saw a prospect of excellent -revenue, of the acquisition of money and honour to be shared with a person then -resident in Mr. Flexor's lodgings, soon to be mistress of his own home.</p> -<p>The kind Fates had also been propitious to Mr. Charles Potts, whose picture -of "Gil Blas and the Archbishop" had been well placed in the North Room. Mr. -Tidd's "Boadicea in her Chariot," ten feet by six, had been rejected; but his -portrait of W. Bagglehole, Esq., vestry-clerk of St. Wabash, Little Britain, -looked down from the ceiling of the large room and terrified the beholders.</p> -<p>So at length arrived that grand day of the year to the Academicians, when -they bid certain privileged persons to the private view of the pictures previous -to their public exhibition. The <i>profanum vulgus</i>, who are odi'd and -arceo'd, pine in vain hope of obtaining a ticket for this great occasion. The -public press, the members of the Legislature carefully sifted, a set of old -dowagers who never bought a sketch, and who scarcely know a picture from a -pipkin, and a few distinguished artists,--these are the happy persons who are -invited to enter the sacred precincts on this eventful day. Geoffrey Ludlow -never had been inside the walls on such an occasion--never expected to be; but -on the evening before, as he was sitting in his studio smoking a pipe and -thinking that within twenty-four hours he would have Margaret's final decision, -looking back over his short acquaintance with her in wonder, looking forward to -his future life with her in hope, when a mail-phaeton dashed up to the door, and -in the strident tones, "Catch hold, young 'un," shouted to the groom, Geoff -recognised the voice of Mr. Stompff, and looking out saw that great capitalist -descending from the vehicle.</p> -<p>"Hallo, Ludlow!" said Mr. Stompff, entering the studio; "how are you? Quiet -pipe after the day's grind? That's your sort! What will I take, you were going -to say? Well, I think a little drop of sherry, if you've got it pale and -dry,--as, being a man of taste, of course you have. Well, those duffers at the -Academy have hung you well, you see! Of course they have. You know how that's -done, of course?"</p> -<p>"I had hoped that the--" Geoff began to stutter directly it became a personal -question with him--"that the--I was going to say that the pictures were good -enough to--"</p> -<p>"Pictures good enough!--all stuff! pickles! The pictures are good--no use in -denying that, and it would be deuced stupid in me, whove bought 'em! But that's -not why they're so well hung. My men all on the Hanging-Committee--<i>twiggez-vous?</i> -Last year there were two of Caniche's men, and a horrible fellow who paints -religious dodges, which no one buys: not one of my men on the line, and half of -them turned out I determined to set that right this year, and Ive done it. Just -you look where Caniche's men are to-morrow, that's all!"</p> -<p>"To-morrow?"</p> -<p>"O, ah! that's what brought me here; I forgot to tell you. Here's a ticket -for the private view. I think you ought to be there,--show yourself, you know, -and that kind of thing. And look here: if you see me pointing you out to people, -don't you be offended. Ive lived longer in the world than you, and I know what's -what. Besides, you're part of my establishment just now, and I know the way to -work the oracle. So don't mind it, that's all. Very decent glass of sherry, -Ludlow! I say--excuse me, but if you <i>could</i> wear a white waistcoat -to-morrow, I think I should like it. English gentleman, you know, and all that! -Some of Caniche's fellows are very seedy-looking duffers."</p> -<p>Geoff smiled, took the ticket, and promised to come, terribly uncomfortable -at the prospect of notoriety which Mr. Stompff had opened for him. But that -worthy had not done with him yet.</p> -<p>"After it's all over," said he, "you must come and dine with me at Blackwall. -Regular business of mine, sir. I take down my men and two or three of the -newspaper chaps, after the private view, and give 'em as good a dinner as money -can buy. No stint! I say to Lovegrove, 'You know me! The best, and damn the -expense!' and Lovegrove does it, and it's all right! It would be difficult for a -fellow to pitch into any of my men with a recollection of my Moselle about him, -and a hope that it'll come again next year, eh? Well--won't detain you now; see -you to-morrow; and don't forget the dinner."</p> -<p>Do you not know this kind of man, and does he not permeate English -society?--this coarse ruffian, whose apparent good-nature disarms your nascent -wrath, and yet whose good-nature you know to be merely vulgar ostentatious -self-assertion under the guise of <i>bonhomie</i>. I take the character I have -drawn, but I declare he belongs to all classes. I have seen him as publisher to -author, as attorney to young barrister, as patron to struggler generally. -Geoffrey Ludlow shrank before him, but shrank in his old feeble hesitating way; -he had not the pluck to shake off the yoke, and bid his employer go to the -devil. It was a new phase of life for him--a phase which promised competence at -a time when competence was required; which, moreover, rid him of any doubt or -anxiety about the destination of his labour, which to a man of Ludlow's -temperament was all in all. How many of us are there who will sell such wares as -Providence has given us the power of producing at a much less rate than we could -otherwise obtain for them, and to most objectionable people, so long as we are -enabled to look for and to get a certain price, and are absorbed from the -ignominy of haggling, even though by that haggling we should be tenfold -enriched! So Geoffrey Ludlow took Mr. Stompff's ticket, and gave him his pale -sherry, and promised to dine with him, and bowed him out; and then went back -into his studio and lit a fresh pipe and sat down to think calmly over all that -was about to befall him.</p> -<p>What came into his mind first? His love, of course. There is no man, as yet -unanchored in the calm haven of marriage, who amidst contending perplexities -does not first think of what storms and shoals beset his progress in that -course. And who, so long as there he can see a bit of blue sky, a tolerably -clear passage, does not, to a great extent, ignore the black clouds which he -sees banking up to windward, the heavy swell crested with a thin, dangerous, -white line of wave, which threatens his fortunes in another direction. Here -Geoffrey Ludlow thought himself tolerably secure. Margaret had told him all her -story, had made the worst of it, and had left him to act on her confession. Did -she love him? That was a difficult question for a man of Geoff's diffidence to -judge. But he thought he might unhesitatingly answer it in the affirmative. It -was her own proposition that nothing should be done hurriedly; that he should -take the week to calmly reflect over the position, and see whether he held by -his first avowal. And to-morrow the week would be at an end, and he would have -the right to ask for her decision.</p> -<p>That decision, if favourable, would at once settle his plans, and necessitate -an immediate communication to his mother. This was a phase of the subject which -Geoffrey characteristically had ignored, put by, and refrained from thinking of -as long as possible. But now there was no help for it. Under any circumstances -he would have endeavoured, on marrying, to set up a separate establishment for -himself; but situated as he was, with Margaret Dacre as his intended wife, he -saw that such a step was inevitable. For though he loved his mother with all his -heart, he was not blind to her weaknesses and he knew that the "cross" would -never be more triumphantly brought forward, or more loudly complained of, than -when it took the form of a daughter-in-law,--a daughter-in-law, moreover, whose -antecedents were not held up for the old lady's scrutinising inspection. And -here, perhaps, was the greatest tribute to the weird influence of the dead-gold -hair, the pallid face, and the deep-violet eyes. A year ago, and Geoff Ludlow -would have told you that nothing could ever have made him alter his then style -of life. It had continued too long, he would have told you; he had settled down -into a certain state of routine, living with the old lady and Til: they -understood his ways and wishes, and he thought he should never change. And Mrs. -Ludlow used to say that Geoffrey would never marry now; he did not care for -young chits of girls, who were all giggle and nonsense, my dear; a man at his -time of life looked for something more than that, and where it was to come from -she, for one, did not know. Miss Matilda had indeed different views on the -subject; she thought that dear old Geoff would marry, but that it would probably -come about in this way. Some lovely female member of the aristocracy, to whom -Geoff had given drawing-lessons, or who had seen his pictures, and become imbued -with the spirit of poetry in them, would say to her father, the haughty earl, "I -pine for him; I cannot live without him;" and to save his darling child's -health, the earl would give his consent, and bestow upon the happy couple -estates of the annual value of twenty thousand pounds. But then you see Miss -Matilda Ludlow was given to novel-reading, and though perfectly practical and -unromantic as regards herself and her career, was apt to look upon all -appertaining to her brother, whom she adored, through a surrounding halo of -circulating-library.</p> -<p>How this great intelligence would, then, be received by his home-tenants set -Geoff thinking after Stompff's departure, and between the puff of his pipe he -turned the subject hither and thither in his mind, and proposed to himself all -kinds of ways for meeting the difficulty; none of which, on reconsideration, -appearing practicable or judicious, he reverted to an old and favourite plan of -his, that of postponing any further deliberation until the next day, when, as he -argued with himself; he would have "slept upon it"--a most valuable result when -the subject is systematically ignored up to the time of going to sleep, and -after the hour of waking--he would have been to the private view at the -Academy--which had, of course, an immense deal to do with it--and he would have -received the final decision from Margaret Dacre. O yes, it was useless to think -any more of it that night. And fully persuaded of this, Geoff turned in and fell -fast asleep.</p> -<br> - <p>"And there won't be a more gentlemanly-looking man in the rooms than -our dear old Geoff!"</p> -<p>"Stuff, Til! don't be absurd!"</p> -<p>"No, I mean it; and you know it too, you vain old thing; else why are you -perpetually looking in the glass?"</p> -<p>"No, but--Til, nonsense!--I suppose I'm all right, eh?"</p> -<p>"All right!--you're charming, Geoff! I never saw you such a--I can't help it -you know--swell before! Don't frown, Geoff; there's no other word that expresses -it. One would think you were going to meet a lady there. Does the Queen go, or -any of the young princesses?"</p> -<p>"How can you be so ridiculous, Til! Now, goodbye;" and Geoff gave his sister -a hearty kiss, and started off. Miss Matilda was right; he did look perfectly -gentlemanly in his dark-blue coat, white waistcoat, and small-check trousers. -Nature, which certainly had denied him personal beauty or regularity of feature, -had given him two or three marks of distinction: his height, his bright earnest -eyes, and a certain indefinable odd expression, different from the ordinary ruck -of people--an expression which attracted attention, and invariably made people -ask who he was.</p> -<p>It was three o'clock before Geoff arrived at the Academy, and the rooms were -crowded. The scene was new to him, and he stared round in astonishment at the -brilliancy of the <i>toilettes</i>, and what Charley Potts would have called the -"air of swelldom" which pervaded the place. It is scarcely necessary to say that -his first act was to glance at the Catalogue to see where his pictures were -placed; his second, to proceed to them to see how they looked on the walls. -Round each was a little host of eager inspectors, and from what Geoff caught of -their conversation, the verdict was entirely favourable. But he was not long -left in doubt. As he was looking on, his arm was seized by Mr. Stompff, who, -scarcely waiting to carry him out of earshot, began, "Well! you've done it up -brown this time, my man, and no flies! Your pictures have woke 'em up. They're -talking of nothing else. Ive sold 'em both. Lord Everton--that's him over there: -little man with a double eyeglass, brown coat and high velvet collar--he's -bought the 'sic wos;' and Mr. Shirtings of Manchester's got the other. The price -has been good, sir; I'm not above denyin' it. There's six dozen of Sham ready to -go into your cellar whenever you say the word: I ain't mean with my men like -some people. Power of nobs here to-day. There's the Prime Minister, and the -Chancellor of the Exchequer--that's him in the dirty white hat and rumpled -coat--and no end of bishops and old ladies of title. That's Shirtings, that fat -man in the black satin waistcoat. Wonderful man, sir,--factory-boy in -Manchester! Saved his shillin' a-week, and is now worth two hundred thousand. -Fine modern collection he's got! That little man in the turn-down collar, with -the gold pencil-case in his hand, is Scrunch, the art-critic of the <i>Scourge</i>. -A bitter little beast; but Ive squared him. I gave him five-and-twenty pounds to -write a short account of the Punic War, which was given away with Bliff's -picture of 'Regulus,' and he's never pitched into any of my people since. He's -comin' to dinner to-day. O, by the bye, don't be late! I'll drive you down."</p> -<p>"Thank you," said Geoff; "I--Ive got somewhere to go to. I'll find my own way -to Blackwall."</p> -<p>"Ha!" said Stompff, "then it is true, is it? Never mind; mum's the word! I'm -tiled! Look here: don't you mind me if you see me doing any thing particular. -It's all good for business."</p> -<p>It may have been so, but it was undoubtedly trying. During the next two hours -Geoff was conscious of Mr. Stompff's perpetually hovering round him, always -acting as cicerone to some different man, to whom he would point out Geoff with -his forefinger, then whisper in his companion's ear, indicate one of Geoff's -pictures with his elbow, and finish by promenading his friend just under Geoff's -nose; the stranger making a feeble pretence of looking at some highly-hung -portrait, but obviously swallowing Geoff with his eyes, from his hair to his -boots.</p> -<p>But he had also far more pleasurable experiences of his success. Three or -four of the leading members of the Academy, men of world-wide fame, whom he had -known by sight, and envied--so far as envy lay in his gentle disposition--for -years, came up to him, and introducing themselves, spoke warmly of his picture, -and complimented him in most flattering terms. By one of these, the greatest of -them all, Lord Everton was subsequently brought up; and the kind old man, with -that courtesy which belongs only to the highest breeding, shook hands with him, -and expressed his delight at being the fortunate possessor of Mr. Ludlow's -admirable picture, and hoped to have the pleasure of receiving him at Everton -house, and showing him the gallery of old masters, in whose footsteps he, Mr. -Ludlow, was so swiftly following.</p> -<p>And then, as Geoffrey was bowing his acknowledgments, he heard his name -pronounced, and turning round found himself close by Lord Caterham's wheelchair, -and had a hearty greeting from its occupant.</p> -<p>"How do you do, Mr. Ludlow? You will recollect meeting me at Lady Lilford's, -I daresay. I have just been looking at your pictures, and I congratulate you -most earnestly upon them. No, I never flatter. They appear to me very remarkable -things, especially the evening-party scene, where you seem to have given an -actual spirit of motion to the dancers in the background, so different from the -ordinary stiff and angular representation.--You can leave the chair here for a -minute, Stephens.--In such a crowd as this, Mr. Ludlow, it's refreshing--is it -not?--to get a long look at that sheltered pool surrounded by waving trees, -which Creswick has painted so charmingly. The young lady who came with me has -gone roving away to search for some favourite, whose name she saw in the -Catalogue; but if you don't mind waiting with me a minute, she will be back, and -I know she will be glad to see you, as--ah! here she is!"</p> -<p>As Geoffrey looked round, a tall young lady with brown eyes, a pert -inquisitive nose, an undulating figure, and a bright laughing mouth, came -hurriedly up, and without noticing Geoffrey, bent over Lord Caterham's chair, -and said, "I was quite right, Arthur; it is--" then, in obedience to a glance -from her companion, she looked up and exclaimed, "What, Geoffrey!--Mr. Ludlow, I -mean--O, how <i>do</i> you do? Why, you don't mean to say you don't recollect -me?"</p> -<p>Geoff was a bad courtier at any time, and now the expression of his face at -the warmth of this salutation showed how utterly he was puzzled.</p> -<p>"You <i>have</i> forgotten, then? And you don't recollect those days when--"</p> -<p>"Stop!" he exclaimed, a sudden light breaking upon him; "little Annie Maurice -that used to live at Willesden Priory! My little fairy, that I have sketched a -thousand times. Well, I ought not to have forgotten you, Miss Maurice, for I -have studied your features often enough to have impressed them on my memory. But -how could I recognise my little elf in such a dashing young lady?"</p> -<p>Lord Caterham looked up at them out of the corners of his eyes as they stood -warmly shaking hands, and for a moment his face wore a pained expression; but it -passed away directly, and his voice was as cheery as usual as he said, "<i>Et -nos mutamur in illis</i>, eh, Mr. Ludlow? Little fays grow into dashing young -ladies, and indolent young sketchers become the favourites of the Academy."</p> -<p>"Ay," said Annie; "and the dear old Priory let to other people, and many of -those who made those times so pleasant are dead and gone. O, Geoffrey--Mr. -Ludlow, I mean--"</p> -<p>"Yes," said Geoff, interrupting her; "and Geoffrey turned into Mr. Ludlow, -and Annie into Miss Maurice: there's another result of the flight of time, and -one which I, for my part, heartily object to."</p> -<p>"Ah, but, Mr. Ludlow, I must bespeak a proper amount of veneration for you on -the part of this young lady," said Lord Caterham; "for I am about to ask you to -do me a personal favour in which she is involved."</p> -<p>Geoff bowed absently; he was already thinking it was time for him to go to -Margaret.</p> -<p>"Miss Maurice is good enough to stay with my family for the present, Mr. -Ludlow; and I am very anxious that she should avail herself of the opportunity -of cultivating a talent for drawing which she undoubtedly possesses."</p> -<p>"She used to sketch very nicely years ago," said Geoff, turning to her with a -smile; and her face was radiant with good humour as she said:</p> -<p>"O, Geoffrey, do you recollect my attempts at cows?"</p> -<p>"So, in order to give her this chance, and in the hope of making her attempt -at cows more creditable than it seems they used to be, I am going to ask you, -Mr. Ludlow, to undertake Miss Maurice's artistic education, to give her as much -of your time as you can spare, and, in fact, to give what I think I may call her -genius the right inclination."</p> -<p>Geoffrey hesitated of course--it was his normal state--and he said -doubtingly: "You're very good; but I--I'm almost afraid--"</p> -<p>"You are not bashful, I trust, Mr. Ludlow," said Lord Caterham; "I have seen -plenty of your work at Lady Lilford's, and I know you to be perfectly -competent."</p> -<p>"It was scarcely that, my lord; I rather think that--" but when he got thus -far he looked up and saw Annie Maurice's brown eyes lifted to his in such an -appealing glance that he finished his sentence by saying: "Well, I shall be very -happy indeed to do all that I can--for old acquaintance-sake, Annie;" and he -held out his hand frankly to her.</p> -<p>"You are both very good," she said; "and it will be a real pleasure to me to -recommence my lessons, and to try to prove to you, Geoffrey, that I'm not so -impatient or so stupid as I was. When shall we begin?"</p> -<p>"The sooner the better, don't you think, Mr. Ludlow?" said Lord Caterham.</p> -<p>Geoff felt his face flush as he said: "I--I expect to be going out of town -for a week or two; but when I return I shall be delighted to commence."</p> -<p>"When you return we shall be delighted to see you. I can fully understand how -you long for a little rest and change after your hard work, Mr. Ludlow. Now -goodbye to you; I hope this is but the beginning of an intimate acquaintance." -And Lord Caterham, nodding to Geoffrey, called Stephens and was wheeled away.</p> -<p>"I like that man, Annie," said he, when they were out of earshot; "he has a -thoroughly good face, and the truth and honesty of his eyes overbalance the -weakness of the mouth, which is undecided, but not shifty. His manner is honest, -too; don't you think so?"</p> -<p>He waited an instant for an answer, but Annie did not speak.</p> -<p>"Didn't you hear sue, Annie? or am I not worth a reply?"</p> -<p>"I--I beg your pardon, Arthur. I heard you perfectly; but I was thinking. O -yes, I should think Mr. Ludlow was as honest as the day."</p> -<p>"But what made you <i>distraite?</i> What were you thinking of?"</p> -<p>"I was thinking what a wonderful difference a few years made. I was thinking -of my old ideas of Mr. Ludlow when he used to come out to dine with papa, and -sleep at our house; how he had long dark hair, which he used to toss off his -face, and poor papa used to laugh at him and call him an enthusiast. I saw -hundreds of silver threads in his hair just now, and he seemed--well, I don't -know--so much more constrained and conventional than I recollect him."</p> -<p>"You seem to forget that you had frocks and trousers and trundled a hoop in -those days, Annie. You were a little fay then; you are a Venus now: in a few -years you will be married, and then you must sit to Mr. Ludlow for a Juno. It is -only your pretty flowers that change so much; your hollies and yews keep pretty -much the same throughout the year."</p> -<p>From the tone of voice in which Lord Caterham made this last remark, Annie -knew very well that he was in one of those bitter humours which, when his malady -was considered, came surprisingly seldom upon him, and she knew that a reply -would only have aggravated his temper, so she forbore and walked silently by his -side.</p> -<p>No sooner did he find himself free than Geoffrey Ludlow hurried from the -Academy, and jumping into a cab, drove off at once to Little Flotsam Street. -Never since Margaret Dacre had been denizened at Flexor's had Geoff approached -the neighbourhood without a fluttering at his heart, a sinking of his spirits, a -general notion of fright and something about to happen. But now, whether it was -that his success at the Academy and the kind words he had had from all his -friends had given him courage, it is impossible to say, but he certainly jumped -out of the hansom without the faintest feeling of disquietude, and walked -hurriedly perhaps, but by no means nervously, up to Flexor's door.</p> -<p>Margaret was in, of course. He found her, the very perfection of neatness, -watering some flowers in her window which he had sent her. She had on a -tight-fitting cotton dress of a very small pattern, and her hair was neatly -braided over her ears. He had seen her look more voluptuous, never more -<i>piquante</i> and irresistible. She came across the room to him with -outstretched hand and raised eyebrows.</p> -<p>"You have come!" she said; "that's good of you, for I scarcely expected you."</p> -<p>Geoff stopped suddenly. "Scarcely expected me! Yet you must know that to-day -the week is ended."</p> -<p>"I knew that well enough; but I heard from the woman of the house here that -to-day is the private view of the Academy, and I knew how much you would be -engaged."</p> -<p>"And did you think that I should suffer any thing to keep me from coming to -you to-day?"</p> -<p>She paused a minute, then looked him full in the face. "No; frankly and -honestly I did not. I was using conventionalisms and talking society to you. I -never will do so again. I knew you would come, and--and I longed for your -coming, to tell you my delight at what I hear is your glorious success."</p> -<p>"My greatest triumph is in your appreciation of it," said Geoff. "Having said -to you what I did a week ago, you must know perfectly that the end and aim of -all I think, of all I undertake, is connected with you. And you must not keep me -in suspense, Margaret, please. You must tell me your decision."</p> -<p>"My decision! Now did we not part, at my suggestion, for a week's -adjournment, during which you should turn over in your mind certain positions -which I had placed before you? And now, the week ended, you ask for my decision! -Surely rather I ought to put the question."</p> -<p>"A week ago I said to you, 'Margaret, be my wife.' It was not very -romantically put, I confess; but I'm not a very romantic person. You told me to -wait a week, to think over all the circumstances of our acquaintance, and to see -whether my determination held good. The week is over; Ive done all you said; and -Ive come again to say, Margaret, be my wife."</p> -<p>It was rather a long speech this for Geoff; and as he uttered it his dear old -face glowed with honest fervour.</p> -<p>"You have thoroughly made up your mind, considered every thing, and decided?"</p> -<p>"I have."</p> -<p>"Mind, in telling you the story of my past life, I spoke out freely, -regardless of my own feelings and of yours. You owe me an equal candour. You -have thought of all?"</p> -<p>"Of all."</p> -<p>"And you still--"</p> -<p>"I still repeat that one demand."</p> -<p>"Then I say 'Yes,' frankly and freely. Geoffrey Ludlow, I will be your wife; -and by Heaven's help I will make your life happy, and atone for my past. I--"</p> -<p>And she did not say any more just then, for Geoff stopped her lips with a -kiss.</p> -<br> - <p>"What <i>can</i> have become of Ludlow?" said Mr. Stompff for about the -twentieth time, as he came back into the dining-room, after craning over the -balcony and looking all round.</p> -<p>"Giving himself airs on account of his success," said genial Mr. Bowie, the -art-critic. "I wouldn't wait any longer for him, Stompff."</p> -<p>"I won't," said Stompff. "Dinner!"</p> -<p>The dinner was excellent, the wine good and plentiful, the guests well -assorted, and the conversation as racy and salted as it usually is when a -hecatomb of absent friends is duly slaughtered by the company. Each man said the -direst things he could about his own personal enemies; and there were but very -few cases in which the rest of the <i>convives</i> did not join in chorus. It -was during a pause in this kind of conversation--much later in the evening, when -the windows had been thrown open, and most of the men were smoking in the -balcony--that little Tommy Smalt, who had done full justice to the claret, took -his cigar from his mouth, leaned lazily back, and looking up at the moonlit sky, -felt in such a happy state of repletion and tobacco as to be momentarily -charitable--the which feeling induced him to say:</p> -<p>"I wish Ludlow had been with us!"</p> -<p>"His own fault that he's not," said Mr. Stompff; "his own fault entirely. -However, he's missed a pleasant evening. I rather think we've had the pull of -him."</p> -<p>Had Geoff missed a pleasant evening? He thought otherwise. He thought he had, -never had such an evening in his life; for the same cold steel-blue rays of the -early spring moon which fell upon the topers in the Blackwall balcony came -gleaming in through Mr. Flexor's first-floor window, lighting up a pallid face -set in a frame of dead-gold hair and pillowed on Geoffrey Ludlow's breast.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> - <h4><a name="div1_14" href="#div1Ref_14">CHAPTER XIV.</a></h4> -<h5>THOSE TWAIN ONE FLESH.</h5> -<br> - <p>So it was a settled thing between Margaret Dacre and Geoffrey Ludlow. -She had acceded to his earnest demand--demand thrice repeated--after due -consideration and delay, and she was to become his wife forthwith. Indeed, their -colloquy on that delicious moonlight evening would have been brought to a -conclusion much sooner than it was, had not Geoff stalwartly declared and -manfully held to his determination, spite of every protest, not to go until they -had settled upon a day on which to be married. He did not see the use of -waiting, he said; it would get buzzed about by the Flexors; and all sorts of -impertinent remarks and congratulations would be made, which they could very -well do without. Of course, as regarded herself, Margaret would want a--what do -you call it?--outfit, <i>trousseau</i>, that was the word. But it appeared to -him that all he had to do was to give her the money, And all she had to do was -to go out and get the things she wanted, and that need not take any time, or -hinder them from naming a day--well, let us say in next week. He himself had -certain little arrangements to make; but he could very well get through them all -in that time. And what did Margaret say?</p> -<p>Margaret did not say very much. She had been lying perfectly tranquil in -Geoffrey's arms; a position which, she said, first gave her assurance that her -new life had indeed begun. She should be able to realise it more fully, she -thought, when she commenced in a home of her own, and in a fresh atmosphere; and -as the prying curiosity of the Flexors daily increased, and as Little Flotsam -Street, with its normal pavement of refuse and its high grim house-rows scarcely -admitting any light, was an objectionable residence, she could urge no reason -for delay. So a day at the end of the ensuing week was fixed upon; and no sooner -had it been finally determined than Geoff, looking round at preparations which -were absolutely necessary, was amazed at their number and magnitude.</p> -<p>He should be away a fortnight, he calculated, perhaps longer; and it was -necessary to apprise the families and the one or two "ladies' colleges" in which -he taught drawing of his absence. He would also let Stompff know that he would -not find him in his studio during the next few days (for it was the habit of -this great <i>entrepreneur</i> to pay frequent visits to his <i>protégés</i>, -just to "give 'em a look-up," as he said; but in reality to see that they were -not doing work for any opposition dealer); but he should simply tell Stompff -that he was going out of town for a little change, leaving that worthy to -imagine that he wanted rest after his hard work. And then came a point at which -he hitched up at once, and was metaphorically thrown on his beam-ends. What was -he to say to his mother and sister and to his intimate friends?</p> -<p>To the last, of course, there was no actual necessity to say any thing, save -that he knew he must have some one to "give away" the bride, and he would have -preferred one of his old friends, even at the risk of an explanation, to Flexor, -hired for five shillings, and duly got up in the costume of the old English -gentleman. But to his mother and sister it was absolutely necessary that some -kind of notice should be given. It was necessary they should know that the -little household, which, despite various small interruptions, had been carried -on so long in amity and affection, would be broken up, so far as he was -concerned; also necessary that they should know that his contribution to the -household income would remain exactly the same as though he still partook of its -benefits. He had to say all this; and he was as frightened as a child. He -thought of writing at first, and of leaving a letter to be given to his mother -after the ceremony was over; of giving a bare history in a letter, and an amount -of affection in the postscript which would melt the stoniest maternal heart. But -a little reflection caused him to think better of this notion, and determined -him to seek an interview with his mother. It was due to her, and he would go -through with it.</p> -<p>So one morning, when he had watched his sister Til safe off into a prolonged -diplomatic controversy with the cook, involving the reception of divers -ambassadors from the butcher and other tradespeople, Geoff made his way into his -mother's room, and found her knitting something which might have been either an -antimacassar for a giant or a counterpane for a child, and at once intimated his -pleasure at finding her alone, as he had "something to say to her."</p> -<p>This was an ominous beginning in Mrs. Ludlow's ears, and her "cross" at once -stood out visibly before her; Constantine himself had never seen it plainer. The -mere pronunciation of the phrase made her nervous; she ought to have "dropped -one and taken up two;" but her hands got complicated, and she stopped with a -knitting-needle in mid-air.</p> -<p>"If you're alluding to the butcher's book, Geoffrey," she said, "I hold -myself blameless. It was understood, thoroughly understood, that it should be -eightpence a pound all round; and if Smithers chooses to charge -ninepence-halfpenny for lamb, and you allow it, I don't hold myself responsible. -I said to your sister at the time--I said, 'Matilda, I'm sure Geoffrey--'"</p> -<p>"It's not that, mother, I want to talk to you about," said Geoff, with a -half-smile "it's a bigger subject than the price of butcher's meat. I want to -talk to you about myself--about my future life."</p> -<p>"Very well, Geoffrey; that does not come upon me unawares. I am a woman of -the world. I ought to be, considering the time I had with your poor father; and -I suppose that now you're making a name, you'll find it necessary to entertain. -He did, poor fellow, though it's little enough name or money he ever made! But -if you want to see your friends round you, there must be help in the kitchen. -There are certain things--jellies, and that like--that must come from the -pastry-cook's; but all the rest we can do very well at home with a little help -in the kitchen."</p> -<p>"You don't comprehend me yet, mother. I--I'm going to leave you."</p> -<p>"To leave us!--O, to live away! Very well, Geoffrey," said the old lady, -bridling up; "if you've grown too grand to live with your mother, I can only say -I'm sorry for you. Though I never saw my name in print in the <i>Times</i> -newspaper, except among the marriages; and if that's to be the effect it has -upon me, I hope I never shall."</p> -<p>"My dear mother, how <i>can</i> you imagine any thing so absurd! The truth -is--"</p> -<p>"O yes, Geoffrey, I understand. Ive not lived or sixty years in the world for -nothing. Not that there's been ever the least word said about your friends -coming pipe-smoking at all times of the night, or hot water required for spirits -when Emma was that dead with sleep she could scarcely move; nor about young -persons--female models you call them--trolloping misses I say."</p> -<p>It is worthy of remark that in all business matters Mrs. Ludlow was -accustomed to treat her son as a cipher, forgetting that two-thirds of the -income by which the house was supported were contributed by him. There was no -thought of this, however, in honest old Geoff's mind as he said,</p> -<p>"Mother, you won't hear me out! The fact is, I'm going to be married."</p> -<p>"To be married, Geoffrey!" said the old lady, in a voice that was much softer -and rather tremulous; "to be married, my dear boy! Well, that is news!" Her -hands trembled as she laid them on his big shoulders and put up her face to kiss -him. "Well, well, to be sure! I never thought you'd marry now, Geoffrey. I -looked upon you as a confirmed old bachelor. And who is it that has caught you -at last? Not Miss Sanders, is it?"</p> -<p>Geoffrey shook his head.</p> -<p>"I thought not. No, that would never do. Nice kind of girl too; but if we're -to hold our heads so high when all our money comes out of sugar-hogsheads in -Thames Street, why where will be the end of it, I should like to know? It isn't -Miss Hall?"</p> -<p>Geoffrey repeated his shake.</p> -<p>"Well, I'm glad of it; not but what I'm very fond of Emily Hall; but that -half-pay father of hers! I shouldn't like some of the people about here to know -that we were related to a half-pay captain with a wooden leg; and he'd be always -clumping about the house, and be horrible for the carpets! Well, if it isn't -Minnie Beverley, I'll give it up; for you'd never go marrying that tall -Dickenson, who's more like a dromedary than a woman!"</p> -<p>"It is not Minnie Beverley, nor the young lady who's like a dromedary," said -Geoff, laughing. "The young lady I am going to marry is a stranger to you; you -have never even seen her."</p> -<p>"Never seen her! O Geoff!" cried the old lady, with horror in her face, -"you're never going to marry one of those trolloping models, and bring her home -to live with us?"</p> -<p>"No, no, mother; you need be under no alarm. This young lady, who is from the -country, is thoroughly ladylike and well educated. But I shall not bring her -home to you; we shall have a house of our own."</p> -<p>"And what shall we do, Til and I? O, Geoffrey, I shall never have to go into -lodgings at my time of life, shall I, and after having kept house and had my own -plate and linen for so many years?"</p> -<p>"Mother, do you imagine I should increase my own happiness at the expense of -yours? Of course you'll keep this house, and all arrangements will go on just -the same as usual, except that I sha'n't be here to worry you."</p> -<p>"You never worried me, my dear," said the old lady, as all his generosity and -noble unselfishness rose before her mind; "you never worried me, but have been -always the best of sons; and pray God that you may be happy, for you deserve -it." She put her arms round his neck and kissed him fondly, while the tears -trickled down her cheeks. "Ah, here's Til," she continued, drying her eyes; "it -would never do to let her see me being so silly."</p> -<p>"O, here you are at last!" said Miss Til, who, as they both noticed, had a -very high colour and was generally suffused about the face and neck; "what have -you been conspiring about? The Mater looks as guilty as possible, doesn't she, -Geoff? and you're not much better, sir. What is the matter?"</p> -<p>"I suspect you're simply attempting the authoritative to cover your own -confusion, Til. There's something--"</p> -<p>"No, no! I won't be put off in that manner! What <i>is</i> the matter?"</p> -<p>"There's nothing the matter, my dear," said Mrs. Ludlow, who by this time had -recovered her composure; "though there is some great news. Geoffrey's going to -be married!"</p> -<p>"What!" exclaimed Miss Til, and then made one spring into his arms. "O, you -darling old Geoff, you don't say so? O, how quiet you have kept it, you horrible -hypocrite, seeing us day after day and never breathing a word about it! Now, who -is it, at once? Stop, shall I guess? Is it any one I know?"</p> -<p>"No one that you know."</p> -<p>"O, I am so glad! Do you know, I think I hate most people I know--girls, I -mean; and I'm sure none of them are nice enough for my Geoff. Now, what's she -like, Geoff?"</p> -<p>"O, I don't know."</p> -<p>"That's what men always say--so tiresome! Is she dark or fair?"</p> -<p>"Well, fair, I suppose."</p> -<p>"And what coloured hair and eyes?"</p> -<p>"Eh? well, her hair is red, I think."</p> -<p>"Red! Lor, Geoff! what they call carrots?"</p> -<p>"No; deep-red, like red gold--"</p> -<p>"O, Geoff, I know, I know! Like the Scylla in the picture. O, you worse than -fox, to deceive me in that way, telling me it was a model, and all the rest of -it. Well, if she's like that, she must be wonderful to look at, and I'm dying to -see her. What's her name?"</p> -<p>"Margaret."</p> -<p>"Margaret! That's very nice; I like Margaret very much. Of course you'll -never let yourself be sufficiently childishly spoony to let it drop into Peggy, -which is atrocious. I'm very glad she's got a nice name; for, do all I could, -I'm certain I never could like a sister-in-law who was called Belinda or Keziah, -or any thing dreadful."</p> -<p>"Have you fixed your wedding-day, Geoffrey?"</p> -<p>"Yes, mother; for Thursday next."</p> -<p>"Thursday!" exclaimed Miss Til. "Thursday next? why there'll be no time for -me to get anything ready; for I suppose, as your sister, Geoff, I'm to be one of -the bridesmaids?"</p> -<p>"There will be no bridesmaids, dear Til," said Geoffrey; "no company, no -breakfast. I have always thought that, if ever I married, I should like to walk -into the church with my bride, have the service gone through, and walk out -again, without the least attempt at show; and I'm glad to find that Margaret -thoroughly coincides with me."</p> -<p>"But surely, Geoffrey," said Mrs. Ludlow, "your friends will--"</p> -<p>"O my! Talking of friends," interrupted Miss Til, "I quite forgot in all this -flurry to tell you that Mr. Charles Potts is in the drawing-room, waiting to see -you, Geoffrey."</p> -<p>"Dear me! is he indeed? ah, that accounts for a flushed face--"</p> -<p>"Don't be absurd, Geoff! Shall I tell him to come here?"</p> -<p>"You may if you like; but don't come back with him, as I want five minutes' -quiet talk with him."</p> -<p>So Mrs. Ludlow and her daughter left the studio, and in a few minutes Charley -Potts arrived. As he walked up to Geoffrey and wrung his hand, both men seemed -under some little constraint. Geoff spoke first.</p> -<p>"I'm glad you're here, Charley. I should have gone up to your place if you -hadn't looked in to-day. I have something to tell you, and something to ask of -you."</p> -<p>"Tell away, old boy; and as for the asking, look upon it as done,--unless -it's tin, by the way; and there I'm no good just now."</p> -<p>"Charley, I'm going to be married next Thursday to Margaret Dacre--the girl -we found fainting in the streets that night of the Titians."</p> -<p>Geoff expected some exclamation, but his friend only nodded his head.</p> -<p>"She has told me her whole life: insisted upon my hearing it before I said a -word to her; made me wait a week after I had asked her to be my wife, on the -chance that I should repent; behaved in the noblest way."</p> -<p>Geoffrey again paused, and Mr. Potts again nodded.</p> -<p>"We shall be married very quietly at the parish-church here; and there will -be nobody present but you. I want you to come; will you?"</p> -<p>"Will I? Why, old man, we've been like brothers for years; and to think that -I'd desert you at a time like this! I--I didn't quite mean that, you know; but -if not, why not? You know what I do mean."</p> -<p>"Thanks, Charley. One thing more: don't talk about it until after it's over. -I'm an awkward subject for chaff, particularly such chaff as this would give -rise to. You may tell old Bowker, if you like; but no one else."</p> -<p>And Mr. Potts went away without delivering that tremendous philippic with -which he had come charged. Perhaps it was his conversation with Miss Til in the -drawing-room which had softened his manners and prevented him from being brutal.</p> -<p>They were married on the following Thursday; Margaret looking perfectly -lovely in her brown-silk dress and white bonnet Charley Potts could not believe -her to be the haggard creature in whose rescue he had assisted; and simple old -William Bowker, peering out from between the curtains of a high pew, was amazed -at her strange weird beauty. The ceremony was over; and Geoff, happy and proud, -was leading his wife down the steps of the church to the fly waiting for them, -when a procession of carriages, coachmen and footmen with white favours, and -gaily-clad company, all betokening another wedding, drove up to the door. The -bride and her bridesmaids had alighted, and the bridegroom's best-man, who with -his friend had just jumped out of his cabriolet, was bowing to the bridesmaids -as Geoff and Margaret passed. He was a pleasant airy fellow, and seeing a pretty -woman coming down the steps, he looked hard at her. Their eyes met, and there -was something in Margaret's glance which stopped him in the act of raising his -hand to his hat. Geoffrey saw nothing of this; he was waving his hand to Bowker, -who was standing by; and they passed on to the fly.</p> -<p>"Come on, Algy!" called out the impatient intended bridegroom; "they'll be -waiting for us in the church. What on earth are you staring at?"</p> -<p>"Nothing, dear old boy!" said Algy Barford, who was the best man just -named,--"nothing but a resurrection!--only a resurrection; by Jove, that's all!"</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> - <h4><a name="div2_00" href="#div2Ref_00">Book the Second.</a></h4> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> - <h4><a name="div2_01" href="#div2Ref_01">CHAPTER I.</a></h4> -<h5>NEW RELATIONS.</h5> -<br> - <p>The fact of her having a daughter-in-law whom she had never seen, of -whose connections and antecedents she knew positively nothing, weighed a good -deal on Mrs. Ludlow's mind. "If she had been an Indian, my dear," she said to -her daughter Matilda, "at least, I don't mean an Indian, not black you know; of -course not--ridiculous; but one of those young women who are sent out to India -by their friends to pick up husbands,--it would be a different matter. Of -course, then I could not have seen her until she came over to England; and as -Geoff has never been in India, I don't quite see how it could have happened; but -you know what I mean. But to think that she should have been living in London, -within the bills of thingummy--mortality, and Geoff never to bring her to see -me, is most extraordinary--most extraordinary! However, it only goes to prove -what Ive said--that I have a cross to bear; and now my son's marrying himself in -a most mysterious and Arabian-nights-like manner is added to the short-weight -which we always get from the baker, and to the exceeding forwardness shown by -that young man with the pomatumed hair and the steel heart stuck into his apron, -whenever you go into the grocer's shop."</p> -<p>And although Miss Matilda combated this idea with great resolution, albeit by -no means comfortable in her own mind as to Geoffrey's proceedings, the old lady -continued in a state of mind in which indignation at a sense of what she -imagined the slight put upon her was only exceeded by her curiosity to catch a -glimpse of her son's intended: under the influence of which latter feeling she -even proposed to Til that they should attend the church on the occasion of the -marriage-ceremony. "I can put on my Maltese-lace veil, you know, my dear: and if -we gave the pew-opener sixpence, she'd put us into a place in the gallery where -we could hide behind a pillar, and be unseen spectators of the proceedings." But -this suggestion was received with so much disfavour by her daughter that the old -lady was compelled to abandon it, together with an idea, which she subsequently -broached, of having Mr. Potts to supper,--giving him sprats, or tripe, or some -of those odd things that men like; and then, when he was having a glass of -spirits-and-water and smoking a pipe, getting him to tell us all about it, and -how it went off. So Mrs. Ludlow was obliged to content herself with a line from -Geoffrey,--received two or three days after his marriage, saying that he was -well and happy, and that his Margaret sent her love ("She might have written -that herself, I think!" said the old lady; "it would have been only respectful; -but perhaps she can't write. Lord, Lord! to think we should have come to -this!"),--and with a short report from Mr. Potts, whom Til had met, accidentally -of course, walking one morning near the house, and who said that all had gone -off capitally, and that the bride had looked perfectly lovely.</p> -<p>But there was balm in Gilead; and consolation came to old Mrs. Ludlow in the -shape of a letter from Geoffrey at the end of the first week of his absence, -requesting his mother and sister to see to the arrangement of his new house, the -furniture of which was all ordered, and would be sent in on a certain day, when -he wished Til and his mother to be present. Now the taking of this new house, -and all in connection with it, had been a source of great disquietude and much -conversation to the old lady, who had speculated upon its situation, its size, -shape, conveniences, &c., with every one of her little circle of acquaintance. -"Might be in the moon, my dear, for all we know about it," she used to say; "one -would think that one's own son would mention where he was going to live--to his -mother, at least: but Geoff is that tenacious, that--well, I suppose it's part -of the cross of my life." But the information had come at last, and the old lady -was to have a hand, however subordinate, in the arrangements; and she was -proportionately pleased. "And now, Til, where is it, once more! Just read the -letter again, will you?--for we're to be there the first thing to-morrow -morning, Geoff says. What?--O, the vans will be there the first thing to-morrow -morning! Yes, I know what the vans' first thing is--eleven o'clock or -thereabouts; and then the men to go out for dinner at twelve, and not come back -till half-past two, if somebody isn't there to hunt them up! The Elm Lodge, -Lowbar! Lowbar! Why, that's Holloway and Whittington, and all that turn-again -nonsense about the bells! Well, I'm sure! Talk about the poles being asunder, my -dear; they're not more asunder than Brompton and Lowbar. O, of course that's -done that he needn't see more of us than he chooses, though there was no -occasion for that, I'm sure, at least so far as I'm concerned; I know when I'm -wanted fast enough, and act accordingly."</p> -<p>"I don't think there was any such idea in Geoff's mind, mamma," said Til; "he -always had a wish to go to the other side of town, as he found this too -relaxing."</p> -<p>"Other side of town, indeed, my dear?--other side of England, you mean! This -side has always been good enough for me; but then, you see, I never was a public -character. However, if we are to go, we'd better have Brown's fly; it's no good -our trapesing about in omnibuses that distance, and perhaps taking the wrong -one, and I don't know what."</p> -<p>But the old lady's wrath (which, indeed, did not deserve the name of wrath, -but would be better described as a kind of perpetual grumble, in which she -delighted) melted away when, on the following morning, Brown's fly, striking off -to the left soon after it commenced ascending the rise of Lowbar Hill, turned -into a pretty country road, and stopped before a charming little house, bearing -the name "Elm Lodge" on its gate-pillars. The house, which stood on a small -eminence, was approached by a little carriage-sweep; had a little lawn in front, -on which it opened from French windows, covered by a veranda, nestling under -climbing clematis and jasmine; had the prettiest little rustic portico, floored -with porcelain tiles; a cosy dining-room, a pretty little drawing-room with the -French windows before named, and a capital painting-room. From the windows you -had a splendid view over broad fields leading to Hampstead, with Harrow church -fringing the distant horizon. Nobody could deny that it was a charming little -place; and Mrs. Ludlow admitted the fact at once.</p> -<p>"Very nice, very nice indeed, my dear Til!" said she; "Geoffrey has inherited -my taste--that I will say for him. Rather earwiggy, I should think, all that -green stuff over the balcony; too much so for me; however, I'm not going to live -here, so it don't matter. Oh! the vans have arrived! Well, my stars! all in -suites! Walnut and green silk for the drawing room, black oak and dark-brown -velvet for the dining-room, did you say, man? It's never--no, my dear, I thought -not; it's <i>not</i> real velvet,--Utrecht, my dear; I just felt it. I thought -Geoff would never be so insane as to have real; though, as it is, it must have -cost a pretty penny. Well, he never gave us any thing of this sort at Brompton; -of course not."</p> -<p>"O, mother, how can you talk so!" said Til; "Geoff has always been nobly -generous; but recollect he's only just beginning to make money."</p> -<p>"Quite true, my dear, quite true; and he's been the best of sons. Only I -should have liked for once to have had the chance of showing my taste in such -matters. In your poor father's time every thing was so heavy and clumsy compared -to what it is nowadays, and--there! I would have had none of your rubbishing -Cupids like that, holding up those stupid baskets."</p> -<p>So the old lady chattered on, by no means allowing her energy to relax by -reason of her talk, but bustling about with determined vigour. When she had -tucked up her dress, and got a duster into her hand, she was happy, flying at -looking-glasses and picture-frames, and rubbing off infinitesimal atoms of dirt; -planting herself resolutely in every body's way, and hunting up, or, as she -termed it "hinching," the upholsterer's men in the most determined manner.</p> -<p>"I know 'em, my dear; a pack of lazy carpet-caps; do nothing unless you hinch -'em;" and so she worried and nagged and hustled and drove the men, until the -pointed inquiry of one of them as to "who <i>was</i> that <i>h</i>old cat?" -suggested to Miss Til the propriety of withdrawing her mother from the scene of -action. But she had done an immense deal of good, and caused such progress to be -made, that before they left, the rooms had begun to assume something like a -habitable appearance. They went to take one more look round the house before -getting into Brown's fly; and it was while they were upstairs that Mrs. Ludlow -opened a door which she had not seen before--a door leading into a charming -little room, with light chintz paper and chintz hangings, with a maple -writing-table in the window, and a cosy lounge-chair and a <i>prie-dieu</i>; and -niches on either side the fireplace occupied by little bookcases, into which the -foreman of the upholsterers was placing a number of handsomely-bound books, -which he took from a box on the floor.</p> -<p>"Why, good Lord! what's this?" said the old lady, as soon as she recovered -her breath.</p> -<p>"This is the budwaw, mum," said the foreman, thinking he had been addressed.</p> -<p>"The what, man? What does he say, Matilda?"</p> -<p>"The budwaw, mum; Mrs. Ludlow's own room as is to be. Mr. Ludlow was most -partickler about this room, mum; saw all the furniture for it before he went -away, mum; and give special directions as to where it was to be put."</p> -<p>"Ah, well, it's all right, I daresay. Come along, my dear."</p> -<p>But Brown's horse had scarcely been persuaded by his driver to comprehend -that he was required to start off homewards with Brown's fly, when the old lady -turned round to her daughter, and said solemnly:</p> -<p>"You mark my words, Matilda, and after I'm dead and gone don't you forget -'em--your brother's going to make a fool of himself with this wife of his. I -don't care if she were an angel, he'd spoil her. Boudoir, indeed!--room all to -herself, with such a light chintz as that, and maple too; there's not one woman -in ten thousand could stand it; and Geoffrey's building up a pretty nest for -himself, you mark my words."</p> -<p>Two days later a letter was received from Geoffrey to say that they had -arrived home, and that by the end of the week the house would be sufficiently in -order, and Margaret sufficiently rested from her fatigue, to receive them, if -they would come over to Elm Lodge to lunch. As the note was read aloud by Til, -this last word struck upon old Mrs. Ludlow's ear, and roused her in an instant.</p> -<p>"To what, my dear?" she asked. "I beg your pardon, I didn't catch the word."</p> -<p>"To lunch, mamma."</p> -<p>"O, indeed; then I did catch the word, and it wasn't your mumbling tone that -deceived me. To lunch, eh? Well, upon my word! I know I'm a stupid old woman, -and I begin to think I live in heathenish times; but I know in my day that a son -would no more have thought of asking his mother to lunch than--well, it's good -enough for us, I suppose."</p> -<p>"Mamma, how <i>can</i> you say such things! They're scarcely settled yet, and -don't know any thing about their cook; and no doubt Margaret's a little -frightened at first--I'm sure I should be, going into such a house as that."</p> -<p>"Well, my dear, different people are differently constituted. I shouldn't -feel frightened to walk into Buckingham Palace as mistress to-morrow. However, I -daresay you're right;" and then Mrs. Ludlow went into the momentous question of -"what she was to go in." It was lucky that in this matter she had Til at her -elbow; for whatever the old lady's taste may have been in houses and furniture, -it was very curious in dress, leaning towards wild stripes and checks and large -green leaves, with veins like caterpillars, spread over brown grounds; towards -portentous bonnets, bearing cockades and bows of ribbon where such things were -never seen before; to puce-coloured gloves, and parasols rescued at an alarming -sacrifice from a cheap draper's sale. But under Til's supervision Mrs. Ludlow -was relegated to a black-silk dress, and the bonnet which Geoffrey had presented -to her on her birthday, and which Til had chosen; and to a pair of lavender -gloves which fitted her exactly, and had not those caverns at the tips of the -fingers and that wrinkled bagginess in the thumbs which were usually to be found -in the old lady's hand-coverings; and as she took her seat in Brown's fly, the -neighbours on either side, with their noses firmly pressed against their -parlour-windows, were envious of her personal appearance, though both of them -declared afterwards that she wanted a "little more lighting-up."</p> -<p>When the fly was nearing its destination, Mrs. Ludlow began to grow very -nervous, a state which was exhibited by her continually tugging at her -bonnet-strings and shaking out the skirt of her dress, requesting to be informed -whether she was "quite straight," and endeavouring to catch the reflection of -herself in the front glasses of the fly. These performances were scarcely over -before the fly stopped at the gate, and Mrs. Ludlow descending was received into -her son's strong arms. The old lady's maternal feelings were strongly excited at -that moment, for she never uttered a word of complaint or remonstrance, though -Geoff squeezed up all the silk skirt which she had taken such pains to shake -out, and hugged her until her bonnet was all displaced. Then, after giving Til a -hearty embrace, Geoff took his mother's hand and led her across the little lawn -to the French window, at which Margaret was waiting to receive her.</p> -<p>Naturally enough, old Mrs. Ludlow had thought very much over this interview, -and had pictured it to herself in anticipation a score of times. She had never -taken any notice of the allusions to the likeness between her daughter-in-law -that was to be and the Scylla-head which Geoff had painted; but had drawn -entirely upon her own imagination for the sort of person who was to be presented -to her. This ideal personage had at various times undergone a good deal of -change. At one time she would appear as a slight girl with long fair hair and -blue eyes ("what I call a wax-doll beauty," the old lady would think); then she -would have large black eyes, long black hair, and languishing manners; then she -would be rather plain, but with a finely-developed figure, Mrs. Ludlow having a -theory that most artists thought of figure more than face; but in any case she -would be some little chit of a girl, just the one to catch such a man as our -Geoff, who stuck to his paintings, and had seen so little of the world.</p> -<p>So much for Mrs. Ludlow's ideal; the realisation was this. On the step -immediately outside the window stood Margaret, a slight rose-flush tinting her -usually pale cheeks just under her eyes; her deep-violet eyes wider open than -usual, but still soft and dreamy; her red-gold hair in bands round her face, but -twisted up at the back into one large knot at the top of her head. She was -dressed in a bright-blue cambric dress, which fell naturally and gracefully -round her, neither bulging out with excess of crinoline, nor sticking limply to -her like a bathing-gown; across her shoulders was a large white muslin-cape, -such as that which Marie Antoinette is represented as wearing in Delaroche's -splendid picture; muslin-cuffs and a muslin-apron. A gleam of sun shone upon -her, bathing her in light; and as the old lady stood staring at her in -amazement, a recollection came across her of something which she had not seen -for more than forty years, nor ever thought of since,--a reminiscence of a -stained-glass figure of the Virgin in some old Belgian cathedral, pointed out to -her by her husband in her honeymoon.</p> -<p>As this idea passed through her mind, the tears rose into Mrs. Ludlow's eyes. -She was an excitable old lady and easily touched; and simultaneously with the -painted figure she thought of the husband pointing it out,--the young husband -then so brave and handsome, now for so many years at rest,--and she only dimly -saw Margaret coming forward to meet her. But remembering that tears would be a -bad omen for such an introduction, she brushed them hastily away, and looked up -in undisguised admiration at the handsome creature moving gracefully towards -her. Geoffrey, in a whirl of stuttering doubt, said, "My mother, Margaret; -mother, this is--Margaret--my wife;" and each woman moved forward a little, and -neither knew what to do. Should they shake hands or kiss? and from whom should -the suggestion come? It came eventually from the old lady, who said simply, "I'm -glad to see you, my dear;" and putting one hand on Margaret's shoulder, kissed -her affectionately. There was no need of introduction between the others. Til's -bright eyes were sparkling with admiration and delight; and Margaret, seeing the -expression in them, reciprocated it at once, saying, "And this is Til!" and then -they embraced, as warmly as girls under such circumstances always do. Then they -went into the house, Mrs. Ludlow leaning on her son's arm, and Til and Margaret -following.</p> -<p>"Now, mother," said Geoff, as they passed through the little hall, "Margaret -will take you upstairs. You'll find things much more settled than when you were -here last." And upstairs the women went accordingly.</p> -<p>When they were in the bedroom, Mrs. Ludlow seated herself comfortably in a -chair, with her back to the light, and said to Margaret:</p> -<p>"Now, my dear, come here and let me have a quiet look at you. Ive thought of -you a thousand times, and wondered what you were like; but I never thought of -any thing like this."</p> -<p>"You--you are not disappointed, I hope," said Margaret. She knew it was a -dull remark, and she made it in a constrained manner. But what else was she to -say?</p> -<p>"Disappointed! no, indeed, my dear. But I won't flatter you; you'll have -quite enough of that from Geoffrey. I shall always think of you in future as a -saint; you're so like the pictures of the saints in the churches abroad."</p> -<p>"You see you flatter me at once."</p> -<p>"No, my dear, I don't. For you are like them, I'm sure; not that you're to -wear horsehair next your skin, or be chopped up into little pieces, or made to -walk on hot iron, or any thing of that sort, you know; but I can see by your -face that you're a good girl, and will make my Geoff a good wife."</p> -<p>"I will try to do so, Mrs. Ludlow," said Margaret, earnestly.</p> -<p>"And you'll succeed, my dear. I knew I could always trust Geoff for that; he -might marry a silly girl, one that hadn't any proper notions of keeping house or -managing those nuisances of servants but I knew he would choose a good one. And -don't call me 'Mrs. Ludlow,' please, my dear. I'm your mother now; and with such -a daughter-in-law I'm proud of the title!" This little speech was sealed with a -kiss, which drove away the cloud that was gathering on Margaret's brow, and they -all went down to lunch together. The meal passed off without any particular -incident to be recorded. Margaret was self-possessed, and did the honours of her -table gracefully, paying particular attention to her guests, and generally -conducting herself infinitely better than Geoff, who was in a flurry of nervous -excitement, and was called to order by his mother several times for jumping up -to fetch things when he ought to have rung the bell. "A habit that I trust -you'll soon break him of, Margaret, my dear; for nothing goes to spoil a servant -so quickly; and calling over the bannisters for what he wants is another trick, -as though servants' legs weren't given them to answer bells." But Mrs. Ludlow -did not talk much, being engaged, during the intervals of eating, in mentally -appraising the articles on the table, in quietly trying the weight of the -spoons, and in administering interrogative taps to the cow on the top of the -butter-dish to find if she were silver or plated, in private speculations as to -which quality of Romford ale Geoffrey had ordered and what he paid for it, and -various other little domestic whereto her experience as a household manager -prompted her. Geoffrey too was silent; but the conversation, though not loud, -was very brisk between Margaret and Til, who seemed, to Geoff's intense delight, -to have taken a great fancy for each other.</p> -<p>It was not until late in the afternoon, when the hour at which Brown's fly -had been ordered was rapidly approaching, and they were all seated in the -veranda enjoying the distant view, the calm stillness, and the fresh air, that -the old lady, who had been looking with a full heart at Geoffrey--who, seated -close behind Margaret, was playing with the ends of her hair as she still kept -up her conversation with Til--said:</p> -<p>"Well, Geoffrey, I don't think I ought to leave you to-night without saying -how much I am pleased with my new daughter. O, I don't mind her hearing me; -she's too good a girl to be upset by a little truthful praise--ain't you, my -dear? Come and sit by me for a minute and give me your hand, Margaret; and you, -Geoff, on the other side. God bless you both, my children, and make you happy in -one another! You're strange to one another, and you'll have some little worries -at first; but you'll soon settle down into happiness. And that's the blessing of -your both being young and fresh. I'm very glad you didn't marry poor Joe -Telford's widow, Geoff, as we thought you would, ten years ago. I don't think, -if I had been a man, I should have liked marrying a widow. Of course every one -has their little love-affairs before they marry, but that's nothing; but with a -widow it's different, you know; and she'd be always comparing you with the other -one, and perhaps the comparison might not be flattering. No; it's much better to -begin life both together, with no past memories to--why, Geoffrey, how your hand -shakes, my dear! What's the matter? it can't be the cold, for Margaret is as -steady as a rock."</p> -<p>Geoffrey muttered something about "a sudden shiver," and just at that moment -the fly appeared at the gate So they parted with renewed embraces and promises -of meeting again very shortly; Geoffrey was to bring Margaret over to Brompton, -and the next time they came to Elm Lodge they must spend a long day, and perhaps -sleep there; and it was not until Brown's fly turned the corner which shut the -house out of sight that Mrs. Ludlow ceased stretching her head out of the window -and nodding violently. Then she burst out at once with her long-pent-up -questioning.</p> -<p>"Well, Matilda, and what do you think of your new relation? I'm sure you've -been as quiet as quiet; there's been no getting a word out of you. But I suppose -you don't mind telling your mother. What <i>do</i> you think of her?"</p> -<p>"She is very handsome, mamma, and seems very kind, and very fond of Geoff."</p> -<p>"Handsome, my dear! She's really splendid! There's a kind of <i>je ne sais -quoi</i> about her that--and tall too, like a duchess! Well, I don't think the -Wilkinsons in the Crescent will crow any longer. Why, that girl that Alfred -Wilkinson married the other day, and that they all went on so about, isn't a -patch upon Margaret. Did you notice her cape and cuffs, Matilda? Rather -Frenchified, I thought; rather like that nurse that the Dixons brought from -Boulogne last year, but very pretty. I hope she'll wear them when she comes to -spend the day with us, and that some of those odious people in the Crescent will -come to call. Their cook seems to have a light hand at pie-crust; and <i>did</i> -you taste the jelly, my dear? I wonder if it was made at home; if so, the cook's -a treasure, and dirt-cheap at seventeen and every thing found except beer, which -Margaret tells me is all she gives! I see they didn't like my arrangement of the -furniture; theyve pulled the grand-piano away from the wall, and put the ottoman -in its place: nice for the people who sit on it to rub the new paper with their -greasy heads!"</p> -<p>And so the old lady chattered on until she felt sleepy, and stumbled out at -her own door in an exhausted state, from which the delicious refreshment of a -little cold brandy-and-water and a particularly hard and raspy biscuit did not -rouse her. But just as Til was stepping into bed her mother came into the room, -perfectly bright and preternaturally sharp, to say, "Do you know, my dear, I -think, after all, Geoffrey was very fond of Joe Telford's widow? You were too -young then to recollect her; for when I was speaking about her to-night, and -saying how much better it was that both husband and wife should come fresh to -each other, Geoff s hand shook like an aspen-leaf, and his face was as pale as -death."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> - <h4><a name="div2_02" href="#div2Ref_02">CHAPTER II.</a></h4> -<h5>MARGARET.</h5> -<br> - <p>Margaret had carried out what she knew would be the first part of the -new programme of her life. During their short honeymoon, Geoffrey had talked so -much of his mother and sister, and of his anxiety that they should be favourably -impressed with her, that she had determined to put forth all the strength and -tact she had to make that first meeting an agreeable one to them. That she had -done so, that she had succeeded in her self-imposed task, was evident. Mrs. -Ludlow, in her parting words, had expressed herself delighted with her new -daughter-in-law; but by her manner, much more than by any thing she had said, -Geoff knew that his mother's strong sympathies had been enlisted, if her heart -had not been entirely won. For though the old lady so far gave in to the -prejudices of the world as to observe a decent reticence towards objects of her -displeasure--though she never compromised herself by outraging social decency in -verbal attacks or disparaging remarks--a long experience had given her son a -thorough appreciation of, and power of translating, certain bits of facial -pantomime of a depreciatory nature, which never varied; notably among them, the -uplifted eyebrow of astonishment, the prolonged stare of "wonder at her -insolence," the shoulder-shrug of "I don't understand such things," and the -sniff of unmitigated disgust. All these Geoff had seen brought to bear on -various subjects quite often enough to rate them at their exact value; and it -was, therefore, with genuine pleasure that he found them conspicuous by their -absence on the occasion of his mother's first visit to Elm Lodge.</p> -<p>For although Geoff was not particularly apt as a student of human -nature,--his want of self-confidence, and the quiet life he had pursued, being -great obstacles to any such study,--he must, nevertheless, have had something of -the faculty originally implanted in him, inasmuch as he had contrived -completely, and almost without knowing it himself, to make himself master of the -key to the characters of the two people with whom his life had been passed. It -was this knowledge of his mother that made him originally propose that the first -meeting between her and Margaret should take place at Brompton, where he could -take his wife over as a visitor. He thought that very likely any little latent -jealousy which the old lady might feel by reason of her deposition, not merely -from the foremost place in her son's affections, but from the head of his table -and the rulership of his house,--and it is undeniable that with the very best -women these latter items jar quite as unpleasantly as the former,--whatever -little jealousy Mrs. Ludlow may have felt on these accounts would be heightened -by the sight of the new house and furniture in which it had pleased Geoff to -have his new divinity enshrined. There is a point at which the female nature -rebels; and though Geoff neither knew, nor professed to know, much about female -nature, he was perfectly certain that as a young woman is naturally more likely -to "take up with" another who is her inferior in personal attractions, so Mrs. -Ludlow would undoubtedly be more likely to look favourably on a daughter-in-law -whose <i>status</i>, artificially or otherwise, should not appear greater than -her own. It was Margaret who dissuaded Geoff from his original intention, -pitting against her husband's special acquaintance with his mother's foibles her -ordinary woman's cleverness, which told her that, properly managed, the new -house and furniture, and all their little luxury, could be utilised for, instead -of against, them with the old lady, making her part and parcel of themselves, -and speaking of all the surroundings as component parts of a common stock, in -which with them she had a common interest. This scheme, talked over in a long -desultory lovers' ramble over the green cliffs at Niton in the ever-lovely Isle -of Wight, resulted in the letter requesting Mrs. Ludlow to superintend the -furniture-people, of which mention has already been made, and in the meeting -taking place at Elm Lodge, as just described.</p> -<p>This first successful stroke, which Geoff perhaps unduly appreciated (but any -thing in which his mother was involved had great weight with him), originated by -Margaret and carried out by her aid, had great effect on Geoffrey Ludlow, and -brought the woman whom he had married before him in quite a new light. The -phrase "the woman he had married" is purposely chosen, because the fact of -having a wife, in its largest and most legitimate sense, had not yet dawned upon -him. We read in works of fiction of how men weigh and balance before committing -matrimony,--carefully calculate this recommendation, calmly dissect that defect; -we have essay-writers, political economists, and others, who are good enough to -explain these calculations, and to show us why it ought to be, and how it is to -be done; but, spite of certain of my brother-fictionists and these last-named -social teachers, I maintain that, in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, a man -who is a man, "with blood, bones, passion, marrow, feeling," as Byron says, -marries a girl because he is smitten with the charms either of her person or her -manner--because there is something <i>simpatico</i>, as the Italians call it, -between them--because he is "in love with her," as the good old English phrase -runs; but without having paid any thing but the most cursory attention to her -disposition and idiosyncrasy. Is it so, or is it not? Such a state of things -leads, I am perfectly aware, to the acceptance of stone for bread and scorpions -for fish; but it exists, hath existed, and will continue to exist. Brown now -helplessly acknowledges Mrs. B.'s "devil of a temper;" but even if he had had -proof positive of it, he would have laughed it away merrily enough that summer -at Margate, when Mrs. B. was Emily Clark, and he was under the thrall of her -black eyes. Jones suffers under his wife's "low fits," and Robinson under Mrs. -Robinson's religion, which she takes very hot and strong, with a great deal of -groaning and anathematising; but though these peculiarities of both ladies might -have been learned "on application" to any of the various swains who had been -rejected by them, no inquiry was ever made by the more fortunate men who took -them honestly on trust, and on account of their visible personal attractions: -And though these instances seem drawn from a lower class of life, I contend that -the axiom holds good in all states of society, save, of course, in the case of -purely mercenary marriages, which, however, are by no means so common in -occurrence, or at all events so fatal in their results, as many of our -novel-writers wish us to believe.</p> -<p>It was undoubtedly the case with Geoffrey Ludlow. He was a man as free from -gross passions, as unlikely to take a sudden caprice, or to give the reins to -his will, as any of his kind. His intimates would as soon have thought of the -bronze statue of Achilles "committing" itself as Geoff Ludlow; and yet it was -for the dead-gold hair, the deep-violet eyes, and the pallid face, that he had -married Margaret Dacre; and on her mental attributes he had not bestowed one -single thought. He had not had much time, certainly; but however long his -courtship might have been, I doubt whether he would have penetrated very far -into the mysteries of her idiosyncrasy. He had a certain theory that she was -"artistic;" a word which, with him, took the place of "romantic" with other -people, as opposed to "practical." Geoff hated "practical" people; perhaps -because he had suffered from an over-dose of practicality in his own home. He -would far sooner that his wife should <i>not</i> have been able to make pies and -puddings, and cut-out baby-linen, than that she should have excelled in those -notable domestic virtues. But none of these things had entered his head when he -asked Margaret Dacre to join her lot with his,--save, perhaps, an undefined -notion that no woman with such hair and such eyes could be so constituted. You -would have looked in vain in Guinevere for the characteristics of Mrs. Rundell, -or Miss Acton.</p> -<p>He had thought of her as his peerless beauty, as his realisation of a -thousand waking dreams; and that for the time was enough. But when he found her -entering into and giving shape and colour to his schemes, he regarded her with -worship increased a hundredfold. Constitutionally inert and adverse to thinking -and deciding for himself,--with a wholesome doubt, moreover, of the efficacy of -his own powers of judgment,--it was only the wide diversity of opinion which on -nearly every subject existed between his mother and himself that had prevented -him from long ago giving himself up entirely to the old lady's direction. But he -now saw, readily enough, that he had found one whose guiding hand he could -accept, who satisfied both his inclinations and his judgment; and he surrendered -himself with more than resignation--with delight, to Margaret's control.</p> -<p>And she? It is paying her no great compliment to say that she was equal to -the task; it is making no strong accusation against her to say that she had -expected and accepted the position from the first. I am at a loss how exactly to -set forth this woman's character as I feel it, fearful of enlarging on defects -without showing something in their palliation--more fearful of omitting some -mental ingredient which might serve to explain the twofold workings of her mind. -When she left her home it was under the influence of love and pride; wild -girlish adoration of the "swell:" the man with the thick moustache, the white -hands, the soft voice, the well-made boots; the man so different in every -respect from any thing she had previously known; and girlish pride in enslaving -one in social rank far beyond the railway-clerks, merchants' book-keepers, and -Custom-House agents, who were marked down as game by her friends and compeers. -The step once taken, she was a girl no more; her own natural hardihood came to -her aid, and enabled her to hold her own wherever she went. The man her -companion,--a man of society simply from mixing with society, but naturally -sheepish and stupid,--was amazed at her wondrous calmness and self-possession -under all sorts of circumstances. It was an odd sort of <i>camaraderie</i> in -which they mixed, both at home and abroad; one where the <i>laissez-aller</i> -spirit was always predominant, and where those who said and did as they liked -were generally most appreciated; but there was a something in Margaret Dacre -which compelled a kind of respect even from the wildest. Where she was, the -drink never degenerated into an orgie; and though the <i>cancans</i> and <i> -doubles entendres</i> might ring round the room, all outward signs of decency -were preserved. In the wild crew with which she was mixed she stood apart, -sometimes riding the whirlwind with them, but always directing the storm; and -while invariably showing herself the superior, so tempering her superiority as -to gain the obedience and respect, if not the regard, of all those among whom -she was thrown. How did this come about? Hear it in one sentence--that she was -as cold as ice, and as heartless as a stone. She loved the man who had betrayed -her with all the passion which had been vouchsafed to her. She loved him, as I -have said, at first, from his difference to all her hitherto surroundings; then -she loved him for having made her love him and yield to him. She had not -sufficient mental power to analyse her own feelings; but she recognised that she -had not much heart, was not easily moved; and therefore she gave extraordinary -credit, which he did not deserve, to him who had had the power to turn her as he -listed.</p> -<p>But still, on him, her whole powers of loving stopped--spent, used-up. Her -devotion to him--inexplicable to herself--was spaniel-like in its nature. She -took his reproaches, his threats, at the last his desertion, and loved him -still. During the time they were together she had temptation on every side; but -not merely did she continue faithful, but her fidelity was never shaken even in -thought. Although in that shady <i>demi-monde</i> there is a queer kind of -honour-code extant among the Lovelaces and the Juans, far stricter than they -think themselves called upon to exercise when out of their own territory, there -are of course exceptions, who hold the temptation of their friend's mistress but -little less <i>piquante</i> than the seduction of their friend's wife; but none -of these had the smallest chance with Margaret. What in such circles is -systematically known by the name of a <i>caprice</i> never entered her mind. -Even at the last, when she found herself deserted, penniless, she knew that a -word would restore her to a position equivalent, apparently, to that she had -occupied; but she would not have spoken that word to have saved her from the -death which she was so nearly meeting.</p> -<p>In those very jaws of death, from which she had just been rescued, a new -feeling dawned upon her. As she lay back in the arm-chair in Flexor's parlour, -dimly sounding in her ears, at first like the monotonous surging of the waves, -afterwards shaping itself into words, but always calm and grave and kind, came -Geoff's voice. She could scarcely make out what was said, but she knew what was -meant from the modulation and the tone. Then, when Mr. Potts had gone to fetch -Dr. Rollit, she knew that she was left alone with the owner of the voice, and -she brought all her strength together to raise her eyelids and look at him. She -saw the quiet earnest face, she marked the intense gaze, and she let her light -fingers fall on the outstretched hand, and muttered her "Bless you!--saved me!" -with a gratitude which was not merely an expression of grateful feeling for his -rescuing her from death, but partook more of the cynic's definition of the -word--a recognition of benefits to come.</p> -<p>It sprung up in her mind like a flame. It did more towards effecting her -cure, even in the outset, than all the stimulants and nourishment which Dr. -Rollit administered. It was with her while consciousness remained, and flashed -across her the instant consciousness returned. A home, the chances of a -home--nothing but that--somewhere, with walls, and a fire, and a roof to keep -off the pelting of the bitter rain. Walls with pictures and a floor with -carpets; not a workhouse, not such places as she had spent the night in on her -weary desolate tramp; but such as she had been accustomed to. And some one to -care for her--no low whisperings, and pressed hands, and averted glances, and -flight; but a shoulder to rest her head against, a strong arm round her to save -her from--O God!--those awful black pitiless streets. Rest, only rest,--that was -her craving. Let her once more be restored to ordinary strength, and then let -her rest until she died. Ah, had she not had more than the ordinary share of -trouble and disquietude, and could not a haven be found for her at last? She -recollected how, in the first flush of her wildness, she had pitied all her old -companions soberly settling down in life; and now how gladly would she change -lots with them! Was it come? was the chance at hand? Had she drifted through the -storm long enough, and was the sun now breaking through the clouds? She thought -so, even as she lay nearer death than life, and through the shimmering of her -eyelids caught a fleeting glimpse of Geoff Ludlow's face, and heard his voice as -in a dream; she knew so after the second time of his calling on her in her -convalescence; knew she might tell him the story of her life, which would only -bind a man of his disposition more strongly to her; knew that such a feeling -engendered in such a man at his time of life was deep and true and lasting, and -that once taken to his heart, her position was secure for ever.</p> -<p>And what was her feeling for him who thus rose up out of the darkness, and -was to give her all for which her soul had been pining? Love? Not one particle. -She had no love left. She had not been by any means bounteously provided with -that article at the outset, and all that she had she had expended on one person. -Of love, of what we know by love, of love as he himself understood it, she had -not one particle for Geoffrey. But there was a feeling which she could hardly -explain to herself. It would have been respect, respect for his noble heart, his -thorough uprightness, and strict sense of honour; but this respect was diluted -by an appreciation of his dubiety, his vacillation, his utter impotency of -saying a harsh word or doing a harsh thing; and diluted in a way which invested -the cold feeling of respect with a warmer hue, and rendered him, if less -perfect, certainly more interesting in her eyes. Never, even for an instant, had -she thought of him with love-passion; not when she gazed dreamily at him out of -the voluptuous depths of her deep-violet eyes; not when, on that night when all -had been arranged between them, she had lain on his breast in the steel-blue -rays of the spring moon. She had--well, feigned it, if you like,--though she -would scarcely avow that, deeming rather that she had accepted the devotion -which he had offered her without repelling it. <i>Il y a toujours l'un qui -baise, l'autre qui tend la joue</i>. That axiom, unromantic, but true in most -cases, was strictly fulfilled in the present instance. Margaret proffered no -love, but accepted, if not willingly, at least with a thorough show of -graciousness, all that was proffered to her. And in the heartfelt worship of -Geoffrey Ludlow there was something inexplicably attractive to her. Attractive, -probably, because of its entire novelty and utter unselfishness. She could -compare it with nothing she had ever seen or known. To her first lover there had -been the attraction of enchaining the first love of a very young girl, the -romance of stolen meetings and secret interviews, the enchantment of an -elopement, which was looked upon as a great sin by those whom he scorned, and a -great triumph by those whose applause he envied; the gratification of creating -the jealousy of his compeers, and of being talked about as an example to be -shunned by those whom he despised. He had the satisfaction of flaunting her -beauty through the world, and of gaining that world's applause for his success -in having made it succumb to him. But how was it with Geoffrey? The very -opposite, in every way. At the very best her early history must be shrouded in -doubt and obscurity. If known it might act prejudicially against her husband -with his patrons, and those on whom he was dependent for his livelihood. Even -her beauty could not afford him much source of gratification, save to himself; -he could seldom or never enjoy that reflected pleasure which a sensible man -feels at the world's admiration of his wife; for had he not himself told her -that their life would be of the quietest, and that they would mix with very few -people?</p> -<p>No! if ever earnest, true, and unselfish love existed in the world, it was -now, she felt, bestowed upon her. What in the depths of her despair she had -faintly hoped for, had come to her with treble measure. Her course lay plain and -straight before her. It was not a very brilliant course, but it was quiet and -peaceful and safe. So away all thoughts of the past! drop the curtain on the -feverish excitement, the wild dream of hectic pleasure! Shut it out; and with it -the dead dull heartache, the keen sense of wrong, the desperate struggle for -bare life.</p> -<p>So Margaret dropped that curtain on her wedding-day, with the full intention -of never raising it again.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> - <h4><a name="div2_03" href="#div2Ref_03">CHAPTER III.</a></h4> -<h5>ANNIE.</h5> -<br> - <p>Lord Caterham's suggestion that Annie Maurice should cultivate her -drawing-talent was made after due reflection. He saw, with his usual quickness -of perception, that the girl's life was fretting away within her; that the -conventional round of duties which fell to her lot as his mother's companion was -discharged honestly enough, but without interest or concern. He never knew why -Lady Beauport wanted a companion. So long as he had powers of judging character, -he had never known her have an intimate friend; and when, at the death of the -old clergyman with whom Annie had so long been domesticated, it was proposed to -receive her into the mansion at St. Barnabas Square, Lord Caterham had been -struck with astonishment, and could not possibly imagine what duties she would -be called upon to fulfil. He heard that the lady henceforth to form a part of -their establishment was young, and that mere fact was in itself a cause for -wonder. There was no youth there, and it was a quality which was generally -openly tabooed. Lady Beauport's woman was about fifty, a thorough mistress of -her art, an artist in complexion before whom Madame Rachel might have bowed; a -cunning and skilled labourer in all matters appertaining to the hair; a person -whose anatomical knowledge exceeded that of many medical students, and who -produced effects undreamt of by the most daring sculptors. There were no nephews -or nieces to come on visits, to break up the usual solemnity reigning throughout -the house, with young voices and such laughter as is only heard in youth, to -tempt the old people into a temporary forgetfulness of self, and into a -remembrance of days when they had hopes and fears and human interest in matters -passing around them. There were sons--yes! Caterham himself, who had never had -one youthful thought or one youthful aspiration, whose playmate had been the -physician, whose toys the wheelchair in which he sat and the irons by which his -wrecked frame was supported, who had been precocious at six and a man at twelve; -and Lionel--but though of the family, Lionel was not of the house; he never used -to enter it when he could make any possible excuse; and long before his final -disappearance his visits had been restricted to those occasions when he thought -his father could be bled or his mother cajoled. What was a girl of -two-and-twenty to do in such a household, Caterham asked; but got no answer. It -had been Lady Beauport's plan, who knew that Lord Beauport had been in the habit -of contributing a yearly something towards Miss Maurice's support; and she -thought that it would be at least no extra expense to have the young woman in -the house, where she might make herself useful with her needle, and could -generally sit with Mrs. Parkins the housekeeper.</p> -<p>But Lord Beauport would not have this. Treated as a lady, as a member of his -own family in his house, or properly provided for out of it, should Annie -Maurice be: my lady's companion, but my cousin always. No companionship with -Mrs. Parkins, no set task or suggested assistance. Her own room, her invariable -presence when the rest of the family meet together, if you please. Lady Beauport -did not please at first; but Lord Beauport was firm, firm as George Brakespere -used to be in the old days; and Lady Beauport succumbed with a good grace, and -was glad of it ever after. For Annie Maurice not merely had the sweetest temper -and the most winning ways,--not merely read in the softest voice, and had the -taste to choose the most charming "bits," over which Lady Beauport would hum -first with approval and then with sleep,--not merely played and sung -delightfully, without ever being hoarse or disinclined,--not merely could ride -with her back to the horses, and dress for the Park exactly as Lady Beauport -wished--neither dowdy nor swell,--but she brought old-fashioned receipts for -quaint country dishes with which she won Mrs. Parkins's heart, and she taught -Hodgson, Lady Beauport's maid, a new way of <i>gauffreing</i> which broke down -all that Abigail's icy spleen. Her bright eyes, her white teeth, her sunny -smile, did all the rest for her throughout the household: the big footmen moved -more quickly for her than for their mistress; the coachman, with whom she must -have interchanged confidential communications, told the groom she "knowed the -p'ints of an 'oss as well as he did--spotted them wind-galls in Jack's off 'ind -leg, and says, 'a cold-water bandage for them,' she says;" the women-servants, -more likely than any of the others to take offence, were won by the silence of -her bell and her independence of toilette assistance.</p> -<p>Lord Caterham saw all this, and understood her popularity; but he saw too -that with it all Annie Maurice was any thing but happy. Reiteration of -conventionality,--the reception of the callers and the paying of the calls, the -morning concerts and afternoon botanical promenades, the occasional -Opera-goings, and the set dinner-parties at home,--these weighed heavily on her. -She felt that her life was artificial, that she had nothing in common with the -people with whom it was passed, save when she escaped to Lord Caterham's room. -He was at least natural; she need talk or act no conventionality with him; might -read, or work, or chat with him as she liked. But she wanted some purpose in -life--that Caterham saw, and saw almost with horror; for that purpose might tend -to take her away; and if she left him, he felt as though the only bright portion -of his life would leave him too.</p> -<p>Yes; he had begun to acknowledge this to himself. He had fought against the -idea, tried to laugh it off, but it had always recurred to him. For the first -time in his life, he had moments of happy expectancy of an interview that was to -come, hours of happy reflection over an interview that was past. Of course the -Carry-Chesterton times came up in his mind; but these were very different. Then -he was in a wild state of excitement and tremor, of flushed cheeks and beating -heart and trembling lips; he thrilled at the sound of her voice; his blood, -usually so calm, coursed through his veins at the touch of her hand; his passion -was a delirium as alarming as it was intoxicating. The love of to-day had -nothing in common with that bygone time. There was no similarity between Carry -Chesterton's dash and <i>aplomb</i> and Annie Maurice's quiet domestic ways. The -one scorched him with a glance; the other soothed him with a word. How sweet it -was to lie back in his chair with half-shut eyes, as in a dream, and watch her -moving quietly about, setting every thing in order, putting fresh flowers in his -vases, dusting his writing-table, laughingly upbraiding the absent Algy Barford, -and taxing him with the delinquency of a half-smoked cigar on the mantelpiece, -and a pile of cigar-ash on the carpet. Then he would bid her finish her -house-work, and she would wheel his chair to the table and read the newspapers -to him, and listen to his quaint, shrewd, generally sarcastic comments on all -she read. And he would sit, listening to the music of her voice, looking at the -quiet charms of her simply-banded glossy dark-brown hair, at the play of feature -illustrating every thing she read. It was a brother's love he told himself at -first, and fully believed it; a brother's love for a favourite sister. He -thought so until he pictured to himself her departure to some friend's or other, -until he imagined the house without her, himself without her, and--and she with -some one else. And then Lord Caterham confessed to himself that he loved Annie -Maurice with all his soul, and simultaneously swore that by no act or word of -his should she or any one else ever know it.</p> -<p>The Carry-Chesterton love-fever had been so sharp in its symptoms, and so -prostrating in its results, that this second attack fell with comparative -mildness on the sufferer. He had no night-watches now, no long feverish tossings -to and fro waiting for the daylight, no wild remembrance of parting words and -farewell hand-clasps. She was there; her "goodnight" had rung out sweetly and -steadily without a break in the situation; her sweet smile had lit up her face; -her last words had been of some projected reading or work for the morrow. It was -all friend and friend or brother and sister to every one but him. The very first -night after Miss Chesterton had been presented to Lady Beauport, the latter, -seeing with a woman's quickness the position of affairs, had spoken of the young -lady from Homersham as "that dreadful person," "that terribly-forward young -woman," and thereby goaded Lord Caterham into worse love-madness. Now both -father and mother were perpetually congratulating themselves and him on having -found some one who seemed to be able to enter into and appreciate their eldest -son's "odd ways." This immunity from parental worry and supervision was -pleasant, doubtless; but did it not prove that to eyes that were not blinded by -love-passion there was nothing in Miss Maurice's regard for her cousin more than -was compatible with cousinly affection, and with pity for one so circumstanced? -So Lord Caterham had it; and who shall say that his extreme sensitiveness had -deceived him?</p> -<p>It was the height of the London season, and Lady Beauport was fairly in the -whirl. So was Annie Maurice, whose position was already as clearly defined -amongst the set as if she had been duly ticketed with birth, parentage, -education, and present employment. Hitherto her experience had decidedly been -pleasant, and she had found that all the companion-life, as set forth in -fashionable novels, had been ridiculously exaggerated. From no one had she -received any thing approaching a slight, any thing approaching an insult. The -great ladies mostly ignored her, though some made a point of special politeness; -the men received her as a gentlewoman, with whom flirtation might be possible on -an emergency, though unremunerative as a rule. Her perpetual attendance on Lady -Beauport had prevented her seeing as much as usual of Lord Caterham; and it was -with a sense of relief that she found a morning at her disposal, and sent -Stephens to intimate her coming to his master.</p> -<p>She found him as usual, sitting listlessly in his wheelchair, the newspaper -folded ready to his hand, but unfolded and unread. He looked up, and smiled as -she entered the room, and said: "At last, Annie at last! Ah, I knew such a nice -little girl who came here from Ricksborough, and lightened my solitary hours; -but we've had a fashionable lady here lately, who is always at concerts or -operas, or eating ices at Gunter's, or crushing into horticultural marquees, -or--"</p> -<p>"Arthur, you ought to be ashamed of yourself! You know, however, I won't -stoop to argue with you, sir. I'll only say that the little girl from -Ricksborough has come back again, and that the fashionable lady has got a -holiday and gone away."</p> -<p>"That's good; but I say, just stand in the light, Annie."</p> -<p>"Well, what's the matter now?"</p> -<p>"What has the little girl from Ricksborough done with all her colour? Where's -the brightness of her eyes?"</p> -<p>"Ah, you don't expect every thing at once, do you, sir? Her natural colour -has gone; but she has ordered a box from Bond Street; and as for the brightness -of her eyes--"</p> -<p>"O, there's enough left; there is indeed, especially when she fires up in -that way. But you're not looking well, Annie. I'm afraid my lady's doing too -much with you."</p> -<p>"She's very kind, and wishes me to be always with her."</p> -<p>"Yes; but she forgets that the vicarage of Ricksborough was scarcely good -training-ground for the races in which she has entered you, however kindly you -take to the running." He paused a minute as he caught Annie's upturned gaze, and -said: "I don't mean that, dear Annie. I know well enough you hate it all; and I -was only trying to put the best face on the matter. What else can I do?"</p> -<p>"I know that, Arthur; nor is it Lady Beauport's fault that she does not -exactly comprehend how a series of gaieties can be any thing but agreeable to a -country-bred young woman. There are hundreds of girls who would give any thing -to be 'brought out' under such chaperonage and in such a manner."</p> -<p>"You are very sweet and good to say so, Annie, and to look at it in that -light, but I would give any thing to get you more time to yourself."</p> -<p>"That proves more plainly than any thing, Arthur, that you don't consider me -one of the aristocracy; for their greatest object in life appears to me to -prevent their having any time to themselves."</p> -<p>"Miss Maurice," said Lord Caterham with an assumption of gravity, "these -sentiments are really horrible. I thought I missed my <i>Mill on Liberty</i> -from the bookshelves. I am afraid, madame, you have been studying the doctrines -of a man who has had the frightful audacity to think for himself."</p> -<p>"No, indeed, Arthur; nothing of the sort. I did take down the book--though of -course you had never missed it; but it seemed a dreary old thing, and so I put -it back again. No, I haven't a radical thought or feeling in me--except -sometimes."</p> -<p>"And when is the malignant influence at work, pray?"</p> -<p>"When I see those footmen dressed up in that ridiculous costume, with powder -in their heads, I confess then to being struck with wonder at a society which -permits such monstrosity, and degrades its fellow-creatures to such a level."</p> -<p>"O, for a stump!" cried Caterham, shaking in his chair and with the tears -running down his cheeks; "this display of virtuous indignation is quite a new -and hitherto undiscovered feature in the little girl from Ricksborough; though -of course you are quite wrong in your logic. Your fault should be found with the -creatures who permit themselves to be so reduced. That 'dreary old thing,' Mr. -Mill, would tell you that if the supply ceased, the demand would cease likewise. -But don't let us talk about politics, for heaven's sake, even in fun. Let us -revert to our original topic."</p> -<p>"What was that?"</p> -<p>"What was that! Why you, of course! Don't you recollect that we decided that -you should have some drawing-lessons?"</p> -<p>"I recollect you were good enough to--"</p> -<p>"Annie! Annie! I thought it was fully understood that my goodness was a -tabooed subject. No; you remember we arranged, on the private-view day of the -Exhibition, with that man who had those two capital pictures--what's his -name?--Ludlow, to give you some lessons."</p> -<p>"Yes; but Mr. Ludlow himself told us that he could not come for some little -time; he was going out of town."</p> -<p>"Ive had a letter from him this morning, explaining the continuance of his -absence. What do you think is the reason?"</p> -<p>"He was knocked up, and wanted rest?"</p> -<p>"N-no; apparently not."</p> -<p>"He's not ill? O, Arthur, he's not ill?"</p> -<p>"Not in the least, Annie,--there's not the least occasion for you to manifest -any uneasiness." Lord Caterham's voice was becoming very hard and his face very -rigid. "Mr. Ludlow's return to town was delayed in order that he might enjoy the -pleasures of his honeymoon in the Isle of Wight."</p> -<p>"His what?"</p> -<p>"His honeymoon; he informs me that he is just married."</p> -<p>"Married? Geoff married? Who to? What a very extraordinary thing! Who is he -married to?"</p> -<p>"He has not reposed sufficient confidence in me to acquaint me with the -lady's name, probably guessing rightly that I was not in the least curious upon -the point, and that to know it would not have afforded me the slightest -satisfaction."</p> -<p>"No, of course not; how very odd!" That was all Annie Maurice said, her chin -resting on her hand, her eyes looking straight before her.</p> -<p>"What is very odd?" said Caterham, in a harsh voice. "That Mr. Ludlow should -get married? Upon my honour I can't see the eccentricity. It is not, surely, his -extreme youth that should provoke astonishment, nor his advanced age, for the -matter of that. He's not endowed with more wisdom than most of us to prevent his -making a fool of himself. What there is odd about the fact of his marriage I -cannot understand."</p> -<p>"No, Arthur," said Annie, very quietly, utterly ignoring the querulous tone -of Caterham's remarks; "very likely you can't understand it, because Mr. Ludlow -is a stranger to you, and you judge him as you would any other stranger. But if -you'd known him in the old days when he used to come up to us at Willesden, and -papa was always teasing him about being in love with the French teacher at -Minerva House, a tall old lady with a moustache; or with the vicar's daughter, a -sandy-haired girl in spectacles; and then poor papa would laugh,--O, how he -would laugh!--and declare that Mr. Ludlow would be a bachelor to the end of his -days. And now he's married, you say? How very, very strange!"</p> -<p>If Lord Caterham had been going to make any further unpleasant remark, he -checked himself abruptly, and looking into Annie's upturned pondering face, -said, in his usual tone,</p> -<p>"Well, married or not married, he won't throw us over; he will hold to his -engagement with us. His letter tells me he will be back in town at the end of -the week, and will then settle times with us; so that we shall have our -drawing-lessons after all."</p> -<p>But Annie, evidently thoroughly preoccupied, only answered methodically, -"Yes--of course--thank you--yes." So Lord Caterham was left to chew the cud of -his own reflections, which, from the manner in which he frowned to himself, and -sat blankly drumming with his fingers on the desk before him, was evidently no -pleasant mental pabulum. So that he was not displeased when there came a -sonorous tap at the door, to which, recognising it at once, he called out, "Come -in!"</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> - <h4><a name="div2_04" href="#div2Ref_04">CHAPTER IV.</a></h4> -<h5>ALGY BARFORD'S NEWS.</h5> -<br> - <p>It was the Honourable Algy Barford who opened the door, and came in -with his usual light and airy swing, stopping the minute he saw a lady present, -to remove his hat and to give an easy bow. He recognised Annie at once, and, as -she and he were great allies, he went up to her and shook hands.</p> -<p>"Charmed to see you, Miss Maurice. This is delightful--give you my word! Come -to see this dear old boy here--how are you, Caterham, my dear fellow?--and find -you in his den, lighting it up like--like--like--I'm regularly basketed, by -Jove! You know what you light it up like, Miss Maurice."</p> -<p>Annie laughed as she said, "O, of course I know, Mr. Barford; but I'm sorry -to say the illumination is about immediately to be extinguished, as I must run -away. So goodbye; goodbye, Arthur. I shall see you to-morrow." And she waved her -hand, and tripped lightly away.</p> -<p>"Gad, what a good-natured charming girl that is!" said Algy Barford, looking -after her. "I always fancy that if ever I could have settled down--but I never -could--impossible! I'm without exception the most horrible scoundrel -that--what's the matter, Caterham, dear old boy? you seem very down this -morning, floundered, by Jove, so far as flatness is concerned. What is it?"</p> -<p>"I--oh, I don't know, Algy; a little bored, perhaps, this morning--hipped, -you know."</p> -<p>"Know! I should think I did. I'm up to my watch-guard myself--think I'll take -a sherry peg, just to keep myself up. This is a dull world, sir; a very wearying -orb. Gad, sometimes I think my cousin, poor Jack Hamilton, was right, after -all."</p> -<p>"What did he say?" asked Caterham, not caring a bit, but for the sake of -keeping up the conversation.</p> -<p>"Say! well, not much; he wasn't a talker, poor Jack; but what he did say was -to the purpose. He was a very lazy kind of bird, and frightfully easily bored; -so one day he got up, and then he wrote a letter saying that he'd lived for -thirty years, and that the trouble of dressing himself every morning and -undressing himself every night was so infernal that le couldn't stand it any -longer; and then he blew his brains out."</p> -<p>"Ah," said Lord Caterham; "he got tired of himself, you see; and when you -once do that, there's nobody you get so tired of."</p> -<p>"I daresay, dear old boy, though it's a terrific notion. Can't say I'm tired -of myself quite yet, though there are times when I have a very low opinion of -myself, and think seriously of cutting myself the next time we meet. What's the -news with you, my dear Caterham?"</p> -<p>"News! what should be the news with me, Algy? Shut up in this place, like a -rat in a cage, scarcely seeing any one but the doctor."</p> -<p>"Couldn't see a better fellow for news, my dear old boy. Doctors were always -the fellows for news,--and barbers!--Figaro hé and Figaro la, and all that -infernal rubbish that people laugh at when Ronconi sings it, always makes me -deuced melancholy, by Jove. Well, since you've no news for me, let me think what -I heard at the Club. Deuced nice club we've got now; best we've ever had since -that dear old Velvet Cushion was done up."</p> -<p>"What's it called?"</p> -<p>"The Pelham; nothing to do with the Newcastle people or any thing of that -sort; called after some fellow who wrote a book about swells; or was the hero of -a book about swells, or something. Deuced nice place, snug and cosy; a little -overdone with Aldershot, perhaps, and, to a critical mind, there might be a -thought too much Plunger; but I can stand the animal tolerably well."</p> -<p>"I know it; at least Ive heard of it," said Caterham. "They play very high, -don't they?"</p> -<p>"O, of course you've heard it, I forgot; dear old Lionel belonged to it. -Play! n-no, I don't think so. You can if you like, you know, of course. For -instance, Lampeter--Lamb Lampeter they call him; he's such a mild-looking -party--won two thousand of Westonhanger the night before last at <i>écarté</i>--two -thousand pounds, sir, in crisp bank-notes All fair and above board too. They had -a corner table at first; but when Westonhanger was dropping his money and began -doubling the stakes, Lampeter said, 'All right, my lord; I'm with you as far as -you like to go; but when so much money's in question, it perhaps might be -advisable to take one of the tables in the middle of the room, where any one can -stand round and see the play.' They did, and Westonhanger's estate is worse by -two thou'."</p> -<p>"As you say, that does not look at all as if they played there."</p> -<p>"What I meant was that I didn't think dear old Lionel ever dropped much -there. I don't know, though; I rather think Gamson had him one night. Wonderful -little fellow, Gamson!--tremendously good-looking boy!--temporary extra-clerk at -two guineas a-week in the Check and Countercheck Office; hasn't got another -regular rap in the world besides his pay, and plays any stakes you like to name. -Seems to keep luck in a tube, like you do scent, and squeezes it out whenever he -wants it. I am not a playing man myself; but I don't fancy it's very hard to win -at the Pelham. These Plungers and fellows up from the Camp, they always will -play; and as theyve had a very heavy dinner and a big drink afterwards, it -stands to reason that any fellow with a clear head and a knowledge of the game -can pick them up at once, without any sharp practice."</p> -<p>"Yes," said Lord Caterham, "it seems a very charming place. I suppose -wheelchairs are not admitted? How sorry I am! I should have so enjoyed mixing -with the delightful society which you describe, Algy. And what news had Mr. -Gamson and the other gentlemen?"</p> -<p>"Tell you what it is, Caterham, old boy, you've got a regular wire-drawing -fit on to-day. Let's see; what news had I to tell you?--not from Gamson, of -course, or any of those hairy Yahoos from Aldershot, who are always tumbling -about the place. O, I know! Dick French has just come up from Denne,--the next -place, you know, to Eversfield, your old uncle Ampthill's house; and he says the -old boy's frightfully ill--clear case of hooks, you know; and I thought it might -be advisable that your people should know, in case any thing might be done -towards working the testamentary oracle. The old gentleman used to be very -spoony on Lionel, years ago, I think Ive heard him say."</p> -<p>"Well, what then?"</p> -<p>"Gad, you catch a fellow up like the Snapping-Turtle, Caterham. I don't know -what then; but I thought if the thing were properly put to him--if there was any -body to go down to Eversfield and square it with old Ampthill, he might leave -his money--and there's no end of it, I hear--or some of it at least, to poor old -Lionel."</p> -<p>"And suppose he did. Do you think, Algy Barford, after what has happened, -that Lionel Brakespere could show his face in town? Do you think that a man of -Lionel's spirit could face-out the cutting which he'd receive from every -one?--and rightly too; I'm not denying that. I only ask you if you think he -could do it?"</p> -<p>"My dear old Caterham, you are a perfect child!--coral and bells and blue -sash, and all that sort of thing, by Jove! If Lionel came back at this instant, -there are very few men who'd remember his escapade, unless he stood in their -way; then, I grant you, they would bring it up as unpleasantly as they could. -But if he were to appear in society as old Ampthill's heir, there's not a man in -his old set that wouldn't welcome him; no, by George, not a woman of his -acquaintance that wouldn't try and hook him for self or daughter, as the case -might be."</p> -<p>"I'm sorry to hear it," was all Caterham said in reply.</p> -<p>What did Lord Caterham think of when his friend was gone? What effect had the -communication about Mr. Ampthill's probable legacy had on him? But one thing -crossed his mind. If Lionel returned free, prosperous, and happy, would he not -fall in love with Annie Maurice? His experience in such matters had been but -limited; but judging by his own feelings, Lord Caterham could imagine nothing -more likely.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> - <h4><a name="div2_05" href="#div2Ref_05">CHAPTER V.</a></h4> -<h5>SETTLING DOWN.</h5> -<br> - <p>It was not likely that a man of Geoffrey Ludlow's temperament would for -long keep himself from falling into what was to be the ordinary tenor of his -life, even had his newly-espoused wife been the most exacting of brides, and -delighted in showing her power by keeping him in perpetual attendance upon her. -It is almost needless to say that Margaret was guilty of no weakness of this -kind. If the dread truth must be told, she took far too little interest in the -life to which she had devoted herself to busy herself about it in detail. She -had a general notion that her whole future was to be intensely respectable; and -in the minds of all those persons with whom she had hitherto been associated, -respectability meant duless of the most appalling kind; meant -two-o'clock-shoulder-of-mutton-and-weak-Romford-ale dinner, five o'clock tea, -knitting, prayers and a glass of cold water before going to bed; meant -district-visiting and tract-distributing, poke bonnets and limp skirts, a class -on Sunday afternoons, and a visit to the Crystal Palace with the school-children -on a summer's day. She did not think it would be quite as bad as this in her -case; indeed, she had several times been amused--so far as it lay in her now to -be amused--by hearing Geoffrey speak of himself, with a kind of elephantine -liveliness, as a roisterer and a Bohemian. But she was perfectly prepared to -accept whatever happened; and when Geoff told her, the day after his mother's -visit, that he must begin work again and go on as usual, she took it as a matter -of course.</p> -<p>So Geoff arranged his new studio, and found out his best light, and got his -easel into position; and Flexor arrived with the lay-figure which had been -passing its vacation in Little Flotsam Street; and the great model recognised -Mrs. Geoffrey Ludlow, who happened to look in, with a deferential bow, and, with -what seemed best under the circumstances, a look of extreme astonishment, as -though he had never seen her before, and expected to find quite a different -person.</p> -<p>Gradually and one by one all the old accessories of Geoff's daily life seemed -closing round him. A feeble ring, heard while he and his wife were at breakfast, -would be followed by the servant's announcement of "the young person, sir, -a-waitin' in the stujo;" and the young person--a model--would be found -objurgating the distance from town, and yet appreciative of the beauty of the -spot when arrived at.</p> -<p>And Mr. Stompff had come; of course he had. No sooner did he get Geoff's -letter announcing his return than he put himself into a hansom cab, and went up -to Elm Lodge. For Mr. Stompff was a man of business. His weak point was, that he -judged other men by his own standard; and knowing perfectly well that if any -other man had had the success which Geoffrey Ludlow had achieved that year, he -(Stompff) would have worked heaven and earth to get him into his clutches, he -fancied that Caniche, and all the other dealers, would be equally voracious, and -that the best thing he could do would be to strike the iron while it was hot, -and secure Ludlow for himself. He thought too that this was rather a good -opportunity for such a proceeding, as Ludlow's exchequer was likely to be low, -and he could the more easily be won over. So the hansom made its way to Elm -Lodge; and its fare, under the title of "a strange gentleman, sir!" was ushered -into Geoff's studio.</p> -<p>"Well, and how are you, Ludlow! What did she say, 'a strange gentleman'? Yes, -Mary, my love! I am a strange gentleman, as you'll find out before I've done -with you." Mr. Stompff laid his finger to his nose, and winked with exquisite -facetiousness. "Well, and how are you? safe and sound, and all the rest of it! -And how's Mrs. L.? Must introduce me before I go. And what are you about now, -eh? What's this?"</p> -<p>He stopped before the canvas on the easel, and began examining it -attentively.</p> -<p>"That's nothing!" said Geoffrey; "merely an outline of a notion I had of the -Esplanade at Brighton. I don't think it would make a bad subject. You see, here -I get the invalids in Bath-chairs, the regular London swells promenading it, the -boatmen; the Indian-Mutiny man, with his bandaged foot and his arm in a sling -and his big beard; some excursionists with their baskets and bottles; some Jews, -and--"</p> -<p>"Capital! nothing could be better! Hits the taste of the day, my boy; shoots -folly, and no flies, as the man said. That's your ticket! Any body else seen -that!"</p> -<p>"Well, literally not a soul. It's only just begun, and no one has been here -since I returned."</p> -<p>"That's all right! Now what's the figure? You're going to open your mouth, I -know; you fellows always do when you've made a little success."</p> -<p>"Well, you see," began old Geoff, in his usual hesitating diffident manner, -"it's a larger canvas than I've worked on hitherto, and there are a good many -more figures, and--"</p> -<p>"Will five hundred suit you?"</p> -<p>"Ye-es! Five hundred would be a good price, for--"</p> -<p>"All right! shake hands on it! I'll give you five hundred for the -copyright--right and away, mind!--sketch, picture, and right of engraving. We'll -get it to some winter-gallery, and you'll have another ready for the Academy. -Nothing like that, my boy! I know the world, and you don't. What the public -likes, you give them as much of as you can. Don't you believe in over-stocking -the market with Ludlows; that's all stuff! Let 'em have the Ludlows while they -want 'em. In a year or two they'll fight like devils to get a Jones or a -Robinson, and wonder how the deuce any body could have spent their money on such -a dauber as Ludlow. Don't you be offended, my boy; I'm only speakin' the truth. -I buy you because the public wants you; and I turn an honest penny in sellin' -you again; not that I'm any peculiar nuts on you myself, either one way or -t'other. Come, let's wet this bargain, Ludlow, my boy; some of that dry sherry -you pulled out when I saw you last at Brompton, eh?"</p> -<p>Geoffrey rang the bell; the sherry was produced, and Mr. Stompff enjoyed it -with great gusto.</p> -<p>"Very neat glass of sherry as ever I drank. Well, Ludlow, success to our -bargain! Give it a good name, mind; that's half the battle; and, I say, I -wouldn't do too much about the Jews, eh? You know what I mean; none of that d--d -nose-trick, you know. There's first-rate customers among the Jews, though they -know more about pictures than most people, and won't be palmed off like your -Manchester coves but when they do like a thing, they will have it; and tough -they always insist upon discount, yet even then, with the price one asks for a -picture, it pays. Well, you'll be able to finish that and two others--O, how do -you do, mam?"</p> -<p>This last to Margaret, who, not knowing that her husband had any one with him -was entering the studio. She bowed, and was about to withdraw; but Geoff called -her back, and presented Mr. Stompff to her.</p> -<p>"Very glad to make your acquaintance, mam," said that worthy, seizing her -hand; "heard of you often, and recognise the picture of Scyllum and Something in -an instant. Enjoyed yourself in the country, I 'ope. That's all right. But -nothing like London; that's the place to pick up the dibs. I've been telling our -friend here he must stick to it, now he's a wife to provide for; for we know -what's what, don't we, Mrs. Ludlow? Three pictures a year, my boy, and -good-sized 'uns too; no small canvases: that's what we must have out of you."</p> -<p>Geoffrey laughed as he said, "Well, no; not quite so much as that. Recollect, -I intend to take my wife out occasionally; and besides, I've promised to give -some drawing lessons."</p> -<p>"What!" shrieked Mr. Stompff; "drawing-lessons! a man in your position give -drawing-lessons! I never heard such madness! You musn't do that, Ludlow."</p> -<p>The words were spoken so decidedly that Margaret bit her lips, and turned to -look at her husband, whose face flushed a deep red, and whose voice stuttered -tremendously as he gasped out, "B-but I shall! D-don't you say 'must,' please, -to me, Mr. Stompff; because I don't like it; and I don't know what the d-deuce -you mean by using such a word!"</p> -<p>Mr. Stompff glanced at Margaret, whose face expressed the deepest disgust; so -clearly perceiving the mistake he had made, he said, "Well, of course I only -spoke as a friend; and when one does that he needn't be in much doubt as to his -reward. When I said 'must,' which seems to have riled you so, Ludlow, I said it -for your own sake. However, you and I sha'n't fall out about that. Don't you -give your pictures to any one else, and we shall keep square enough. Where are -you going to give drawing-lessons, if one may be bold enough to ask?"</p> -<p>"In St. Barnabas Square, to a young lady, a very old friend of mine, and a -<i>protégée</i> of Lord Caterham's," said Geoffrey, whose momentary ire had died -out.</p> -<p>"O, Lord Caterham's! that queer little deformed chap. Good little fellow, -too, they say he is; sharp, and all that kind of thing. Well, there's no harm in -that. I thought you were going on the philanthropic dodge--to schools and -working-men, and that lay. There's one rule in life,--you never lose any thing -by being civil to a bigwig; and this little chap, I daresay, has influence in -his way. By the way, you might ask him to give a look in at my gallery, if he's -passing by. Never does any harm, that kind of thing. Well, I can't stay here all -day. Men of business must always be pushing on, Mrs. Ludlow. Good day to you; -and, I say, when--hem! there's any thing to renounce the world, the flesh, and -the--hey, you understand? any body wanted to promise and vow, you know,--I'm -ready; send for me. I've got my eye on a silver thug already. Goodbye, Ludlow; -see you next week. Three before next May, recollect, and all for me. Ta-ta!" and -Mr. Stompff stepped into his cab, and drove off, kissing his fat pudgy little -hands, with a great belief in Geoffrey Ludlow and a holy horror of his wife.</p> -<p>In the course of the next few days Geoffrey wrote to Lord Caterham, telling -him that he was quite ready to commence Miss Maurice's instruction; and shortly -afterwards received an answer naming a day for the lessons to commence. On -arriving at the house Geoff was shown into Lord Caterham's room, and there found -Annie waiting to receive him. Geoff advanced, and shook hands warmly; but he -thought Miss Maurice's manner was a little more reserved than on the last -occasion of their meeting.</p> -<p>"Lord Caterham bade me make his excuses to you, Mr. Ludlow," said she. "He -hopes to see you before you go; but he is not very well just now, and does not -leave his room till later in the day."</p> -<p>Geoff was a little hurt at the "Mr. Ludlow." Like all shy men, he was -absurdly sensitive; and at once thought that he saw in this mode of address a -desire on Annie's part to show him his position as drawing-master. So he merely -said he was "sorry for the cause of Lord Caterham's absence;" and they proceeded -at once to Work.</p> -<p>But the ice on either side very soon melted away. Geoff had brought with him -an old sketch-book, filled with scraps of landscape and figures, quaint -<i>bizarre</i> caricatures, and little bits of every-day life, all drawn at -Willesden Priory or in its neighbourhood, all having some little history of -their own appealing to Annie's love of those old days and that happy home. And -as she looked over them, she began to talk about the old times; and very -speedily it was, "O, Geoff, don't you remember?" and "O, Geoff, will you ever -forget?" and so on; and they went on sketching and talking until, to Annie at -least, the present and the intervening time faded away, and she was again the -petted little romp, and he was dear old Geoff, her best playmate, her earliest -friend, whom she used to drive round the gravel-paths in her skipping-rope -harness, and whose great shock head of hair used to cause her such infinite -wonder and amusement.</p> -<p>As she sat watching him bending over the drawing, she remembered with what -anxiety she used to await his coming at the Priory, and with what perfect -good-humour he bore all her childish whims and vagaries. She remembered how he -had always been her champion when her papa had been <i>brusque</i> or angry with -her, saying, "Fairy was too small to be scolded;" how when just before that -horrible bankruptcy took place and all the household were busy with their own -cares she, suffering under some little childish illness, was nursed by Geoff, -then staying in the house with a vague idea of being able to help Mr. Maurice in -his trouble; how he carried her in his arms to and fro, to and fro, during the -whole of one long night, and hushed her to sleep with the soft tenderness of a -woman. She had thought of him often and often during her life at Ricksborough -Vicarage, always with the same feelings of clinging regard and perfect trust; -and now she had found him. Well, no, not him exactly; she doubted very much -whether Mr. Ludlow the rising artist was the same as the "dear old Geoff" of the -Willesden-Priory days. There was--and then, as she was thinking all this, Geoff -raised his eyes from the drawing, and smiled his dear old happy smile, and put -his pencil between his teeth, and slowly rubbed his hands while he looked over -his sketch, so exactly as he used to do fifteen years before that she felt more -than ever annoyed at that news which Arthur had told tier a few days ago about -Mr. Ludlow being married.</p> -<p>Yes, it was annoyance she felt! there was no other word for it. In the old -days he had belonged entirely to her, and why should he not now? Her papa had -always said that it was impossible Geoff could ever be any thing but an old -bachelor, and an old bachelor he should have remained. What a ridiculous thing -for a man at his time of life to import a new element into it by marriage! It -would have been so pleasant to have had him then, just in the old way; to have -talked to him and teased him, and looked up to him just as she used to do, and -now--O, no! it could not be the same! no married man is ever the same with the -friends of his bachelorhood, especially female friends, as he was before. And -Mrs. Ludlow, what was she like? what could have induced Geoff to marry her? -While Geoff's head was bent over the drawing, Annie revolved all this rapidly in -her mind, and came to the conclusion that it must have been for money that Geoff -plunged into matrimony, and that Mrs. Ludlow was either a widow with a -comfortable jointure, in which case Annie pictured her to herself as short, -stout, and red-faced, with black hair in bands and a perpetual black-silk dress; -or a small heiress of uncertain age, thin, with hollow cheeks and a pointed -nose, ringlets of dust-coloured hair, a pinched waist, and a soured temper. And -to think of Geoff's going and throwing away the rest of his life on a person of -this sort, when he might have been so happy in his old bachelor way!</p> -<p>The more she thought of this the more she hated it. Why had he not announced -to them that he was going to be married, when she first met him after that long -lapse of years? To be sure, the rooms at the Royal Academy were scarcely the -place in which to enter on such a matter; but then--who could she be? what was -she like? It was so long since Geoff had been intimate with any one; she knew -that of course his range of acquaintance might have been changed a hundred times -and she not know one of them. How very strange that he did not say any thing -about it now! He had been here an hour sketching and pottering about, and yet -had not breathed a word about it. O, she would soon settle that!</p> -<p>So the next time Geoff looked up from his sketch, she said to him: "Are you -longing to be gone, Geoffrey? Getting fearfully bored? Is a horrible <i>heimweh</i> -settling down upon your soul? I suppose under the circumstances it ought to be, -if it isn't."</p> -<p>"Under what circumstances, Annie? I'm not bored a bit, nor longing to be -gone. What makes you think so?"</p> -<p>"Only my knowledge of a fact which I've learned, though not from you--your -marriage, Geoffrey."</p> -<p>"Not from me! Pardon me, Annie; I begged Lord Caterham, to whom I announced -it, specially to name it to you. And, if you must know, little child, I wondered -you had said nothing to me about it."</p> -<p>He looked at her earnestly as he said this; and there was a dash of -disappointment in his honest eyes.</p> -<p>"I'm so sorry, Geoff--so sorry! But I didn't understand it so; really I -didn't," said Annie, already half-penitent. "Lord Caterham told me of the fact, -but as from himself; not from you; and--and I thought it odd that, considering -all our old intimacy, you hadn't--"</p> -<p>"Odd! why, God bless my soul! Annie, you don't think that I shouldn't; but, -you see, it was all so--At all events, I'm certain I told Lord Caterham to tell -you."</p> -<p>Geoff was in a fix here. His best chance of repudiating the idea that he had -willfully neglected informing Annie of his intended marriage was the true -reason, that the marriage itself was, up to within the shortest time of its -fulfilment, so unlooked for; but this would throw a kind of slur on his wife; at -all events, would prompt inquiries; so he got through it as best he could with -the stuttering excuses above recorded.</p> -<p>They seemed to avail with Annie Maurice; for she only said, "O, yes; I -daresay it was some bungle of yours. You always used to make the most horrible -mistakes, Geoff, I've heard poor papa say a thousand times, and get out of it in -the lamest manner." Then, after a moment, she said, "You must introduce me to -your wife, Geoffrey;" and, almost against her inclination, added, "What is she -like?"</p> -<p>"Introduce you, little child? Why, of course I will, and tell her how long I -have known you, and how you used to sit on my knee, and be my little pet," said -old Geoff, in a transport of delight. "O, I think you'll like her, Annie. She -is--yes, I may say so--she is very beautiful, and--and very quiet and good."</p> -<p>Geoff's ignorance of the world is painfully manifested in this speech. No -Woman could possibly be pleased to hear of her husband having been in the habit -Of having any little pet on his knee; and in advancing her being "very -beautiful" as a reason for liking his wife, Geoff showed innocence which was -absolutely refreshing.</p> -<p>Very beautiful! Was that mere conjugal blindness or real fact? Taken in -conjunction with "very quiet and good," it looked like the former; but then -where beauty was concerned Geoff had always been a stern judge; and it was -scarcely likely that he would suffer his judgment, founded on the strictest -abstract principles to be warped by any whim or fancy. Very beautiful!--the -quietude and goodness came into account,--very beautiful!</p> -<p>"O, yes; I must come and see Mrs. Ludlow, please. You will name a day before -you go?"</p> -<p>"Name a day! What for, Annie?"</p> -<p>Lord Caterham was the speaker, sitting in his chair, and being wheeled in -from his bedroom by Stephens. Ins tone was a little harsh; his temper a little -sharp. He had all along determined that Annie and Geoff should not be left alone -together on the occasion of her first lesson. But <i>l'homme propose et Dieu -dispose</i>; and Caterham had been unable to raise his head from his pillow, -with one of those fearful neuralgic headaches which occasionally affected him.</p> -<p>"What for! Why, to be introduced to Mrs. Ludlow! By the way, you seem to have -left your eyes in the other room, Arthur. You have not seen Mr. Ludlow before, -have you?"</p> -<p>"I beg Mr. Ludlow a thousand pardons!" said Caterham, who had forgotten the -announcement of Geoffrey's marriage, and who hailed the recalling of the past -with intense gratification. "I'm delighted to see you, Mr. Ludlow; and very -grateful to you for coming to fill up so agreeably some of our young lady's -blank time. If I thought you were a conventional man, I should make you a pretty -Conventional speech of gratulation on your marriage; but as I'm sure you're -something much better, I leave that to be inferred."</p> -<p>"You are very good," said Geoff. "Annie was just saying that I should -introduce My wife to her, and--"</p> -<p>"Of course, of course!" said Caterham, a little dashed by the familiarity of -the "Annie." "I hope, to see Mrs. Ludlow here; not merely as a visitor to a -wretched bachelor like myself; but I'm sure my mother would be very pleased to -welcome her, and will, if you please, do herself the honour of calling on Mrs. -Ludlow.</p> -<p>"Thank you, Arthur; you are very kind, and I appreciate it," said Annie, in a -low voice, crossing to his chair; "but my going will be a different thing; I -mean, as an old friend of Geoff's, <i>I</i> may go and see his wife."</p> -<p>An old friend of Geoff's! Still the same bond between them, in which he had -no part--an intimacy with which he had nothing to do.</p> -<p>"Of course," said he; "nothing could be more natural."</p> -<p>"Little Annie coming to be introduced to Margaret!" thought Geoff, as he -walked homeward, the lesson over. This, then, was to be Margaret's first -introduction to his old friend. Not much fear of their not getting on together. -And yet, on reflection, Geoff was not so sure of that, after all.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> - <h4><a name="div2_06" href="#div2Ref_06">CHAPTER VI.</a></h4> -<h5>AT HOME.</h5> -<br> - <p>The people of Lowbar, lusty citizens with suburban residences--lawyers, -proctors, and merchants, all warm people in money matters--did not think much of -the advent into their midst of a man following an unrecognised profession, which -had no ledger-and-day-book responsibility, employed no clerks, and ministered to -no absolute want. It was not the first time indeed that they had heard of an -artist being encamped among them; for in the summer several brethren of the -brush were tempted to make a temporary sojourn in the immediate vicinity of the -broad meadows and suburban prettinesses. But these were mere birds of passage, -who took lodgings over some shop in the High Street, and who were never seen -save by marauding schoolboys or wandering lovers, who would come suddenly upon a -bearded man smoking a pipe, and sketching away under the shade of a big white -umbrella. To wear a beard and, in addition to that enormity, to smoke a pipe, -were in themselves sufficient, in the eyes of the worthy inhabitants of Lowbar, -to prove that a man was on the high-road to destruction; but they consoled -themselves with the reflection that the evil-doer was but a sojourner amongst -them. Now, however, had arrived a man in the person of Geoffrey Ludlow, who not -merely wore a beard and smoked a pipe, but further flew in the face of all -decently-constituted society by having a beautiful wife. And this man had not -come into lodgings, but had regularly established himself in poor Mrs. Pierce's -house, which he had had all done up and painted and papered and furnished in a -manner--so at least Mr. Brandram the doctor said--that might be described as -gorgeous.</p> -<p>Now, as the pretty suburb of Lowbar is still a good score of years behind the -world, its inhabitants could not understand this at all, and the majority of -them were rather scandalised than otherwise, when they found that the vicar and -his wife had called on the newcomers. Mr. Brandram the doctor had called too; -but that was natural. He was a pushing man was Brandram, and a worldly man, so -unlike Priestley, the other doctor, who was a retiring gentleman. So at least -said Priestley's friends and Brandram's enemies. Brandram was a little man of -between fifty and sixty, neat, and a little horsy in his dress, cheerful in his -manner, fond of recommending good living, and fond of taking his own -prescription. He was a little "fast" for Lowbar, going to the theatre once or -twice in the year, and insisting upon having novels for the Book-Society; -whereas Priestley's greatest dissipation was attending a "humorous lecture" at -the Mechanics' Institute, and his lightest reading a book of Antipodean travel. -Brandram called at Elm Lodge, of course, and saw both Geoff and Margaret, and -talked of the Academy pictures,--which he had carefully got up from the -catalogue and the newspaper-notices,--and on going away, left Mrs. Brandram's -card. For three weeks afterwards, that visit supplied the doctor with -interesting discourse for his patients: he described all the alterations which -had been made in the house since Mrs. Pierce's death; he knew the patterns of -the carpets, the colours of the curtains, the style of the furniture. Finally, -he pronounced upon the newcomers; described Geoff as a healthy man of a -sanguineous temperament, not much cut out for the Lowbar folk; and his wife as a -beautiful woman, but lymphatic.</p> -<p>These last were scarcely the details which the Lowbar folk wanted to know. -They wanted to know all about the <i>ménage</i>; in what style the newcomers -lived; whether they kept much or any company; whether they agreed well together. -This last was a point of special curiosity; for, in common with numberless other -worthy, commonplace, stupid people, the Lowbar folk imagined that the private -lives of "odd persons"--under which heading they included all professors of -literature and art of any kind--were passed in dissipation and wrangling. How -the information was to be obtained was the great point, for they knew that -nothing would be extracted from the vicar, even if he had been brimful of -remarks upon his new parishioners, which, indeed, he was not, as they neither of -them happened to be at home when he called. It would be something to be well -assured about their personal appearance, especially <i>her</i> personal -appearance; to see whether there were really any grounds for this boast of -beauty which Dr. Brandram went talking about in such a ridiculous way. The -church was the first happy hunting-ground pitched upon; and during the first -Sunday after Geoff's and Margaret's arrival the excitement during divine service -was intense; the worshippers in the middle and side aisles, whose pews all faced -the pulpit, and whose backs were consequently turned to the entrance-door, -regarding with intense envy their friends whose pews confronted each other -between the pulpit and the altar, and who, consequently, while chanting the -responses or listening to the lesson, could steal furtive glances on every -occasion of the door's opening, without outraging propriety. But when it was -found that the newcomers did not attend either morning or evening service,--and -unquestionably a great many members of the congregation had their dinner of cold -meat and salad (it was considered sinful in Lowbar to have hot dinners on -Sunday) at an abnormally early hour for the purpose of attending evening service -on the chance of seeing the new arrivals,--it was considered necessary to take -more urgent measures; and so the little Misses Coverdale--two dried-up little -chips of spinsters with corkscrew ringlets and black-lace mittens, who kept -house for their brother, old Coverdale, the red-faced, white-headed proctor, -Geoffrey's next-door neighbour--had quite a little gathering the next day, the -supposed object of which was to take tea and walk in the garden, but the real -object to peep furtively over the wall and try and catch a glimpse of her who -was already sarcastically known as "Dr. Brandram's beauty." Some of the -visitors, acquainted with the peculiarities of the garden, knowing what mound to -stand on and what position to take up, were successful in catching a glimpse of -the top of Margaret's hair--"all taken off her face like a schoolgirl's, and -leaving her cheeks as bare as bare," as they afterwards reported--as she -wandered listlessly round the garden, stooping now and then to smell or gather a -flower. One or two others were also rewarded by the sight of Geoffrey in his -velvet painting-coat; among them, Letty Coverdale, who pronounced him a splendid -man, and, O, so romantic-looking! for all ideas of matrimony had not yet left -Miss Letty Coverdale, and the noun-substantive Man yet caused her heart to beat -with an extra throb in her flat little chest; whereas Miss Matty Coverdale, who -had a face like a horse, and who loudly boasted that she had never had an offer -of marriage in her life, snorted out her wonder that Geoff did not wear a -surtout like a Christian and her belief that he'd be all the cleaner after a -visit to Mr. Ball, who was the Lowbar barber.</p> -<p>But bit by bit the personal appearance of both of them grew sufficiently -familiar to many of the inhabitants, some of the most courageous of whom had -actually screwed themselves up to that pitch of boldness necessary for the -accomplishment of calling and leaving cards on strangers pursuing a profession -unnamed in the <i>Directory</i>, and certainly not one of the three described in -<i>Mangnall's Questions</i>. The calls were returned, and in some cases were -succeeded by invitations to dinner. But Geoffrey cared little for these, and -Margaret earnestly begged they might be declined. If she found her life -insupportably dull and slow, this was not the kind of relief for which she -prayed. A suburban dinner-party would be but a dull parody on what she had -known; would give her trouble to dress for, without the smallest compensating -amusement; would leave her at the mercy of stupid people, among whom she would -probably be the only stranger, the only resource for staring eyes and -questioning tongues. That they would have stared and questioned, there is little -doubt; but they certainly intended hospitality. The "odd" feeling about the -Ludlows prevalent on their first coming had worn off, and now the tide seemed -setting the other way. Whether it was that the tradesmen's books were regularly -paid, that the lights at Elm Lodge were seldom or never burning after eleven -o'clock, that Geoffrey's name had been seen in the <i>Times</i>, as having been -present at a dinner given by Lord Everton, a very grand dinner, where he was the -only untitled man among the company, or for whatever other reason, there was a -decided disposition to be civil to them. No doubt Margaret's beauty had a great -deal to do with it, so far as the men were concerned. Old Mr. Coverdale, who had -been portentously respectable for half a century, but concerning whom there was -a floating legend of "Jolly dog-ism" In his youth, declared he had seen nothing -like her since the Princess Charlotte; and Abbott, known as Captain Abbott, from -having once been in the Commissariat, who always wore a chin-tip and a -tightly-buttoned blue frock-coat and pipe-clayed buckskin gloves, made an -especial point of walking past Elm Lodge every afternoon, and bestowing on -Margaret, whenever he saw her, a peculiar leer which had done frightful -execution amongst the nursemaids of Islington. Mrs. Abbott, a mild meek little -woman, who practised potichomanie, delcomanie the art of making wax-flowers, any -thing whereby to make money to pay the tradespeople and supply varnish for her -husband's boots and pocket-money for his <i>menus plaisirs</i>, was not, it is -needless to say, informed of these vagaries on the captain's part.</p> -<p>They were discussed every where: at the Ladies' Clothing-Club, where one need -scarcely say that the opinions concerning Margaret's beauty were a little less -fervid in expression; and at the Gentlemen's Book-Society, where a proposition -to invite Geoff to be of their number, started by the vicar and seconded by old -Mr. Coverdale, was opposed by Mr. Bryant (of Bryant and Martin, coach-builders, -Long Acre), On the ground that the first Of the rules stated that this should be -an association of gentlemen; and who could I say what would be done next if -artists was to be received? The discussion on this point waxed very warm, and -during it Mr. Cremer the curate incurred Mr. Bryant's deepest hatred for calling -out to him, on his again attempting to address the meeting, "Spoke, spoke!" -which Mr. Bryant looked upon as a sneer at his trade, and remembered bitterly -when the subscription was got up in the parish for presenting Mr. Cremer with -the silver teapot and two hundred sovereigns, with which (the teapot at least) -he proceeded to the rectory of Steeple Bumstead, in a distant part of the -country. They were discussed by the regulars in the nine-o'clock omnibus, most -of whom, as they passed by Elm Lodge and saw Geoff through the big window just -commencing to set his palette, pitied him for having to work at home, and -rejoiced in their own freedom from the possibility of conjugal inroad; or, -catching a glimpse of Margaret, poked each other in the ribs and told each other -what a fine woman she was. They were discussed by the schoolboys going to -school, who had a low opinion of art, and for the most part confined the remarks -about Geoffrey to his having a "stunnin' beard," and about Margaret to her being -a "regular carrots," the youthful taste being strongly anti-pre-Raffaellitic, -and worshipping the raven tresses and straight noses so dear to the old -romancers.</p> -<p>And while all these discussions and speculations were rife, the persons -speculated on and discussed were leading their lives without a thought of what -people were saying of them. Geoff knew that he was doing good work; he felt that -intuitively as every man does feel it, quite as intuitively as when he is -producing rubbish; and he knew it further from the not-too-laudatorily-inclined -Mr. Stompff, who came up from time to time, and could not refuse his -commendation to the progress of the pictures. And then Geoff was happy--at -least, well, Margaret might have been a little more lively perhaps; but then--O, -no; he was thoroughly happy! and Margaret--existed! The curtain had dropped on -her wedding-day, and she had been groping in darkness ever since.</p> -<br> - <p>Time went on, as he does to all of us, whatever our appreciation of him -may be, according to the mood we may happen to be in: swiftly to the happy and -the old, slowly to the young and the wearied. There is that blessed compensation -which pervades all human things, even in the flight of time. No matter how -pleasant, how varied, how completely filled is the time of the young, it hangs -on them somehow; they do not feel it rush past them nor melt away, the hours -swallowed up in days, the days in years, as do the elder people, who have no -special excitement, no particular delight. The fact still remains that the young -want time to fly, the old want him to crawl; and that, fulfilling the wishes of -neither, he speeds on <i>aquo pale</i>, grumbled at by both.</p> -<p>The time went on. So Margaret knew by the rising and setting of the sun, by -the usual meals, her own getting up and going to bed, and all the usual domestic -routine. But by what else? Nothing. She had been married now nearly six months, -and from that experience she thought she might deduce something like an epitome -of her life. What was it? She had a husband who doated on her; who lavished on -her comforts, superfluities, luxuries; who seemed never so happy as when toiling -at his easel, and who brought the products of his work to her to dispose of as -she pleased. A husband who up to that hour of her thought had never in the -smallest degree failed to fulfil her earliest expectations of him,--generous to -a degree, kind-hearted, weak, and easily led. Weak! weak as water.--Yes, and O -yes! What you, like, my dear! What you think best, my child! That is for your -decision, Margaret. I--I don't know; I scarcely like to give an opinion. Don't -you think you had better settle it? I'll leave it all to you, please, -dearest.--Good God! if he would only say <i>something</i>--as opposed to her -ideas as possible, the more opposed the better--some assertion of self, some -trumpet-note of argument, some sign of his having a will of his own, or at least -an idea from which a will might spring. Here was the man who in his own art was -working out the most admirable genius, showing that he had within him more of -the divine afflatus than is given to nine hundred and ninety-nine in every -thousand amongst us--a man who was rapidly lifting his name for the wonder and -the envy of the best portion of the civilised world, incapable of saying "no" -even to a proposition of hashed mutton for dinner, shirking the responsibility -of a decision on the question of the proper place for a chair.</p> -<p>Indeed, I fear that, so far as I have stated, the sympathies of women will go -against old Geoff, who must, I fancy, have been what they are in the habit of -calling "very trying." You see he brought with him to the altar a big generous -old heart, full of love and adoration of his intended wife, full of resolution, -in his old blunt way, to stand by her through evil and good report, and to do -his duty by her in all honour and affection. He was any thing but a self-reliant -man; but he knew that his love was sterling coin, truly unalloyed; and he -thought that it might be taken as compensation for numerous deficiencies, the -existence of which he readily allowed. You see he discovered his power of loving -simultaneously almost with his power of painting; and I think that this may -perhaps account for a kind of feeling that, as the latter was accepted by the -world, so would the former be by the person to whom it was addressed. When he -sent out the picture which first attracted Mr. Stompff's attention, he had no -idea that it was better than a score others which he had painted, during the -course of his life; when he first saw Margaret Dacre, he could not tell that the -instinctive admiration would lead to any thing more than the admiration which he -had already silently paid to half-a-hundred pretty faces. But both had come to a -successful issue; and he was only to paint his pictures with all the talent of -his head and hand, and to love his wife with all the affection of his heart, to -discharge his duty in life.</p> -<p>He did this; he worshipped her with all his heart. Whatever she did was -right, whatever ought to have been discussed she was called upon to settle. They -were very small affairs, as I have said,--of hashed mutton and jams of the -colour of a ribbon, or the fashion of a bonnet. Was there never to be any thing -further than this? Was life to consist in her getting up and struggling through -the day and going to bed at Elm Lodge? The short breakfast, when Geoff was -evidently dying to be off into the painting-room; the long, long day,--composed -of servants instruction, newspaper, lunch, sleep, little walk, toilette, dinner, -utterly feeble conversation, yawns and head-droppings, and finally bed. She had -pictured to herself something quiet, tranquil, without excitement, without much -change; but nothing like this.</p> -<p>Friends?--relations? O yes! old Mrs. Ludlow came to see her now and then; and -she had been several times to Brompton. The old lady was very kind in her -pottering stupid way, and her daughter Matilda was kind also, but as once -gushing and prudish; so Margaret thought. And they both treated her as if she -were a girl; the old lady perpetually haranguing her with good advice and feeble -suggestion, and Matilda--who, of course, like all girls, had, it was perfectly -evident, some silly love-affair on with some youth who had not as yet declared -himself--wanting to make her half-confidences, and half-asking for advice, which -she never intended to take. A girl? O yes, of course, she must play out that -farce, and support that terribly vague story which old Geoff; pushed into a -corner on a sudden, and without any one to help him at the instant, had -fabricated concerning her parentage and belongings. And she must listen to the -old lady's praises of Geoff, and how she thought it not improbable, if things -went on as they were going, that the happiest dream of her life would be -fulfilled--that she should ride in her son's carriage. "It would be yours, of -course, my dear; I know that well enough; but you'd let me ride in it sometimes, -just for the honour and glory of the thing." And they talked like this to her: -the old lady of the glory of a carriage; Matilda of some hawbuck wretch for whom -she had a liking;--to her! who had sat on the box-seat of a drag a score of -times, with half-a-score of the best men in England sitting behind her, all -eager for a word or a smile.</p> -<p>She saw them now, frequently, whenever she came over to Brompton,--all the -actors in that bygone drama of her life, save the hero himself. It was the play -of <i>Hamlet</i> with Hamlet left out, indeed. But what vast proportions did she -then assume compared to what she had been lately! There were Rosencrantz and -Guildenstern,--the one in his mail-phaeton, the other on his matchless hack; -there was old Polonius in the high-collared bottle-green coat of thirty years -back, guiding his clever cob in and out among the courtiers; there was the -Honourable Osric, simpering and fooling among the fops. She hurried across the -Drive or the Row on her way to or from Brompton, and stood up, a little distance -off, gazing at these comrades of old times. She would press her hands to her -head, and wonder whether it was all true or a dream whether she was going back -to the dull solemnity of Elm Lodge, when a dozen words would put her into that -mail-phaeton--on to that horse! How often had Rosencrantz ogled! and was it not -Guildenstern's billet that, after reading, she tore up and threw in his face? It -was an awful temptation; and she was obliged, as an antidote, to picture to -herself the tortures she had suffered from cold and want and starvation, to -bring her round at all to a sensible line of thought.</p> -<p>Some one else had called upon her two or three times. O yes, a Miss Maurice, -who came in a coroneted carriage, and to whom she had taken a peculiar -detestation; not from any airs she had given herself--O no; there was nothing of -that kind about her. She was one of those persons, don't you know, who have -known your husband before his marriage, and take an interest in him, and must -like you for his sake; one of those persons who are so open and honest and -above-board, that you take an immediate distrust of them at first sight, which -you never get over. O no, Margaret was perfectly certain she should never like -Annie Maurice.</p> -<p>Music she had, and books; but she was not very fond of the first, and only -played desultorily. Geoff was most passionately fond of music; and sometimes -after dinner he would ask for "a tune," and then Margaret would sit down at the -piano and let her fingers wander over the keys, gradually finding them straying -into some of the brilliant dance-music of Auber and Musard, of Jullien and -Koenig, with which she had been familiarised during her Continental experience. -And as she played, the forms familiarly associated with the music came trooping -out of the mist--Henri, so grand in the <i>Cavalier seul</i>, Jules and Eulalie, -so unapproachable in the <i>En avant deux</i>. There they whirled in the hot -summer evenings; the <i>parterre</i>, illuminated with a thousand lamps -glittering like fireflies, the sensuous strains of the orchestra soaring up to -the great yellow-faced moon looking down upon it; and then the cosy little -supper, the sparkling iced drink, the--"Time for bed, eh, dear?" from old Geoff, -already nodding with premature sleep; and away flew the bright vision at the -rattle of the chamber-candlestick.</p> -<p>Books! yes, no lack of them. Geoff subscribed for her to the library, and -every week came the due supply of novels. These Margasightret read, some in -wonder, some in scorn. There was a great run upon the Magdalen just then in that -style of literature; writers were beginning to be what is called "outspoken;" -and young ladies familiarised with the outward life of the species, as exhibited -in the Park and at the Opera, read with avidity of their diamonds and their -ponies, of the interior of the <i>ménage</i>, and of their spirited -conversations with the cream of the male aristocracy. A deference to British -virtue, and a desire to stand well with the librarian's subscribers, compelled -an amount of repentance in the third volume which Margaret scarcely believed to -be in accordance with truth. The remembrance of childhood's days, which made the -ponies pall, and rendered the diamonds disgusting,--the inherent natural -goodness, which took to eschewing of crinoline and the adoption of serge, which -swamped the colonel in a storm of virtuous indignation, and brought the curate -safely riding over the billows,--were agreeable incidents, but scarcely, she -thought, founded on fact. Her own experience at least had taught her otherwise; -but it might be so after all.</p> -<p>So her life wore drearily on. Would there never be any change in it? Yes, one -change at least Time brought in his flight. Dr. Brandram's visits were now -regular; and one morning a shrill cry resounded through the house, and the -doctor placed in its father's arms a strong healthy boy.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> - <h4><a name="div2_07" href="#div2Ref_07">CHAPTER VII.</a></h4> -<h5>WHAT THEIR FRIENDS THOUGHT.</h5> -<br> - <p>Geoffrey Ludlow had married and settled himself in a not-too-accessible -suburb, but he had not given up such of his old companions as were on a footing -of undeniable intimacy with him. These were few in number; for although Geoff -was a general favourite from his urbanity and the absence of any thing like -pretentiousness in his disposition, he was considered slow by most of the bolder -spirits among the artist-band. He was older than many of them certainly, but -that was scarcely the reason; for there were jolly old dogs whose presence never -caused the smallest reticence of song or story--gray and bald-headed old boys, -who held their own in scurrility and slang, and were among the latest sitters -and the deepest drinkers of the set. It is needless to say that in all their -popularity--and they were popular after a fashion--there was not mingled one -single grain of respect; while Geoffrey was respected as much as he was liked. -But his shyness, his quiet domestic habits, and his perpetual hard work gave him -little time for the cultivation of acquaintance, and he had only two really -intimate friends, who were Charley Potts and William Bowker.</p> -<p>Charley Potts had been "best man" at the marriage, and Geoffrey had caught a -glimpse of old Bowker in hiding behind a pillar of the church. It was meet, -then, that they--old companions of his former life--should see him under his -altered circumstances, should know and be received by his wife, and should have -the opportunity, if they wished for it, of keeping up at least a portion of the -<i>camaraderie</i> of old days. Therefore after his return to London, and when -he and his wife were settled down in Elm Lodge, Geoffrey wrote to each of his -old friends, and said how glad he would be to see them in his new house.</p> -<p>This note found Mr. Charles Potts intent upon a representation of Mr. -Tennyson's "Dora," sitting with the child in the cornfield, a commission which -he had received from Mr. Caniche, and which was to be paid for by no less a sum -than a hundred and fifty pounds. The "Gil Bias" had proved a great success in -the Academy, and had been purchased by a country rector, who had won a -hundred-pound prize in the Art-Union; so that Charley was altogether in very -high feather and pecuniary triumph. He had not made much alteration in the style -of his living or in the furniture of his apartment; but he had cleared off a -long score for beer and grog standing against him in the books kept by Caroline -of signal fame; he had presented Caroline herself with a cheap black-lace shawl, -which had produced something like an effect at Rosherville Gardens! and he had -sent a ten-pound note to the old aunt who had taken care of him after his -mother's death, and who wept tears of gratified joy on its receipt, and told all -Sevenoaks of the talent and the goodness of her nephew. He had paid off some -other debts also, and lent a pound or two here and there among his friends, and -was even after that a capitalist to the extent of having some twenty pounds in -the stomach of a china sailor, originally intended as a receptacle for tobacco. -His success had taken effect on Charley. He had begun to think that there was -really something in him, after all; that life was, as the working-man observed, -"not all beer and skittles;" and that if he worked honestly on, he might yet be -able to realise a vision which had occasionally loomed through clouds of -tobacco-smoke curling round his head; a vision of a pleasant cottage out at -Kilburn, or better still at Cricklewood; with a bit of green lawn and a little -conservatory, and two or three healthy children tumbling about; while their -mother, uncommonly like Matilda Ludlow, looked on from the ivy-covered porch; -and their father, uncommonly like himself, was finishing in the studio that -great work which was to necessitate his election into the Academy. This vision -had a peculiar charm for him; he worked away like a horse; the telegraphic -signals to Caroline and the consequent supply of beer became far less frequent; -he began to eschew late nights, which he found led to late mornings; and the -"Dora" was growing under his hand day by day.</p> -<p>He was hard at work and had apparently worked himself into a knot, for he was -standing a little distance from his easel, gazing vacantly at the picture and -twirling his moustache with great vigour,--a sure sign of worry with him,--when -the "tugging, of the trotter" was heard, and on his opening the door, Mr. Bowker -presented himself and walked in.</p> -<p>"'Tis I! Bowker the undaunted! Ha, Ha!" and Mr. Bowker gave two short stamps, -and lunged with his walking-stick at his friend. "Give your William drink; he is -athirst. What! nothing of a damp nature about? Potts, virtue and industry are -good things; and your William has been glad to observe that of late you have -been endeavouring to practise both; but industry is not incompatible with pale -ale, and nimble fingers are oft allied to a dry palate. That sounds like one of -the headings of the pages from Maunders' <i>Treasury of Knowledge</i>.--Send for -some beer!"</p> -<p>The usual pantomime was gone through by Mr. Potts, and while it was in -process, Bowker filled a pipe and walked towards the easel. "Very good, Charley; -very good indeed. Nice fresh look in that gal--not the usual burnt-umber -rusticity; but something--not quite--like the real ruddy peasant bronze. Child -not bad either; looks as if it had got its feet in boxing-gloves, though; you -must alter that; and don't make its eyes quite so much like willow-pattern -saucers. What's that on the child's head?"</p> -<p>"Hair, of course."</p> -<p>"And what stuff's that the girl's sitting in?"</p> -<p>"Corn! cornfield--wheat, you know, and that kind of stuff. What do you mean? -why do you ask?"</p> -<p>"Only because it seems to your William that both substances are exactly -alike. If it's hair, then the girl is sitting in a hair-field; if it's corn, -then the child has got corn growing on its head."</p> -<p>"It'll have it growing on its feet some day, I suppose," growled Mr. Potts, -with a grin. "You're quite right, though, old man; we'll alter that at -once.--Well, what's new with you?"</p> -<p>"New? Nothing! I hear nothing, see nothing, and know nobody. I might be a -hermit-crab, only I shall never creep into any body else's shell; my own--five -feet ten by two feet six--will be ready quite soon enough for me. Stop! what -stuff I'm talking! I very nearly forgot the object of my coming round to you -this morning. Your William is asked into society! Look; here's a letter I -received last night from our Geoff, asking me to come up to see his new house -and be introduced to his wife."</p> -<p>"I had a similar one this morning."</p> -<p>"I thought that was on the cards, so I came round to see what you were going -to do."</p> -<p>"Do? I shall go, of course. So will you, won't you?"</p> -<p>"Well, Charley, I don't know. I'm a queer old skittle, that has been knocked -about in all manner of ways, and that has had no women's society for many years. -So much the better, perhaps. I'm not pretty to look at; and I couldn't talk the -stuff women like to have talked to them, and I should be horribly bored if I had -to listen to it. So--and yet--God forgive me for growling so!--there are times -when I'd give any thing for a word of counsel and comfort in a woman's voice, -for the knowledge that there was any woman--good woman, mind!--no matter -what--mother, sister, wife--who had an interest in what I did. There! never mind -that."</p> -<p>Mr. Bowker stopped abruptly. Charley Potts waited for a minute; then putting -his hand affectionately on his friend's shoulder, said: "But our William will -make an exception for our Geoff. You've known him so long, and you're so fond of -him."</p> -<p>"Fond of him! God bless him! No one could know Geoff without loving him, at -least no one whose love was worth having. But you see there's the wife to be -taken into account now."</p> -<p>"You surely wouldn't doubt your reception by her? The mere fact of your being -an old friend of her husband's would be sufficient to make you welcome."</p> -<p>"O, Mr. Potts, Mr. Potts! you are as innocent as a sucking-dove, dear Mr. -Potts, though you have painted a decent picture! To have known a man before his -marriage is to be the natural enemy of his wife. However, I'll chance that, and -go and see our Geoff."</p> -<p>"So shall I," said Potts, "though I'm rather doubtful about <i>my</i> -reception. You see I was with Geoff that night,--you know, when we met the--his -wife, you know."</p> -<p>"So you were. Haven't you seen her since?"</p> -<p>"Only at the wedding, and that all in a hurry--just an introduction; that was -all."</p> -<p>"Did she seem at all confused when she recognised you?"</p> -<p>"She couldn't have recognised me, because when we found her she was -senseless, and hadn't come-to when we left. But of course Geoff had told her who -I was, and she didn't seem in the least confused."</p> -<p>"Not she, if there's any truth in physiognomy," muttered old Bowker; "well, -if she showed no annoyance at first meeting you, she's not likely to do so now, -and you'll be received sweetly enough, no doubt. We may as well go together, -eh?"</p> -<p>To this proposition Mr. Potts consented with great alacrity, for though a -leader of men in his own set, he was marvellously timid, silent, and ill at ease -in the society of ladies. The mere notion of having to spend a portion of time, -however short, in company with members of the other sex above the rank of -Caroline, and with whom he could not exchange that free and pleasant <i>badinage</i> -of which he was so great a master, inflicted torture on him sufficient to render -him an object of compassion. So on a day agreed upon, the artistic pair set out -to pay their visit to Mrs. Geoffrey Ludlow.</p> -<p>Their visit took place at about the time when public opinion in Lowbar was -unsettled as to the propriety of knowing the Ludlows; and the dilatoriness of -some of the inhabitants in accepting the position of the newcomers may probably -be ascribed to the fact of the visitors having been encountered in the village. -It is undeniable that the appearance of Mr. Potts and of Mr. Bowker was not -calculated to impress the beholder with a feeling of respect, or a sense of -their position in society. Holding this to be a gala-day, Mr. Potts had -extracted a bank-note from the stomach of the china sailor, and expended it at -the "emporium" of an outfitter in Oxford Street, in the purchase of a striking, -but particularly ill-fitting, suit of checked clothes--coat, waistcoat, and -trousers to match. His boots, of an unyielding leather, had very thick clump -soles, which emitted curious wheezings and groanings as he walked; and his -puce-coloured gloves were baggy at all the fingers' ends, and utterly -impenetrable as regarded the thumbs. His white hat was a little on one side, and -his moustaches were twisted with a ferocity which, however fascinating to the -maid-servants at the kitchen-windows, failed to please the ruralising cits and -citizenesses, who were accustomed to regard a white hat as the distinctive badge -of card-sharpers, and a moustache as the outward and visible sign of swindling. -Mr. Bowker had made little difference in his ordinary attire. He wore a loose -shapeless brown garment which was more like a cloth dressing-gown than a -paletot; a black waistcoat frayed at the pockets from constant contact with his -pipe-stem, and so much too short that the ends of his white-cotton braces were -in full view; also a pair of gray trousers of the cut which had been in fashion -when their owner was in fashion--made very full over the boot, and having broad -leather straps. Mr. Bowker also wore a soft black wideawake hat, and perfumed -the fragrant air with strong cavendish tobacco, fragments of which decorated his -beard. The two created a sensation as they strode up the quiet High Street; and -when they rang at Elm Lodge Geoffrey's pretty servant-maid was ready to drop -between admiration at Mr. Potts's appearance and a sudden apprehension that Mr. -Bowker had come after the plate.</p> -<p>She had, however, little time for the indulgence of either feeling; for -Geoffrey, who had been expecting the arrival of hi friends, with a degree of -nervousness unintelligible to himself, no sooner heard the bell than he rushed -out from his studio and received his old comrades with great cordiality. He -shook hands heartily with Charley Potts; but a certain hesitation mingled with -the warmth of his greeting of Bowker; and his talk rattled on from broken -sentence to broken sentence, as though he were desirous of preventing his friend -from speaking until he himself had had his say.</p> -<p>"How d'ye do, Charley? so glad to see you; and you, Bowker, my good old -friend: it is thoroughly kind of you to come out here; and--long way, you know, -and out of your usual beat, I know. Well, so you see Ive joined the noble army -of martyrs,--not that I mean that of course; but--eh, you didn't expect I would -do it, did you? I couldn't say, like the girl in the Scotch song, 'I'm owre -young to marry yet,' could I? However, thank God, I think you'll say my wife -is--what a fellow I am! keeping you fellows out here in this broiling sun; and -you haven't--at least you, Bowker, haven't been introduced to her. Come -along--come in!"</p> -<p>He preceded them to the drawing-room, where Margaret was waiting to receive -them. It was a hot staring day in the middle of a hot staring summer. The turf -was burnt brown; the fields spreading between Elm Lodge and Hampstead, usually -so cool and verdant, were now arid wastes; the outside blinds of the house were -closed to exclude the scorching light, and there was no sound save the loud -chirping of grasshoppers. A great weariness was on Margaret that day; she had -tried to rouse herself, but found it impossible, so had sat all through the -morning staring vacantly before her, busy with old memories. Between her past -and her present life there was so little in common, that these memories were -seldom roused by associations. The dull never-changing domestic day, and the -pretty respectability of Elm Lodge, did not recal the wild Parisian revels, the -rough pleasant Bohemianism of garrison-lodgings, the sumptuous luxury of the -Florentine villa. But there was something in the weather to-day--in the bright -fierce glare of the sun, in the solemn utterly-unbroken stillness--which brought -back to her mind one when she and Leonard and some others were cruising off the -Devonshire coast in Tom Marshall's yacht; a day on which, with scarcely a breath -of air to be felt, they lay becalmed in Babbicombe Bay; under an awning, of -course, over which the men from time to time worked the fire-hose; and how -absurdly funny Tom Marshall was when the ice ran short. Leonard said--The -gate-bell rang, and her husband's voice was heard in hearty welcome of his -friends.</p> -<p>In welcome of his friends! Yes, there at least she could do her duty; there -she could give pleasure to her husband. She could not give him her love; she had -tried, and found it utterly impossible; but equally impossible was it to -withhold from him her respect. Day by day she honoured him more and more; as she -watched his patient honesty, his indomitable energy, his thorough helplessness; -as she learned--in spite of herself as it were--more of himself; for Geoff had -always thought one of the chiefest pleasures of matrimony must be to have some -one capable of receiving all one's confidences. As she, with a certain love of -psychological analysis possessed by some women went through his character, and -discovered loyalty and truth in every thought and every deed, she felt half -angry with herself for her inability to regard him with that love which his -qualities ought to have inspired. She had been accustomed to tell herself, and -half-believed, that she had no conscience; but this theory, which she had -maintained during nearly all the earlier portion of her life vanished as she -learned to know and to appreciate her husband. She had a conscience, and she -felt it; under its influence she made some struggles, ineffectual indeed, but -greater than she at one time would have attempted. What was it that prevented -her from giving this man his due, her heart's love? His appearance? No he was -not a "girl's man" certainly, not the delicious military vision which sets -throbbing the hearts of sweet seventeen: by no means romantic-looking, but a -thoroughly manly gentleman--big, strong, and well-mannered. Had he been dwarfed -or deformed, vulgar, dirty--and even in the present days of tubbing and Turkish -baths, there are men who possess genius and are afraid it may come off in hot -water,--had he been "common," an expressive word meaning something almost as bad -as dirt and vulgarity,--Margaret could have satisfied her newly-found -conscience, or at least accounted for her feelings. But he was none of these, -and she admitted it; and so at the conclusion of her self-examination fell back, -not without a feeling of semi-complacency, to the conviction that it was not he, -but she herself who was in fault; that she did not give him her heart simply -because she had no heart to give; that she had lived and loved, but that, -however long she might yet live, she could never love again.</p> -<p>These thoughts passed rapidly through her mind, not for the first, nor even -for the hundredth time, as she sat down upon the sofa and took up the first book -which came to hand, not even making a pretence of reading it, but allowing it to -lie listlessly on her lap. Geoffrey came first, closely followed by Charley -Potts, who advanced in a sheepish way, holding out his hand. Margaret smiled -slightly and gave him her hand with no particular expression, a little dignified -perhaps, but even that scarcely noticeable. Then Bowker, who had kept his keen -eyes upon her from the moment he entered the room, and whom she had seen and -examined while exchanging civilities with Potts, was brought forward by -Geoffrey, and introduced as "one of my oldest and dearest friends." Margaret -advanced as Bowker approached, her face flushed a little, and her eyes wore -their most earnest expression, as she said, "I am very glad to see you, Mr. -Bowker. I have heard of you from Geoffrey. I am sure we shall be very good -friends." She gripped his hand and looked him straight in the face as she said -this, and in that instant William Bowker divined that Margaret had heard of, and -knew and sympathised with, the story of his life.</p> -<p>She seemed tacitly to acknowledge that there was a bond of union between -them. She was as polite as could be expected of her to Charley Potts; but she -addressed herself especially to Bowker when any point for discussion arose. -These were not very frequent, for the conversation carried on was of a very -ordinary kind. How they liked their new house, and whether they had seen much of -the people of the neighbourhood; how they had enjoyed their honeymoon in the -Isle of Wight; and trivialities of a similar character. Charley Potts, prevented -by force of circumstances from indulging in his peculiar humour, and incapable -from sheer ignorance of bearing his share of general conversation when a lady -was present, had several times attempted to introduce the one subject, which, in -any society, he could discuss at his ease, art--"shop;" but on each occasion had -found his proposition rigorously ignored both by Margaret and Bowker, who seemed -to consider it out of place, and who were sufficiently interested in their own -talk. So Charley fell back Upon Geoff, who, although delighted at seeing how -well his wife was getting on with his friend, yet had sufficient kindness of -heart to step in to Charley's rescue, and to discuss with him the impossibility -of accounting for the high price obtained by Smudge; the certainty that -Scumble's popularity would be merely evanescent; the disgraceful favouritism -displayed by certain men "on the council;" in short, all that kind of talk which -is so popular and so unfailing in the simple kindly members of the art-world. So -on throughout lunch; and, indeed, until the mention of Geoffrey's pictures then -in progress necessitated the generalising of the conversation, and they went -away (Margaret with them) to the studio. Arrived within those walls, Mr. Potts, -temporarily oblivious of the presence of a lady, became himself again. The -mingled smell of turpentine and tobacco, the sight of the pictures on the -easels, and Of Geoff's pipe-rack on the wall, a general air of carelessness and -discomfort, all came gratefully to Mr. Potts who opened his chest, spread out -his arms, shook himself as does a dog just emerged from the water--probably in -his case to get rid of any clinging vestige of respectability--and said in a -very hungry tone:</p> -<p>"Now, Geoff, let's have a smoke, old boy."</p> -<p>"You might as well wait until you knew whether Mrs. Ludlow made any -objection, Charley," said Bowker, in a low tone.</p> -<p>"I beg Mrs. Ludlow's pardon," said Potts, scarlet all over; "I had no notion -that she--"</p> -<p>"Pray don't apologise, Mr. Potts; I am thoroughly accustomed to smoke; have -been for--"</p> -<p>"Yes, of course; ever since you married Geoff you have been thoroughly -smoke-dried," interrupted Bowker, at whom Margaret shot a short quick glance, -half of interrogation, half of gratitude.</p> -<p>They said no more on the smoke subject just then, but proceeded to a thorough -examination of the picture which Charley Potts pronounced "regularly stunning," -and which Mr. Bowker criticised in a much less explosive manner. He praised the -drawing, the painting, the general arrangement; he allowed that Geoffrey was -doing every thing requisite to obtain for himself name, fame, and wealth in the -present day; but he very much doubted whether that was all that was needed. With -the French judge he would very much have doubted the necessity of living, if to -live implied the abnegation of the first grand principles of art, its humanising -and elevated influence. Bowker saw no trace of these in the undeniable -cleverness of the Brighton Esplanade; and though he was by no means sparing of -his praise, his lack of enthusiasm, as compared with the full-flavoured ecstasy -of Charley Potts, struck upon Margaret's ear. Shortly afterwards, while Geoffrey -and Potts were deep in a discussion on colour, she turned to Mr. Bowker, and -said abruptly:</p> -<p>"You are not satisfied with Geoffrey's picture?"</p> -<p>He smiled somewhat grimly as he said, "Satisfied is a very strong word, Mrs. -Ludlow. There are some of us in the world who have sufficient good sense not to -be satisfied with what we do ourselves--"</p> -<p>"That's true, Heaven knows," she interrupted involuntarily.</p> -<p>"And are consequently not particularly likely to be content with what's done -by other people. I think Geoff's picture good, very good of its sort; but I -don't--I candidly confess--like its sort. He is a man full of appreciation of -nature, character, and sentiment; a min who, in the expression of his own art, -is as capable of rendering poetic feeling as--By Jove, now why didn't he think -of that subject that Charley Potts has got under weigh just now? That would have -suited Geoff exactly."</p> -<p>"What is it?"</p> -<p>"Dora--Tennyson's Dora, you know." Margaret bowed in acquiescence. "There's a -fine subject, if you like. Charley's painting it very well, so far as it goes; -but he doesn't feel it. Now Geoff would. A man must have something more than -facile manipulation; he must have the soul of a poet before he could depict the -expression which must necessarily be on such a face. There are few who could -understand, fewer still who could interpret to others, such heart-feelings of -that most beautiful of Tennyson's creations as would undoubtedly show themselves -in her face; the patient endurance of unrequited love, which 'loves on through -all ills, and loves on till she dies;' which neither the contempt nor the death -of its object can extinguish, but which then flows, in as pure, if not as -strong, a current towards his widow and his child."</p> -<p>Margaret had spoken at first, partly for the sake of saying something, partly -because her feeling for her husband admitted of great pride in his talent, which -she thought Bowker had somewhat slighted. But now she was thoroughly roused, her -eyes bright, her hair pushed back off her face, listening intently to him. When -he ceased, she looked up strangely, and said:</p> -<p>"Do you believe in the existence of such love?"</p> -<p>"O yes," he replied; "it's rare, of course. Especially rare is the faculty of -loving hopelessly without the least chance of return--loving stedfastly and -honestly as Dora did, I mean. With most people unrequited love turns into -particularly bitter hatred, or into that sentimental maudlin state of 'broken -heart,' which is so comforting to its possessor and so wearying to his friends. -But there <i>are</i> exceptional cases where such love exists, and in these, no -matter how fought against, it can never be extinguished."</p> -<p>"I suppose you are right," said Margaret; "there must be such instances."</p> -<p>Bowker looked hard at her, but she had risen from her seat and was rejoining -the others.</p> -<br> - <p>"What's your opinion of Mrs. Ludlow, William?" asked Charley Potts, as -they walked away puffing their pipes in the calm summer night air. "Handsome -woman, isn't she?"</p> -<p>"Very handsome!" replied Bowker; "wondrously handsome!" Then -reflectively--"It's a long time since your William has seen any thing like that. -All in all--face, figure, manner--wondrously perfect! She walks like a Spaniard, -and--"</p> -<p>"Yes, Geoff's in luck; at least I suppose he is. There's something about her -which is not quite to my taste. I think I like a British element, which is not -to be found in her. I don't know what it is--only something--well, something -less of the duchess about her. I don't think she's quite in our line--is she, -Bowker, old boy?"</p> -<p>"That's because you're very young in the world's ways, Charley, and also -because Geoff's wife is not very like Geoff's sister, I'm thinking." Whereat Mr. -Potts grew very red, told his friend to "shut up!" and changed the subject.</p> -<p>"That night Mr. Bowker sat on the edge of his truckle-bed in his garret in -Hart Street, Bloomsbury, holding in his left hand a faded portrait in a worn -morocco case. He looked at it long and earnestly, while his right hand wafted -aside the thick clouds of tobacco-smoke pouring over it from his pipe. He knew -every line of it, every touch of colour in it; but he sat gazing at it this -night as though it were an entire novelty, studying it with a new interest.</p> -<p>"Yes," said he at length, "she's very like you, my darling, very like -you,--hair, eyes, shape, all alike; and she seems to have that same clinging, -undying love which you had, my darling--that same resistless, unquenchable, -undying love. But that love is not for Geoff; God help him, dear fellow! that -love is not for Geoff!"</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> - <h4><a name="div2_08" href="#div2Ref_08">CHAPTER VIII.</a></h4> -<h5>MARGARET AND ANNIE.</h5> -<br> - <p>The meeting between Margaret and Annie Maurice, which Geoffrey had so -anxiously desired, had taken place, but could scarcely be said to have been -successful in its result. With the best intention possible, and indeed with a -very earnest wish that these two women should like each other very much, Geoff -had said so much about the other to each, as to beget a mutual distrust and -dislike before they became acquainted. Margaret could not be jealous of -Geoffrey; her regard for him was not sufficiently acute to admit any such -feeling. But she rebelled secretly against the constant encomiastic mention of -Annie, and grew wearied at and annoyed with the perpetually-iterated stories of -Miss Maurice's goodness with which Geoffrey regaled her. A good daughter! Well, -what of that? She herself had been a good daughter until temptation assailed -her, and probably Miss Maurice had never been tempted.--So simple, honest, and -straightforward! Yes, she detested women of that kind; behind the mask of -innocence and virtue they frequently carried on the most daring schemes. Annie -in her turn thought she had heard quite enough about Mrs. Ludlow's hair and -eyes, and wondered Geoff had never said any thing about his wife's character or -disposition. It was quite right, of course, that he, an artist, should marry a -pretty person; but he was essentially a man who would require something more -than mere beauty in his life's companion, and as yet he had not hinted at any -accomplishments which his wife possessed. There was a something in Lord -Caterham's tone, when speaking to and of Geoffrey Ludlow, which had often jarred -upon Annie's ear, and which she now called to mind in connection with these -thoughts--a certain tinge of pity more akin to contempt than to love. Annie had -noticed that Caterham never assumed this tone when he was talking to Geoffrey -about his art; then he listened deferentially or argued with spirit; but when -matters of ordinary life formed the topics of conversation her cousin seemed to -regard Geoffrey as a kind of large-hearted boy, very generous very impulsive, -but thoroughly inexperienced. Could Arthur Caterham's reading of Geoffrey -Ludlow's character be the correct one? Was he, out of his art, so weak, -vacillating, and easily led? and had he been caught by mere beauty of face? and -had he settled himself down to pass his life with a woman of whose disposition -he knew nothing? Annie Maurice put this question to herself with a full -conviction that she would be able to answer it after her introduction to Mrs. -Ludlow.</p> -<p>About a week after Geoffrey had given his first drawing-lesson in St. -Barnabas Square, Annie drove off one afternoon to Elm Lodge in Lady Beauport's -barouche. She had begged hard to be allowed to go in a cab, but Lord Caterham -would not hear of it; and as Lady Beauport had had a touch of neuralgia (there -were very few illnesses she permitted to attack her, and those only of an -aristocratic nature), and had been confined to the house, no objection was made. -So the barouche, with the curly-wigged coachman and silver-headed footmen on the -box, went spinning through Camden and Kentish Towns, where the coachman pointed -with his whip to rows of small houses bordering the roadside, and wondered what -sort of people could live "in such little 'oles;" and the footman expressed his -belief that the denizens were "clerks and poor coves of that kind," The children -of the neighbourhood ran out in admiration of the whole turn-out, and especially -of the footman's hair, which afforded them subject-matter for discussion during -the evening, some contending that his head had been snowed upon; some insisting -that it "grew so;" and others propounding a belief that he was a very old man, -and that his white hair was merely natural. When the carriage dashed up to the -gates of Elm Lodge, the Misses Coverdale next door were, as they afterwards -described themselves, "in a perfect twitter of excitement;" because, though good -carriages and handsome horses were by no means rare in the pretty suburb, no one -had as yet ventured to ask his servant to wear hair-powder; and the coronet, -immediately spied on the panels, had a wonderful effect.</p> -<p>The visit was not unexpected by either Margaret or Geoffrey; but the latter -was at the moment closely engaged with Mr. Stompff, who had come up to make an -apparently advantageous proposition; so that when Annie Maurice was shown into -the drawing-room, she found Margaret there alone. At sight of her, Annie paused -in sheer admiration. Margaret was dressed in a light striped muslin; her hair -taken off her face and twisted into a large roll behind; her only ornaments a -pair of long gold earrings. At the announcement of Miss Maurice's name, a slight -flush came across her face, heightening its beauty. She rose without the -smallest sign of hurry, grandly and calmly, and advanced a few paces. She saw -the effect she had produced and did not intend that it should be lessened. It -was Annie who spoke first, and Annie's hand was the first outstretched.</p> -<p>"I must introduce myself, Mrs. Ludlow," said she, "though I suppose you have -heard of me from your husband. He and I are very old friends."</p> -<p>"O, Miss Maurice?" said Margaret, as though half doubtful to whom she was -talking. "O yes; Geoffrey has mentioned your name several times. Pray sit down."</p> -<p>All this in the coldest tone and with the stiffest manner. Prejudiced -originally, Margaret, in rising, had caught a glimpse through the blinds of the -carriage, and regarded it as an assertion of dignity and superiority on her -visitor's part, which must be at once counteracted.</p> -<p>"I should have come to see you long before, Mrs. Ludlow, but my time is not -my own, as you probably know; and--"</p> -<p>"Yes, Mr. Ludlow told me you were Lady Beauport's companion." A hit at the -carriage there.</p> -<p>"Yes," continued Annie with perfect composure, though she felt the blow, "I -am Lady Beauport's companion, and consequently not a free agent, or, as I said, -I should have called on you long ago."</p> -<p>Margaret had expected a hit in exchange for her own, which she saw had taken -effect. A little mollified by her adversary's tolerance, she said:</p> -<p>"I should have been very glad to see you, Miss Maurice; and in saying so I -pay no compliment; for I should have been very glad to see any body to break -this fearful monotony."</p> -<p>"You find it dull here?"</p> -<p>"I find it dreary in the extreme."</p> -<p>"And I was only thinking how perfectly charming it is. This sense of thorough -quiet is of all things the most pleasant to me. It reminds me of the place where -the happiest days in my life have been passed; and now, after the fever and -excitement of London, it seems doubly grateful. But perhaps you have been -accustomed to gaiety."</p> -<p>"Yes; at least, if not to gaiety, to excitement; to having every hour of the -day filled up with something to do; to finding the time flown before I scarcely -knew it had arrived, instead of watching the clock and wondering that it was not -later in the day."</p> -<p>"Ah, then of course you feel the change very greatly at first; but I think -you will find it wear off. One's views of life alter so after we have tried the -new phase for a little time. It seems strange my speaking to you in this way, -Mrs. Ludlow; but I have had a certain amount of experience. There was my own -dear home; and then I lived with my uncle at a little country parsonage, and -kept house for him; and then I became--Lady Beauport's companion."</p> -<p>A bright red patch burned on Margaret's cheek as Annie said these words. Was -it shame? Was the quiet earnestness, the simple courtesy and candour of this -frank, bright-eyed girl getting over her?</p> -<p>"That was very difficult at first, I confess," Annie continued; "every thing -was so strange to me, just as it may be to you here, but I had come from the -quietude to the gaiety; and I thought at one time it would be impossible for me -to continue there. But I held on, and I manage to get on quite comfortably now. -They are all very kind to me; and the sight of Mr. Ludlow occasionally insures -my never forgetting the old days."</p> -<p>"It would be strange if they were not kind to you," said Margaret, looking -fixedly at her. "I understand now what Geoffrey has told me about you. We shall -be friends, shall we not?" suddenly extending her hand.</p> -<p>"The very best of friends!" said Annie, returning the pressure; "and, dear -Mrs. Ludlow, you will soon get over this feeling of dulness. These horrible -household duties, which are so annoying at first, become a regular part of the -day's business, and, unconsciously to ourselves, we owe a great deal to them for -helping us through the day. And then you must come out with me whenever I can -get the carriage,--O, Ive brought Lady Beaupores card, and she is coming herself -as soon as she gets out again,--and we'll go for a drive in the Park. I can -quite picture to myself the sensation you would make."</p> -<p>Margaret smiled--a strange hard smile--but said nothing.</p> -<p>"And then you must be fond of reading; and I don't know whether Mr. Ludlow -has changed, but there was nothing he used to like so much as being read to -while he was at work. Whenever he came to the Priory, papa and I used to sit in -the little room where he painted and take it in turns to read to him. I daresay -he hasn't liked to ask you, fearing it might bore you; and you haven't liked to -suggest it, from an idea that you might interrupt his work."</p> -<p>"O yes, Ive no doubt it will come right," said Margaret, indisposed to enter -into detail; "and I know I can rely on your help; only one thing--don't mention -what I have said to Geoffrey, please; it might annoy him; and he is so good, -that I would not do that for the world."</p> -<p>"He will not hear a word of it from me. It would annoy him dreadfully, I -know. He is so thoroughly wrapped up in you, that to think you were not -completely happy would cause him great pain. Yes, he is good. Papa used to say -he did not know so good a man, and--"</p> -<p>The door opened as she spoke, and Geoff entered the room. His eyes brightened -as he saw the two women together in close conversation; and he said with a gay -laugh:</p> -<p>"Well, little Annie you've managed to find us out, have you?--come away from -the marble halls, and brought 'vassals and serfs by your side,' and all the -king's horses and all the king's men, up to our little hut. And you introduced -yourself to Margaret, and you're beginning to understand one another, eh?"</p> -<p>"I think we understand each other perfectly; and what nonsense you talk about -the vassals and king's horses, and all that! They would make me have the -carriage; and no one but a horrible democrat like you would see any harm in -using it."</p> -<p>"Democrat?--I?--the stanchest supporter of our aristocracy and our old -institutions. I intend to have a card printed, with 'Instruction in drawing to -the youthful nobility and gentry. References kindly permitted to the Earl of B., -Lord C., &c.'--Well, my child," turning to Margaret, "you'll think your husband -more venerable than ever after seeing this young lady; and remembering that he -used to nurse her in his arms."</p> -<p>"I have been telling Miss Maurice that now I have seen her, I can fully -understand all you have said about her; and she has promised to come and see me -often, and to take me out with her."</p> -<p>"That's all right," said Geoffrey; "nothing will please me better.--It's dull -for her here, Annie, all alone; and I'm tied to my easel all day."</p> -<p>"O, that will be all right, and we shall get on capitally together, shall we -not, Annie?"</p> -<p>And the women kissed one another, and followed Geoffrey into the garden.</p> -<p>That was the brightest afternoon Margaret had spent for many a day. The -carriage was dismissed to the inn, there to be the admiration of the ostlers and -idlers while the coachman and footman, after beer, condescended to play skittles -and to receive the undisguised compliments of the village boys. Geoffrey went -back to his work; and Margaret and Annie had a long talk, in which, though it -was not very serious, Annie's good sense perpetually made itself felt, and at -the end of which Margaret felt calmer, happier, and more hopeful than she had -felt since her marriage. After the carriage had driven away, she sat pondering -over all that had been said. This, then, was the Miss Maurice against whom she -had conceived such a prejudice, and whom "she was sure she could never like?" -And now, here, at their very first meeting, she had given her her confidence, -and listened to her as though she had been her sister! What a calm quiet winning -way she had! with what thorough good sense she talked! Margaret had expected to -find her a prim old-maidish kind of person, younger, of course, but very much of -the same type as the Miss Coverdales next door, utterly different from the fresh -pretty-looking girl full of spirits and cheerfulness. How admirably she would -have suited Geoff as a wife! and yet what was there in her that she (Margaret) -could not acquire? It all rested with herself; her husband's heart was hers, -firmly and undoubtedly, and she only needed to look her lot resolutely in the -face, to conform to the ordinary domestic routine, as Annie had suggested, and -all would be well. O, if she could but lay the ghosts of that past which haunted -her so incessantly, if she could but forget <i>him</i>, and all the associations -connected with him, her life might yet be thoroughly happy!</p> -<p>And Annie, what did she think of her new acquaintance? Whatever her -sentiments were, she kept them to herself, merely saying in answer to questions -that Mrs. Geoffrey Ludlow was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen; that -she could say with perfect truth and in all sincerity; but as to the rest, she -did not know--she could scarcely make up her mind. During the first five minutes -of their interview she hated her, at least regarded her with that feeling which -Annie imagined was hate, but which was really only a mild dislike. There were -few women, Annie supposed, who could in cold blood, and without the slightest -provocation, have committed such an outrage as that taunt about her position in -Lady Beauport's household; but then again there were few who would have so -promptly though silently acknowledged the fault and endeavoured to make -reparation for it. How openly she spoke! how bitterly she bemoaned the dulness -of her life That did not argue well for Geoffrey's happiness; but doubtless Mrs. -Ludlow had reason to feel dull, as have most brides taken from their home and -friends, and left to spend the day by themselves; but if she had really loved -her husband, she would have hesitated before thus complaining to a -stranger--would for his sake have either endeavoured to throw some explanatory -gloss over the subject, or remained silent about it. She did not seem, so far as -Annie saw, to have made any attempt to please her husband, or indeed to care to -do so. How different she was from what Annie had expected! how different from -all her previous experience of young married women, who indeed generally -"gushed" dreadfully, and were painfully extravagant in their laudations of their -husbands when they were absent, and in their connubialities when they were -present. Geoffrey's large eloquent eyes had melted into tenderness as he looked -at her; but she had not returned the glance, had not interchanged with him one -term of endearment, one chance pressure of the hand. What did it all mean? What -was that past gaiety and excitement to which she said she had been accustomed? -What were her antecedents? In the whole of her long talk with Annie, Margaret -had spoken always of the future, never of the past. It was of what she should do -that she asked counsel; never mentioning what she had done; never alluding to -any person, place, or circumstance connected with her existence previously to -her having become Geoffrey Ludlow's wife. What were her antecedents? Once or -twice during their talk she had used an odd word, a strange phrase, which grated -on Annie's ear; but her manner was that of a well-bred gentlewoman; and in all -the outward and visible signs of race, she might have been the purest -aristocrat.</p> -<p>Meantime her beauty was undeniable, was overwhelming. Such hair and eyes -Annie had dreamed of, but had never seen. She raved about them until Caterham -declared she must puzzle her brain to find some excuse for his going to Elm -Lodge to see this wonderful woman. She described Margaret to Lady Beauport, who -was good enough to express a desire to see "the young person." She mentioned her -to Algy Barford, who listened and then said, "Nice! nice! Caterham, dear old -boy! you and I will take our slates and go up to--what's the name of the -place?--to learn drawing. Must learn on slates, dear boy. Don't you recollect -the house of our childhood with the singular perspective and an enormous amount -of smoke, like wool, coming out of the chimneys? Must have been a brewery by the -amount of smoke, by Jove! And the man in the cocked-hat, with no stomach to -speak of, and both his arms very thin with round blobs at the end growing out of -one side. Delicious reminiscences of one's childhood, by Jove!"</p> -<p>And then Annie took to sketching after-memory portraits of Margaret, first -mere pencil outlines, then more elaborate shaded attempts and finally a -water-colour reminiscence, which was anything but bad. This she showed to Lord -Caterham, who was immensely pleased with it, and who insisted that Barford -should see it. So one morning when that pleasantest of laughing philosophers was -smoking his after-breakfast cigar (at about noon) in Caterham's room, mooning -about amongst the nick-nacks, and trotting out his little scraps of news in his -own odd quaint fashion, Annie, who had heard from Stephens of his arrival, came -in, bringing the portrait with her.</p> -<p>"Enter, Miss Maurice!" said Algy; "always welcome, but more especially -welcome when she brings some delicious little novelty, such as I see she now -holds under her arm. What would the world be without novelty?--Shakespeare. At -least, if that delightful person did not make that remark, it was simply because -he forgot it; for it's just one of those sort of things which he put so nicely. -And what is Miss Maurice's novelty?"</p> -<p>"O! it's no novelty at all, Mr. Barford. Only a sketch of Mrs. Geoffrey -Ludlow, of whom I spoke to you the other day. You recollect?"</p> -<p>"Recollect! the Muse of painting! Terps--Clio--no matter! a charming person -from whom we were to have instruction in drawing, and who lives at some utterly -unsearchable place! Of course I recollect! And you have a sketch of her there? -Now, my dear Miss Maurice, don't keep me in suspense any longer, but let me look -at it at once." But when the sketch was unrolled and placed before him, it had -the very singular effect of reducing Algy Barford to a state of quietude. Beyond -giving one long whistle he never uttered a sound, but sat with parted lips and -uplifted eyebrows gazing at the picture for full five minutes. Then he said, -"This is like, of course, Miss Maurice?"</p> -<p>"Well, I really think I may say it is. It is far inferior to the original in -beauty, of course; but I think I have preserved her most delicate features."</p> -<p>"Just so. Her hair is of that peculiar colour, and her eyes a curious violet, -eh?"</p> -<p>"Yes."</p> -<p>"This sketch gives one the notion of a tall woman with a full figure."</p> -<p>"Yes; she is taller than I, and her figure is thoroughly rounded and -graceful."</p> -<p>"Ye-es; a very charming sketch, Miss Maurice; and your friend must be very -lovely if she at all resembles it."</p> -<p>Shortly after, when Mr. Algy Barford had taken his leave, he stopped on the -flags in St. Barnabas Square, thus soliloquising: "All right, my dear old boy, -my dear old Algy! it's coming on fast--a little sooner than you thought; but -that's no matter. Colney Hatch, my dear boy, and a padded room looking out over -the railway. That's it; that's your hotel, dear boy! If you ever drank, it might -be <i>del. trem</i>., and would pass off; but you don't. No, no; to see twice -within six months, first the woman herself; and then the portrait of the -woman--just married and known to credible witnesses--whom you have firmly -believed to be lying in Kensal Green! Colney Hatch, dear old boy; that is the -apartment, and nothing else!"</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> - <h4><a name="div2_09" href="#div2Ref_09">CHAPTER IX.</a></h4> -<h5>MR. AMPTHILL'S WILL.</h5> -<br> - <p>The acquaintance between Margaret and Annie, which commenced so -auspiciously, scarcely ripened into intimacy. When Lady Beauport's neuralgia -passed away,--and her convalescence was much hurried by the near approach of a -specially-grand entertainment given in honour of certain Serene Transparencies -then visiting London,--she found that she could not spare Miss Maurice to go so -long a distance, to be absent from her and her work for such a length of time. -As to calling at Elm Lodge in person, Lady Beauport never gave the project -another thought. With the neuralgia had passed away her desire to see that -"pretty young person," Mrs. Geoffrey Ludlow; and in sending her card by Annie, -Lady Beauport thought she had more than fulfilled any promises and vows of -politeness which might have been made by her son in her name.</p> -<p>Lord Caterham had driven out once to Elm Lodge with Annie, and had been -introduced to Margaret, whom he admired very much, but about whom he shook his -head alarmingly when he and Annie were driving towards home. "That's an unhappy -woman!" he said; "an unhappy woman, with something on her mind--something which -she does not give way to and groan about, but against which she frets and fights -and struggles with as with a chain. When she's not spoken to, when she's not -supposed to be <i>en evidence</i> there's a strange, half-weary, half-savage -gleam in those wondrous eyes, such as I have noticed only once before, and then -among the patients of a lunatic asylum. There's evidently something strange in -the history of that marriage. Did you notice Ludlow's devotion to her, how he -watched her every movement? Did you see what hard work it was for her to keep up -with the conversation, not from want of power,--for, from one or two things she -said, I should imagine her to be a naturally clever as well as an educated -woman,--but from want of will? How utterly worn and wearied and <i>distraite</i> -she looked, standing by us in Ludlow's studio, while we talked about his -pictures, and how she only seemed to rouse into life when I compared that -Brighton Esplanade with the Drive in the Park, and talked about some of the -frequenters of each. She listened to all the fashionable nonsense as eagerly as -any country miss, and yet--She's a strange study, that woman, Annie. I shall -take an early opportunity of driving out to see her again; but I'm glad that the -distance will prevent her being very intimate with you."</p> -<p>The opportunity of repeating his visit did not, however, speedily occur. The -fierce neuralgic headaches from which Lord Caterham suffered had become much -more frequent of late, and worse in their effect. After hours of actual torture, -unable to raise his head or scarcely to lift his eyes, he would fall into a -state of prostration, which lasted two or three days. In this state he would be -dressed by his servant and carried to his sofa, where he would lie with -half-closed eyes dreaming the time away,-comparatively happy in being free from -pain, quite happy if; as frequently happened, on looking up he saw Annie Maurice -moving noiselessly about the room dusting his books, arranging his desk, -bringing fresh flowers for his glasses. Looking round at him from time to time, -and finding he had noticed her presence, she would lay her finger on her lip -enjoining silence, and then refresh his burning forehead and hands with -eau-de-cologne, turn and smooth his pillows, and wheel his sofa to a cooler -position. On the second day after an attack she would read to him for hours in -her clear musical voice from his favourite authors; or, if she found him able to -bear it, would sit down at the cabinet-piano, which he had bought expressly for -her, and sing to him the songs he loved so well--quiet English ballads, -sparkling little French <i>chansons</i>, and some of the most pathetic music of -the Italian operas; but every thing for his taste must be soft and low: all -roulades and execution, all the fireworks of music, he held in utter -detestation.</p> -<p>Then Annie would be called away to write notes for Lady Beauport, or to go -out with her or for her, and Caterham would be left alone again. Pleasanter his -thoughts now: there were the flowers she had gathered and placed close by him, -the books she had read from, the ivory keys which her dear fingers had so -recently touched! Her cheerful voice still rung in his ear, the touch of her -hand seemed yet to linger on his forehead. O angel of light and almost of hope -to this wretched frame, O sole realisation of womanly love and tenderness and -sweet sympathy to this crushed spirit, wilt thou ever know it all? Yes, he felt -that there would come a time, and that without long delay, when he should be -able to tell her all the secret longings of his soul, to tell her in a few short -words, and then--ay, then!</p> -<p>Meanwhile it was pleasant to lie in a half-dreamy state, thinking of her, -picturing her to his fancy. He would lie on that sofa, his poor warped useless -limbs stretched out before him, but hidden from his sight by a light silk -<i>couvrette</i> of Annie's embroidering, his eyes closed, his whole frame n a -state of repose. Through the double windows came deadened sounds of the world -outside--the roll of carriages, the clanging of knockers, the busy hum of life. -From the Square-garden came the glad voices of children, and now and -then--solitary fragment of rusticity--the sound of the Square-gardener whetting -his scythe. And Caterham lay day by day dreaming through it all, unroused even -by the repetition of Czerny's pianoforte-exercises by the children in the next -house; dreaming of his past, his present, and his future. Dreaming of the old -farmhouse where they had sent him when a child to try and get strength--the -quaint red-faced old house with its gable ends and mullioned windows, and its -eternal and omnipresent smell of apples; of the sluggish black pool where the -cattle stood knee-deep; the names of the fields--the home-croft, and the lea -pasture, and the forty acres; the harvest-home, and the songs that they sung -then, and to which he had listened in wonder sitting on the farmer's knee. He -had not thought of all this from that day forth; but he remembered it vividly -now, and could almost hear the loud ticking of the farmer's silver watch which -fitted so tightly into his fob. The lodgings at Brighton, where he went with -some old lady, never recollected but in connection with that one occasion, and -called Miss Macraw,--the little lodgings with the bow-windowed room looking -sideways over the sea; the happiness of that time, when the old lady perpetually -talked to and amused him, when he was not left alone as he was at home, and when -he had such delicious tea-cakes which he toasted for himself. The doctors who -came to see him there; one a tall white-haired old man in a long black coat -reaching to his heels, and another a jolly bald-headed man, who, they said, was -surgeon to the King. The King--ay, he had seen him too, a red-faced man in a -blue coat, walking in the Pavilion Gardens. Dreaming of the private tutor, a -master at Charter House, who came on Wednesday and Saturday afternoons, and who -struggled so hard and with such little success to conceal his hatred to Homer, -Virgil, and the other classic poets, and his longing to be in the cricket-field, -on the river, any where, to shake off that horrible conventional toil of -tutorship, and to be a man and not a teaching-machine. Other recollections he -had, of Lionel's pony and Lionel's Eton school-fellows, who came to see him in -the holidays, and who stared in mute wonder at his wheelchair and his poor -crippled limbs. Recollections of his father and mother passing down the -staircase in full dress on their way to some court-ball, and of his hearing the -servants say what a noble-looking man his father was, and what a pity that -Master Lionel had not been the eldest son. Recollections of the utter blankness -of his life until she came--ah, until she came! The past faded away, and the -present dawned. She was there, his star, his hope, his love! He was still a -cripple, maimed and blighted; still worse than an invalid, the prey of acute and -torturing disease; but he would be content--content to remain even as he was so -that he could have her near him, could see her, hear her voice, touch her hand. -But that could not be. She would marry, would leave him, and then--ah then!--Let -that future which he believed to be close upon him come at once. Until he had -known hope, his life, though blank enough, had been supportable; now hope had -fled; "the sooner it's over the sooner to sleep." Let there be an end of it!</p> -<p>There were but few days that Algy Barford did not come; bright, airy, and -cheerful, bringing sunshine into the sick-room; never noisy or obtrusive, always -taking a cheery view of affairs, and never failing to tell the invalid that he -looked infinitely better than the last time he had seen him, and that this -illness was "evidently a kind of clearing-up shower before the storm, dear old -boy," and was the precursor of such excellent health as he had never had before. -Lord Caterham, of course, never believed any of this; he had an internal monitor -which told him very different truths; but he knew the feelings which prompted -Algy Barford's hopeful predictions, and no man's visits were so agreeable to -Caterham as were Algy's.</p> -<p>One day he came in earlier than usual, and looking less serenely happy than -his wont. Lord Caterham, lying on his sofa, observed this, but said nothing, -waiting until Algy should allude to it, as he was certain to do, for he had not -the smallest power of reticence.</p> -<p>"Caterham, my dear old boy, how goes it this morning? I am seedy, my friend! -The sage counsel given by the convivial bagman, that the evening's diversion -should bear the morning's reflection, has not been followed by me. Does the -cognac live in its usual corner, and is there yet soda-water in the land?"</p> -<p>"You'll find both in the sideboard, Algy. What were you doing last night to -render them necessary?"</p> -<p>"Last night, my dear Caterham, I did what England expected me to do--my duty, -and a most horrible nuisance that doing one's duty is. I dined with an old -fellow named Huskisson, a friend of my governor's, who nearly poisoned me with -bad wine. The wine, sir, was simply infamous; but it was a very hot night, and I -was dreadfully thirsty, so what could I do but drink a great deal of it? I had -some very fiery sherry with my soup, and some hock. Yes; 'nor did my drooping -memory shun the foaming grape of eastern France;' only this was the foaming -gooseberry of Fulham Fields. And old Huskisson, with great pomp, told his butler -to bring 'the Hermitage.' What an awful swindle!"</p> -<p>"What was it like?"</p> -<p>"Well, dear old boy, minds innocent and quiet may take that for a Hermitage -if they like; but I, who have drunk as much wine, good and bad, as most men, -immediately recognised the familiar Beaujolais which we get at the club for a -shilling a pint. So that altogether I'm very nearly poisoned; and I think I -shouldn't have come out if I had not wanted to see you particularly."</p> -<p>"What is it, Algy? Some of that tremendously important business which always -takes up so much of your time?"</p> -<p>"No, no; now you're chaffing, Caterham. 'Pon my word I really do a great deal -in the course of the day, walking about, and talking to fellows, and that sort -of thing: there are very few fellows who think what a lot I get through; but I -know myself."</p> -<p>"Do you? then you've learned a great thing--'know thyself' one of the great -secrets of life;" and Caterham sighed.</p> -<p>"Yes, dear old boy," said Algy "'know thyself, but never introduce a friend;' -that I believe to be sterling philosophy. This is a confoundedly back-slapping -age; every body is a deuced sight too fond of every body else; there is an -amount of philanthropy about which is quite terrible."</p> -<p>"Yes, and you're about the largest-hearted and most genial philanthropist in -the world; you know you are."</p> -<p>"I, dear old boy? I am Richard Crookback; I am the uncle of the Babes in the -Wood; I am Timon the Tartar of Athens, or whatever his name was; I am a ruthless -hater of all my species, when I have the <i>vin triste</i>, as I have this -morning. O, that reminds me--the business I came to see you about. What a fellow -you are, Caterham! always putting things out of fellows' heads!"</p> -<p>"Well, what is it now?"</p> -<p>"Why, old Ampthill is dead at last. Died last night; his man told my man this -morning."</p> -<p>"Well, what then?"</p> -<p>"What then? Why, don't you recollect what we talked about? about his leaving -his money to dear old Lionel?"</p> -<p>"Yes," said Caterham, looking grave, "I recollect that."</p> -<p>"I wonder whether any good came of it? It would be a tremendously jolly thing -to get dear old Lionel back, with plenty of money, and in his old position, -wouldn't it?"</p> -<p>"Look here, my dear Algy," said Lord Caterham; "let us understand each other -once for all on this point. You and I are of course likely to differ materially -on such a subject. You are a man of the world, going constantly into the world, -with your own admirable good sense influenced by and impressed with the opinions -of society. Society, as you tell me, is pleased to think my brother's--well, -crime--there's no other word!--my brother's crime a venial one, and will be -content to receive him back again, and to instal him in his former position if -he comes back prepared to sacrifice to Society by spending his time and money on -it!"</p> -<p>"Pardon me, my dear old Caterham,--just two words!" interrupted Algy. -"Society--people, you know, I mean--would shake their heads at poor old Lionel, -and wouldn't have him back perhaps, and all that sort of thing, if they knew -exactly what he'd done. But they don't. It's been kept wonderfully quiet, poor -dear old fellow."</p> -<p>"That may or may not be; at all events, such are Society's views, are they -not?" Barford inclined his head. "Now, you see, mine are entirely different. -This sofa, the bed in the next room, that wheelchair, form my world; and these," -pointing to his bookshelves, "my society. There is no one else on earth to whom -I would say this; but you know that what I say is true. Lionel Brakespere never -was a brother to me never had the slightest affection or regard for me, never -had the slightest patience with me. As a boy, he used to mock at my deformity; -as a man, he has perseveringly scorned me, and scarcely troubled himself to hide -his anxiety for my death, that he might be Lord Beauport's heir--"</p> -<p>"Caterham! I say, my dear, dear old boy Arthur--" and Algy Barford put one -hand on the back of Lord Caterham's chair, and rubbed his own eyes very hard -with the other.</p> -<p>"You know it, Algy, old friend. He did all this; and God knows I tried to -love him through it all, and think I succeeded. All his scorn, all his insult, -all his want of affection, I forgave. When he committed the forgery which forced -him to fly the country, I tried to intercede with my father; for I knew the -awful strait to which Lionel must have been reduced before he committed such an -act: but when I read his letter, which you brought me, and the contents of which -it said you knew, I recognised at last that Lionel was a thoroughly heartless -scoundrel, and I thanked God that there was no chance of his further disgracing -our name in a place where it had been known and respected. So you now see, Algy, -why I am not enchanted at the idea of his coming back to us."</p> -<p>"Of course, of course, I understand you, dear fellow; and--hem!--confoundedly -husky; that filthy wine of old Huskisson's! better in a minute--there!" and Algy -cleared his throat and rubbed his eyes again. "About that letter, dear old boy! -I was going to speak to you two or three times about that. Most mysterious -circumstance, by Jove, sir! The fact is that--"</p> -<p>He was interrupted by the opening of the door and the entrance of Stephens, -Lord Caterham's servant, who said that Lady Beauport would be glad to know if -his master could receive her.</p> -<p>It was a bad day for Caterham to receive any one except his most intimate -friends, and assuredly his mother was not included in that category. He was any -thing but well bodily, and the conversation about Lionel had thoroughly unstrung -his nerves; so that he was just about to say he must ask for a postponement of -the visit, when Stephens said, "Her ladyship asked me if Mr. Barford wasn't -here, my lord, and seemed particularly anxious to see him." Lord Caterham felt -the colour flush in his cheeks as the cause of his mother's visit was thus -innocently explained by Stephens; but the moment after he smiled, and sent to -beg that she would come whenever she pleased.</p> -<p>In a very few minutes Lady Beauport sailed into the room, and, after shaking -hands with Algy Barford in, for her, quite a cordial manner, she touched her -son's forehead with her lips and dropped into the chair which Stephens had -placed for her near the sofa.</p> -<p>"How are you, Arthur, to day?" she commenced. "You are looking quite rosy and -well, I declare. I am always obliged to come myself when I want to know about -your health; for they bring me the most preposterous reports. That man of yours -is a dreadful kill-joy, and seems to have inoculated the whole household with -his melancholy, where you are concerned. Even Miss Maurice, who is really quite -a cheerful person, and quite pleasant to have about one,--equable spirits, and -that sort of thing, you know, Mr. Barford; so much more agreeable than those -moping creatures who are always thinking about their families and their -fortunes, you know,--even Miss Maurice can scarcely be trusted for what I call a -reliable report of Caterham."</p> -<p>"It's the interest we take in him, dear Lady Beauport, that keeps us -constantly on the <i>qui vive</i>. He's such a tremendously lovable old fellow, -that we're all specially careful about him;" and Algy's hand went round to the -back of Caterham's sofa and his eyes glistened as before.</p> -<p>"Of course," said Lady Beauport, still in her hard dry voice. "With care, -every thing may be done. There's Alice Wentworth, Lady Broughton's -grand-daughter, was sent away in the autumn to Torquay, and they all declared -she could not live. And I saw her last night at the French embassy, well and -strong, and dancing away as hard as any girl in the room. It's a great pity you -couldn't have gone to the embassy last night, Arthur; you'd have enjoyed it very -much."</p> -<p>"Do you think so, mother?" said Caterham with a sad smile. "I scarcely think -it would have amused me, or that they would have cared much to have me there."</p> -<p>"O, I don't know; the Duchess de St. Lazare asked after you very kindly, and -so did the Viscomte, who is--" and Lady Beauport stopped short.</p> -<p>"Yes, I know--who is a cripple also," said Caterham quietly. "But he is only -lame; he can get about by himself. But if I had gone, I should have wanted Algy -here to carry me on his back."</p> -<p>"Gad, dear old boy, if carrying you on my back would do you any good, or help -you to get about to any place you wanted to go to, I'd do it fast enough; give -you a regular Derby canter over any course you like to name."</p> -<p>"I know you would, Algy, old friend. You see every one is very kind, and I am -doing very well indeed, though I'm scarcely in condition for a ball at the -French embassy.--By the way, mother, did you not want to speak to Barford about -something?"</p> -<p>"I did, indeed," said Lady Beauport. "I have heard just now, Mr. Barford, -that old Mr. Ampthill died last night?"</p> -<p>"Perfectly true, Lady Beauport. I myself had the same information."</p> -<p>"But you heard nothing further?"</p> -<p>"Nothing at all, except that the poor old gentleman, after a curious -eccentric life, made a quiet commonplace end, dying peacefully and happily."</p> -<p>"Yes, yes; but you heard nothing about the way in which his property is left, -I suppose?"</p> -<p>"Not one syllable. He was very wealthy, was he not?"</p> -<p>"My husband says that the Boxwood property was worth from twelve to fifteen -thousand a-year; but I imagine this is rather an under-estimate. I wonder -whether there is any chance for--what I talked to you about the other day."</p> -<p>"Impossible to say, dear Lady Beauport," said Algy, with an awkward glance at -Caterham, which Lady Beauport observed.</p> -<p>"O, you needn't mind Caterham one bit, Mr. Barford. Any thing which would do -good to poor Lionel I'm sure you'd be glad of wouldn't you, Arthur?"</p> -<p>"Any thing that would do him good, yes."</p> -<p>"Of course; and to be Mr. Ampthill's heir would do him a great deal of good. -It is that Mr. Barford and I are discussing. Mr. Barford was good enough to -speak to me some time ago, when it was first expected that Mr. Ampthill's -illness would prove dangerous, and to suggest that, as poor Lionel had always -been a favourite with the old gentleman, something might be done for him, -perhaps, there being so few relations. I spoke to your father, who called two or -three times in Curzon Street, and always found Mr. Ampthill very civil and -polite, but he never mentioned Lionel's name.</p> -<p>"That did not look particularly satisfactory, did it?" asked Algy.</p> -<p>"Well, it would have looked bad in any one else; but with such an extremely -eccentric person as Mr. Ampthill, I really cannot say I think so. He was just -one of those oddities who would carefully refrain from mentioning the person -about whom their thoughts were most occupied.--I cannot talk to your father -about this matter, Arthur; he is so dreadfully set against poor Lionel, that he -will not listen to a word.--But I need not tell you, Mr. Barford, I myself am -horribly anxious."</p> -<p>Perfectly appreciating Lord Beauport's anger; conscious that it was fully -shared by Caterham; with tender recollections of Lionel, whom he had known from -childhood; and with a desire to say something pleasant to Lady Beauport, all -Algy Barford could ejaculate was, "Of course, of course."</p> -<p>"I hear that old Mr. Trivett the lawyer was with him two or three times about -a month ago, which looks as if he had been making his will. I met Mr. Trivett at -the Dunsinanes in the autumn, and at Beauport's request was civil to him. I -would not mind asking him to dine here one day this week, if I thought it would -be of any use."</p> -<p>Caterham looked very grave; but Algy Barford gave a great laugh, and seemed -immensely amused. "How do you mean 'of any use,' Lady Beauport? You don't think -you would get any information out of old Trivett, do you? He's the deadest hand -at a secret in the world. He never lets out any thing. If you ask him what it is -o'clock, you have to dig the information out of him with a ripping-chisel. O, -no; it's not the smallest use trying to learn anything from Mr. Trivett."</p> -<p>"Is there, then, no means of finding out what the will contains?"</p> -<p>"No, mother," interrupted Caterham; "none at all. You must wait until the -will is read, after the funeral; or perhaps till you see a <i>résumé</i> of it -in the illustrated papers."</p> -<p>"You are very odd, Arthur," said Lady Beauport; "really sometimes you would -seem to have forgotten the usages of society.--I appeal to you, Mr. Barford. Is -what Lord Caterham says correct? Is there no other way of learning what I want -to know?"</p> -<p>"Dear Lady Beauport, I fear there is none."</p> -<p>"Very well, then; I must be patient and wait. But there's no harm in -speculating how the money could be left. Who did Mr. Ampthill know now? There -was Mrs. Macraw, widow of a dissenting minister, who used to read to him; and -there was his physician, Sir Charles Dumfunk: I shouldn't wonder if he had a -legacy."</p> -<p>"And there was Algernon Barford, commonly known as the Honourable Algernon -Barford, who used to dine with the old gentleman half-a-dozen times every -season, and who had the honour of being called a very good fellow by him."</p> -<p>"O, Algy, I hope he has left you his fortune," said Caterham warmly. "There's -no one in the world would spend it to better purpose."</p> -<p>"Well," said Lady Beauport, "I will leave you now.--I know I may depend upon -you, Mr. Barford, to give me the very first news on this important subject."</p> -<p>Algy Barford bowed, rose, and opened the door to let Lady Beauport pass out. -As she walked by him, she gave him a look which made him follow her and close -the door behind him.</p> -<p>"I didn't like to say any thing before Caterham," she said, "who is, you -know, very odd and queer, and seems to have taken quite a singular view of poor -Lionel's conduct. But the fact is, that, after the last time you spoke to me, -I--I thought it best to write to Lionel, to tell him that--" and she hesitated.</p> -<p>"To tell him what, Lady Beauport?" asked Algy, resolutely determined not to -help her in the least.</p> -<p>"To tell him to come back to us--to me--to his mother!" said Lady Beauport, -with a sudden access of passion. "I cannot live any longer without my darling -son! I have told Beauport this. What does it signify that he has been -unfortunate--wicked if you will! How many others have been the same! And our -influence could get him something somewhere, even if this inheritance should not -be his. O my God! only to see him again! My darling boy! my own darling handsome -boy!"</p> -<p>Ah, how many years since Gertrude, Countess of Beauport, had allowed real, -natural, hot, blinding tears to course down her cheeks! The society people, who -only knew her as the calmest, most collected, most imperious woman amongst them, -would hardly recognise this palpitating frame, those tear-blurred features. The -sight completely finishes Algy Barford, already very much upset by the news -which Lady Beauport has communicated, and he can only proffer a seat, and -suggest that he should fetch a glass of sherry. Lady Beauport, her burst of -passion over, recovers all her usual dignity, presses Algy's hand, lays her -finger on her lip to enjoin silence, and sails along as unbending as before. -Algy Barford, still dazed by the tidings he has heard, goes back to Caterham's -room, to find his friend lying with his eyes half-closed, meditating over the -recent discussion. Caterham scarcely seemed to have noticed Algy's absence; for -he said, as if in continuance of the conversation: "And do <i>you</i> think this -money will come to Lionel, Algy?"</p> -<p>"I can scarcely tell, dear old boy. It's on the cards, but the betting is -heavily against it. However, we shall know in a very few days."</p> -<br> - <p>In a very few days they did know. The funeral, to which Earl Beauport -and Algy Barford were invited, and which they attended, was over and Mr. Trivett -had requested them to return with him in the mourning-coach to Curzon Street. -There, in the jolly little dining-room, which had so often enshrined the -hospitality of the quaint, eccentric, warm-hearted old gentleman whose earthly -remains they had left behind them at Kensal Green, after some cake and wine, old -Mr. Trivett took from a blue bag, which had been left there for him by his -clerk, the will of the deceased, and putting on his blue-steel spectacles, -commenced reading it aloud. The executors appointed were George Earl Beauport -and Algernon Barford, and to each of them was bequeathed a legacy of a thousand -pounds. To Algernon Barford, "a good fellow, who, I know, will spend it like a -gentleman," was also left a thousand pounds. There were legacies of five hundred -pounds each "to John Saunders, my faithful valet, and to Rebecca, his wife, my -cook and housekeeper." There was a legacy of one hundred pounds to the librarian -of the Minerva Club, "to whom I have given much trouble." The library of books, -the statues, pictures, and curios were bequeathed to "my cousin Arthur, Viscount -Caterham, the only member of my family who can appreciate them;" and "the entire -residue of my fortune, my estate at Boxwood, money standing in the funds and -other securities, plate, wines, carriages, horses, and all my property, to Anna, -only daughter of my second cousin, the late Ralph Ampthill Maurice, Esq., -formerly of the Priory, Willesden, whom I name my residuary legatee."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> - <h4><a name="div2_10" href="#div2Ref_10">CHAPTER X.</a></h4> -<h5>LADY BEAUPORT'S PLOT.</h5> -<br> - <p>Yes; little Annie Maurice, Lady Beauport's companion, was the heiress -of the rich and eccentric Mr. Ampthill, so long known in society. The fact was a -grand thing for the paragraph-mongers and the diners-out, all of whom distorted -it in every possible way, and told the most inconceivable lies about it. That -Annie was Mr. Ampthill's natural daughter, and had been left on a doorstep, and -was adopted by Lady Beauport, who had found her in an orphan-asylum; that Mr. -Ampthill had suddenly determined upon leaving all his property to the first -person he might meet on a certain day, and that Annie Maurice was the fortunate -individual; that the will had been made purposely to spite Lady Beauport, with -whom Mr. Ampthill, when a young man, had been madly in love--all these rumours -went the round of the gossip-columns of the journals and of Society's -dinner-parties. Other stories there were, perhaps a little nearer to truth, -which explained that it was not until after Lionel Brakespere's last escapade he -had been disinherited; indeed, that Parkinson of Thavies Inn and Scadgers of -Berners Street had looked upon his inheritance as such a certainty, that they -had made considerable advances on the strength of it, and would be heavily hit: -while a rumour, traceable to the old gentleman's housekeeper, stated that Annie -Maurice was the only one of Mr. Ampthill's connections who had never fawned on -him, flattered him, or in any way intrigued for his favour.</p> -<p>Be this as it might, the fact remained that Annie was now the possessor of a -large fortune, and consequently a person of great importance to all her friends -and acquaintance--a limited number, but quite sufficient to discuss her rise in -life with every kind of asperity. They wondered how she would bear it; whether -she would give herself airs; how soon, and to what member of the peerage, she -would be married. How <i>did</i> she bear it? When Lord Beauport sent for her to -his study, after Mr. Ampthill's funeral, and told her what he had heard, she -burst into tears; which was weak, but not unnatural. Then, with her usual -straightforward common-sense, she set about forming her plans. She had never -seen her benefactor, so that even Mrs. Grundy herself could scarcely have called -on Annie to affect sorrow for his loss; and indeed remarks were made by Mr. -Ampthill's old butler and housekeeper (who, being provided with mourning out of -the estate, were as black and as shiny as a couple of old rooks) about the very -mitigated grief which Annie chose to exhibit in her attire.</p> -<p>Then as to her mode of life. For the present, at least, she determined to -make no change in it. She said so at once to Lord Beauport, expressing an -earnest hope that she should be allowed to remain under his roof, where she had -been so happy, until she had settled how and where she should live; and Lord -Beauport replied that it would give him--and he was sure he might speak for Lady -Beauport the greatest pleasure to have Miss Maurice with them. He brought a -message to that effect from Lady Beauport, who had one of her dreadful neuralgic -attacks, and could see no one, but who sent her kind love to Miss Maurice, and -her heartiest congratulations, and hoped that Miss Maurice would remain with -them as long as she pleased. The servants of the house, who heard of the good -fortune of "the young lady," rejoiced greatly at it, and suggested that miss -would go hout of this at once, and leave my lady to grump about in that hold -carriage by herself. They were greatly astonished, therefore, the next morning -to find Annie seated at the nine-o'clock breakfast-table, preparing Lady -Beauport's chocolate, and dressed just as usual. They had expected that the -first sign of her independence would be lying in bed till noon, and then -appearing in a gorgeous wrapper, such as the ladies in the penny romances always -wore in the mornings; and they could only account for her conduct by supposing -that she had to give a month's warning and must work out her time. Lady Beauport -herself was astonished when, the necessity for the neuralgic attack being over, -she found Annie coming to ask her, as usual, what letters she required written, -and whether she should pay any calls for her ladyship. Lady Beauport delicately -remonstrated; but Annie declared that she would infinitely prefer doing exactly -as she had been accustomed to, so long as she should remain in the house.</p> -<p>So long as she should remain in the house! That was exactly the point on -which Lady Beauport was filled with hope and dread. Her ladyship had been -cruelly disappointed in Mr. Ampthill's will. She had suffered herself to hope -against hope, and to shut her eyes to all unfavourable symptoms. The old -gentleman had taken so much notice of Lionel when a boy, had spoken so warmly of -him, had made so much of him, that he could not fail to make him his heir. In -vain had Lord Beauport spoken to her more plainly than was his wont, pointing -out that Lionel's was no venial crime; that Mr. Ampthill probably had heard of -it, inasmuch as he never afterwards mentioned the young man's name; that however -his son's position might be reinstated before the world, the act could never be -forgotten. In vain Algy Barford shook his head, and Caterham preserved a gloomy -silence worse than any speech. Lady Beauport's hopes did not desert her until -she heard the actual and final announcement. Almost simultaneously with this -came Lord Beauport with Annie's request that she should be permitted to continue -an inmate of the house; and immediately Lady Beauport conceived and struck out a -new plan of action. The heritage was lost to Lionel; but the heiress was Annie -Maurice, a girl domiciled with them, clinging to them; unlikely, at least for -the few ensuing months, to go into the world, to give the least chance to any -designing fortune-hunter. And Lionel was coming home! His mother was certain -that the letter which she had written to him on the first news of Mr. Ampthill's -illness would induce him, already sick of exile, to start for England. He would -arrive soon, and then the season would be over; they would all go away to -Homershams, or one of Beauport's places; they would not have any company for -some time, and Lionel would be thrown into Annie Maurice's society; and it would -be hard if he, with his handsome face, his fascinating manners, and his -experience of women and the world, were not able to make an easy conquest of -this simple quiet young girl, and thus to secure the fortune which his mother -had originally expected for him.</p> -<p>Such was Lady Beauport's day-dream now, and to its realisation she gave up -every thought, in reference to it she planned every action. It has already been -stated that she had always treated Annie with respect, and even with regard: so -that the idea of patronage, the notion of behaving to her companion in any thing -but the spirit of a lady, had never entered her mind. But now there was an -amount of affectionate interest mingled with her regard which Annie could not -fail to perceive and to be gratified with. All was done in the most delicate -manner. Lady Beauport never forgot the lady in the <i>intrigante</i>; her -advances were of the subtlest kind; her hints were given and allusions were made -in the most guarded manner. She accepted Annie's assistance as her amanuensis, -and she left to her the usual colloquies on domestic matters with the -housekeeper, because she saw that Annie wished it to be so; and she still drove -out with her in the carriage, only insisting that Annie should sit by her side -instead of opposite on the back-seat. And instead of the dignified silence of -the employer, only speaking when requiring an answer, Lady Beauport would keep -up a perpetual conversation, constantly recurring to the satisfaction it gave -her to have Annie still with her. "I declare I don't know what I should have -done if you had left me, Annie!" she would say. "I'm sure it was the mere -thought of having to lie left by myself, or to the tender mercies of somebody -who knew nothing about me, that gave me that last frightful attack of neuralgia. -You see I am an old woman now; and though the Carringtons are proverbially -strong and long-lived, yet I have lost all my elasticity of spirit, and feel I -could not shape myself to any person's way now. And poor Caterham too! I cannot -think how he would ever get on without you. You seem now to be an essential part -of his life. Poor Caterham! Ah, how I wish you had seen my other son, my boy -Lionel! Such a splendid fellow; so handsome! Ah, Lord Beauport was dreadfully -severe on him, poor fellow, that night,--you recollect, when he had you and -Caterham in to tell you about poor Lionel; as though young men would not be -always young men. Poor Lionel!" Poor Lionel! that was the text of Lady -Beauport's discourse whenever she addressed herself to Annie Maurice.</p> -<p>It was not to be supposed that Annie's change of fortune had not a great -effect upon Lord Caterham. When he first heard of it--from Algy Barford, who -came direct to him from the reading of the will--he rejoiced that at least her -future was secure; that, come what might to him or his parents, there would be a -provision for her; that no chance of her being reduced to want, or of her having -to consult the prejudices of other people, and to perform a kind of genteel -servitude with any who could not appreciate her worth could now arise. But with -this feeling another soon mingled. Up to that time she had been all in all to -him--to him; simply because to the outside world she was nobody, merely Lady -Beauport's companion, about whom none troubled themselves; now she was Miss -Maurice the heiress, and in a very different position. They could not hope to -keep her to themselves; they could not hope to keep her free from the crowd of -mercenary adorers always looking out for every woman with money whom they might -devour. In her own common sense lay her strongest safeguard; and that, although -reliable on all ordinary occasions, had never been exposed to so severe a trial -as flattery and success. Were not the schemers already plotting? even within the -citadel was there not a traitor? Algy Barford had kept his trust, and had not -betrayed one word of what Lady Beauport had told him; but from stray expressions -dropped now and again, and from the general tenor of his mother's behaviour, -Lord Caterham saw plainly what she was endeavouring to bring about. On that -subject his mind was made up. He had such thorough confidence in Annie's -goodness, in her power of discrimination between right and wrong, that he felt -certain that she could never bring herself to love his brother Lionel, however -handsome his face, however specious his manner; but if, woman-like, she should -give way and follow her inclination rather than her reason, then he determined -to talk to her plainly and openly, and to do every thing in his power to prevent -the result on which his mother had set her heart.</p> -<p>There was not a scrap of selfishness in all this. However deeply Arthur -Caterham loved Annie Maurice, the hope of making her his had never for an -instant arisen in his breast. He knew too well that a mysterious decree of -Providence had shut him out from the roll of those who are loved by woman, save -in pity or sympathy; and it was with a feeling of relief, rather than regret, -that of late--within the last few months--he had felt an inward presentiment -that his commerce with Life was almost at an end, that his connection with that -Vanity Fair, through which he had been wheeled as a spectator, but in the -occupation or amusement of which he had never participated, was about to cease. -He loved her so dearly, that the thought of her future was always before him, -and caused him infinite anxiety. Worst of all, there was no one of whom he could -make a confidant amongst his acquaintance. Algy Barford would do any thing; but -he was a bachelor, which would incapacitate him, and by far too easy-going, -trouble-hating, and unimpressive. Who else was there? Ah, a good thought!--that -man Ludlow, the artist; an old friend of Annie's, for whom she had so great a -regard. He was not particularly strong-minded out of his profession; but his -devotion to his child-friend was undoubted; and besides, he was a man of -education and common sense, rising, too, to a position which would insure his -being heard. He would talk with Ludlow about Annie's future; so he wrote off to -Geoffrey by the next post, begging him to come and see him as soon as possible. -Yes, he could look at it all quite steadily now. Heaven knows, life to him had -been no such happiness as to make its surrender painful or difficult It was only -as he neared his journey's end, he thought, that any light had been shed upon -his path, and when that should be extinguished he would have no heart to go -further. No: let the end come, as he knew it was coming, swiftly and surely; -only let him think that <i>her</i> future was secured, and he could die more -than contented--happy.</p> -<p>Her future secured! ah, that he should not live to see! It could not, must -not be by a marriage with Lionel. His mother had never broached that subject -openly to him, and therefore he had hitherto felt a delicacy in alluding to it -in conversation with her; but he would before--well, he would in time. Not that -he had much fear of Annie's succumbing to his brother's fascinations; he rated -her too highly for that. It was not--and he took up a photographic album which -lay on his table, as the idea passed through his mind--it was not that careless -reckless expression, that easy insolent pose, which would have any effect on -Annie Maurice's mental constitution. Those who imagine that women are enslaved -through their eyes--true women--women worth winning at least--are horribly -mistaken, he thought, and--And then at that instant he turned the page and came -upon a photograph of himself, in which the artist had done his best so far as -arrangement went, but which was so fatally truthful in its display of his -deformity, that Lord Caterham closed the book with a shudder, and sunk back on -his couch.</p> -<p>His painful reverie was broken by the entrance of Stephens, who announced -that Mr. and Mrs. Ludlow were waiting to see his master. Caterham, who was -unprepared for a visit from Mrs. Ludlow, gave orders that they should be at once -admitted. Mrs. Ludlow came in leaning on her husband's arm, and looking so pale -and interesting, that Caterham at once recollected the event he had seen -announced in the <i>Times</i>, and began to apologise.</p> -<p>"My dear Mrs. Ludlow, what a horrible wretch I am to have asked your husband -to come and see me, when of course he was fully occupied at home attending to -you and the baby!" Then they both laughed; and Geoff said:</p> -<p>"This is her first day out, Lord Caterham; but I had promised to take her for -a drive; and as you wanted to see me, I thought that--"</p> -<p>"That the air of St. Barnabas Square, the fresh breezes from the Thames, and -the cheerful noise of the embankment-people, would be about the best thing for -an invalid, eh?"</p> -<p>"Well--scarcely! but that as it was only stated that my wife should go for a -quiet drive, I, who have neither the time nor the opportunity for such things, -might utilise the occasion by complying with the request of a gentleman who has -proved himself deserving of my respect."</p> -<p>"A hit! a very palpable hit, Mr. Ludlow!" said Caterham. "I bow, and--as the -common phrase goes--am sorry I spoke. But we must not talk business when you -have brought Mrs. Ludlow out for amusement."</p> -<p>"O, pray don't think of me, Lord Caterham," said Margaret; "I can always -amuse myself."</p> -<p>"O, of course; the mere recollection of baby would keep you sufficiently -employed--at least, so you would have us believe. But I'm an old bachelor, and -discredit such things. So there's a book of photographs for you to amuse -yourself with while we talk.--Now, Mr. Ludlow, for our conversation. Since we -met, your old friend Annie Maurice has inherited a very large property."</p> -<p>"So I have heard, to my great surprise and delight. But I live so much out of -the world that I scarcely knew whether it was true, and had determined to ask -you the first time I should see you."</p> -<p>"O, it's thoroughly true. She is the heiress of old Mr. Ampthill, who was a -second cousin of her father's. But it was about her future career, as heiress of -all this property, that I wanted to speak to you, you see.--I beg your pardon, -Mrs. Ludlow, what did you say?"</p> -<p>Her face was dead white, her lips trembled, and it was with great difficulty -she said any thing at all; but she did gasp out, "Who is this?"</p> -<p>"That," said Lord Caterham, bending over the book; "O, that is the portrait -of my younger brother, Lionel Brakespere; he--" but Caterham stopped short in -his explanation, for Mrs. Ludlow fell backward in a swoon.</p> -<p>And every one afterwards said that it was very thoughtless of her to take -such a long drive so soon after her confinement.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> - <h4><a name="div2_11" href="#div2Ref_11">CHAPTER XI.</a></h4> -<h5>CONJECTURES.</h5> -<br> - <p>Miss Maurice was not in the house when Geoffrey Ludlow and his wife -made that visit to Lord Caterham which had so plainly manifested Margaret's -imprudence and inexperience. The housekeeper and one of the housemaids had come -to the assistance of the gentlemen, both equally alarmed and one at least -calculated to be, of all men living, the most helpless under the circumstances. -Geoffrey was "awfully frightened," as he told her afterwards, when Margaret -fainted.</p> -<p>"I shall never forget the whiteness of your face, my darling, and the -dreadful sealed look of your eyelids. I thought in a moment that was how you -would look if you were dead; and what should I do if I ever had to see <i>that</i> -sight!"</p> -<p>This loving speech Geoffrey made to his wife as they drove homewards,--she -pale, silent, and coldly abstracted; he full of tender anxiety for her comfort -and apprehension for her health,--sentiments which rendered him, to say the -truth, rather a trying companion in a carriage; for he was constantly pulling -the glasses up and down, fixing them a button-hole higher or lower, rearranging -the blinds, and giving the coachman contradictory orders. These proceedings were -productive of no apparent annoyance to Margaret, who lay back against the -cushions with eyes open and moody, and her underlip caught beneath her teeth. -She maintained unbroken silence until they reached home, and then briefly -telling Geoffrey that she was going to her room to lie down, she left him.</p> -<p>"She's not strong," said Geoffrey, as he proceeded to disembarrass himself of -his outdoor attire, and to don his "working-clothes,"--"she's not strong; and -it's very odd she's not more cheerful. I thought the child would have made it -all right; but perhaps it will when she's stronger." And Geoff sighed as he went -to his work, and sighed again once or twice as he pursued it.</p> -<p>Meanwhile Lord Caterham was thinking over the startling incident which had -just occurred. He was an observant man naturally, and the enforced inaction of -his life had increased this tendency; while his long and deep experience of -physical suffering and weakness had rendered him acutely alive to any -manifestations of a similar kind in other people. Mrs. Ludlow's fainting-fit -puzzled him. She had been looking so remarkably well when she came in; there had -been nothing feverish, nothing suggestive of fictitious strength or -over-exertion in her appearance; no feebleness in her manner or languor in the -tone of her voice. The suddenness and completeness of the swoon were -strange,--were so much beyond the ordinary faintness which a drive undertaken a -little too soon might be supposed to produce,--and the expression of Margaret's -face, when she had recovered her consciousness, was so remarkable, that Lord -Caterham felt instinctively the true origin of her illness had not been that -assigned to it.</p> -<p>"She looked half-a-dozen years older," he thought; "and the few words she -said were spoken as if she were in a dream. I must be more mistaken than I have -ever been, or there is something very wrong about that woman. And what a good -fellow he is!--what a simple-hearted blundering kind fellow! How wonderful his -blindness is! I saw in a moment how he loved her, how utterly uninterested she -is in him and his affairs. I hope there may be nothing worse than lack of -interest; but I am afraid, very much afraid for Ludlow."</p> -<p>And then Lord Caterham's thoughts wandered away from the artist and his -beautiful wife to that other subject which occupied them so constantly, and with -which every other cogitation or contemplation contrived to mingle itself in an -unaccountable manner, on which he did not care to reason, and against which he -did not attempt to strive. What did it matter now? He might be ever so much -engrossed, and no effort at self-control or self-conquest would be called for; -the feelings he cherished unchecked could not harm any one--could not harm -himself now. There was great relief; great peace in that thought,--no strife for -him to enter on, no struggle in which his suffering body and weary mind must -engage. The end would be soon with him now; and while he waited for it, he might -love this bright young girl with all the power of his heart.</p> -<p>So Lord Caterham lay quite still upon the couch on which they had placed -Margaret when she fainted, and thought over all he had intended to say to -Geoffrey, and must now seek another opportunity of saying, and turned over in -his mind sundry difficulties which he began to foresee in the way of his -cherished plan, and which would probably arise in the direction of Mrs. Ludlow. -Annie and Margaret had not hitherto seen much of each other, as has already -appeared; and there was something ominous in the occurrence of that morning -which troubled Lord Caterham's mind and disturbed his preconcerted arrangements. -If trouble--trouble of some unknown kind, but, as he intuitively felt, of a -serious nature--were hanging over Geoffrey Ludlow's head, what was to become of -his guardianship of Annie in the future,--that future which Lord Caterham felt -was drawing so near; that future which would find her without a friend, and -would leave her exposed to countless flatterers. He was pondering upon these -things when Annie entered the room, bright and blooming, after her drive in the -balmy summer air, and carrying a gorgeous bouquet of crimson roses.</p> -<p>She was followed by Stephens, carrying two tall Venetian glasses. He placed -them on a table, and then withdrew.</p> -<p>"Look, Arthur," said Annie; "we've been to Fulham, and I got these fresh cut, -all for your own self, at the nursery-gardens. None of those horrid formal -tied-up bouquets for you, or for me either, with the buds stuck on with wires, -and nasty fluffy bits of cotton sticking to the leaves. I went round with the -man, and made him cut each rose as I pointed it out; and they're such beauties, -Arthur! Here's one for you to wear and smell and spoil; but the others I'm going -to keep fresh for ever so long."</p> -<p>She went over to the couch and gave him the rose, a rich crimson full-formed -flower, gorgeous in colour and exquisite in perfume. He took it with a smile and -held it in his hand.</p> -<p>"Why don't you put it in your button-hole, Lord Caterham?" said Annie, with a -pretty air of pettishness which became her well.</p> -<p>"Why?" said Lord Caterham. "Do you think I am exactly the style of man to -wear posies and breast-knots, little Annie?" His tone was sad through its -playfulness.</p> -<p>"Nonsense, Arthur," she began; "you--" Then she looked at him, and stopped -suddenly, and her face changed. "Have you been worse to-day? You look very pale. -Have you been in pain? Did you want me?"</p> -<p>"No, no, my child," said Lord Caterham; "I am just as usual. Go on with your -flowers, Annie,--settle them up, lest they fade. They are beautiful indeed, and -we'll keep them as long as we can."</p> -<p>She was not reassured, and she still stood and gazed earnestly at him.</p> -<p>"I am all right, Annie,--I am indeed. My head is even easier than usual. But -some one has been ill, if I haven't. Your friends the Ludlows were here to-day. -Did no one tell you as you came in?"</p> -<p>"No, I did not see any one; I left my bonnet in the ante-room and came -straight in here. I only called to Stephens to bring the flower-glasses. Was -Mrs. Ludlow ill, Arthur? Did she come to see me?"</p> -<p>"I don't think so--she only came, I think, because I wanted to see Ludlow, -and he took advantage of the circumstance to have a drive with her. Have you -seen her since the child was born?"</p> -<p>"No, I called, but only to inquire. But was she ill? What happened?"</p> -<p>"Well, she was ill--she fainted. Ludlow and I were just beginning to talk, -and, at her own request, leaving her to amuse herself with the photographs and -things lying about--and she had just asked me some trifling question, something -about Lionel's portrait--whose it was, I think--when she suddenly fainted. I -don't think there could be a more complete swoon; she really looked as though -she were dead."</p> -<p>"What did you do? was Geoffrey frightened?"</p> -<p>"Yes, we were both frightened. Stephens came, and two of the women. Ludlow -was terrified; but she soon recovered, and she would persist in going home, -though I tried to persuade her to wait until you returned. But she would not -listen to it, and went away with Ludlow in a dreadful state of mind; he thinks -he made her take the drive too soon, and is frightfully penitent."</p> -<p>"Well but, Arthur," said Annie, seriously and anxiously, "I suppose he did. -It must have been that which knocked her up. She has no mother or sister with -her, you know, to tell her about these things."</p> -<p>"My dear Annie," said Lord Caterham, "she has a doctor and a nurse, I -suppose; and she has common-sense, and knows how she feels, herself--does she -not? She looked perfectly well when she came in, and handsomer than when I saw -her before--and I don't believe the drive had any thing to do with the -fainting-fit."</p> -<p>Miss Maurice looked at Lord Caterham in great surprise. His manner and tone -were serious, and her feelings, easily roused when her old friend was concerned, -were excited now to apprehension. She left off arranging the roses; she dried -her finger-tips on her handkerchief, and placing a chair close beside Caterham's -couch, she sat down and asked him anxiously to explain his meaning.</p> -<p>"I can't do that very well, Annie," he said, "for I am not certain of what it -is; but of this I am certain, my first impression of Mrs. Ludlow is correct. -There is something wrong about her, and Ludlow is ignorant of it. All I said to -you that day is more fully confirmed in my mind now. There is some dark secret -in the past of her life, and the secret in the present is, that she lives in -that past, and does not love her husband."</p> -<p>"Poor Geoffrey," said Annie, in whose eyes tears were standing--"poor -Geoffrey, and how dearly he loves her!"</p> -<p>"Yes," said Lord Caterham, "that's the worst of it; that, and his -unsuspiciousness,--he does not see what the most casual visitor to their house -sees; he does not perceive the weariness of spirit that is the first thing, next -to her beauty, which every one with common perception must recognise. She takes -no pains--she does not make the least attempt to hide it. Why, to-day, when she -recovered, when her eyes opened--such gloomy eyes they were!--and Ludlow was -kneeling here,"--he pointed down beside the couch he lay on--"bending over -her,--did she look up at him?--did she meet the gaze fixed on her and smile, or -try to smile, to comfort and reassure him? Not she: I was watching her; she just -opened her eyes and let them wander round, turned her head from him, and let it -fall against the side of the couch as if she never cared to lift it more."</p> -<p>"Poor Geoffrey!" said Annie again; this time with a sob.</p> -<p>"Yes, indeed, Annie," he went on; "I pity him, as much as I mistrust her. He -has never told you any thing about her antecedents, has he?--and I suppose she -has not been more communicative?"</p> -<p>"No," replied Annie; "I know nothing more than I have told you. She has -always been the same when I have seen her--trying, I thought, to seem and be -happier than at first, but very languid still. Geoffrey said sometimes that she -was rather out of spirits, but he seemed to think it was only delicate -health--and I hoped so too, though I could not help fearing you were right in -all you said that day. O, Arthur, isn't it hard to think of Geoffrey loving her -so much, and working so hard, and getting so poor a return?"</p> -<p>"It is indeed, Annie," said Lord Caterham, with a strange wistful look at -her; "it is very hard. But I fear there are harder things than that in store for -Ludlow. He is not conscious of the extent of his misfortune, if even he knows of -its existence at all. I fear the time is coming when he must know all there is -to be known, whatever it may be. That woman has a terrible secret in her life, -Annie, and the desperate weariness within her--how she let it show when she was -recovering from the swoon!--will force it into the light of day before long. Her -dreary quietude is the calm before the storm."</p> -<p>"I suppose I had better write this evening and inquire for her," said Annie, -after a pause; "and propose to call on her. It will gratify Geoffrey."</p> -<p>"Do so," said Lord Caterham; "I will write to Ludlow myself."</p> -<p>Annie wrote her kind little letter, and duly received a reply. Mrs. Ludlow -was much better, but still rather weak, and did not feel quite able to receive -Miss Maurice's kindly-proffered visit just at present.</p> -<p>"I am very glad indeed of that, Annie," said Lord Caterham, to whom she -showed the note; "you cannot possibly do Ludlow any good, my child; and -something tells me that the less you see of her the better."</p> -<br> - <p>For some days following that on which the incident and the conversation -just recorded took place, Lord Caterham was unable to make his intended request -to Geoffrey Ludlow that the latter would call upon him, that they might renew -their interrupted conversation. One of those crises in the long struggle which -he maintained with disease and pain, in which entire prostration produced a kind -of truce, had come upon him; and silence, complete inaction, and almost a -suspension of his faculties, marked its duration. The few members of the -household who had access to him were familiar with this phase of his condition; -and on this occasion it attracted no more notice than usual, except from Annie, -who remarked additional gravity in the manner of the physician, and who -perceived that the state of exhaustion of the patient lasted longer, and when he -rallied was succeeded by less complete restoration to even his customary -condition than before. She mentioned these results of her close observation to -Lady Beauport; but the countess paid very little attention to the matter, -assuring Annie that she knew Caterham much too well to be frightened; that he -would do very well if there were no particular fuss made about him; and that all -doctors were alarmists, and said dreadful things to increase their own -importance. Annie would have called her attention to the extenuating -circumstance that Lord Caterham's medical attendant had not said any thing at -all, and that she had merely interpreted his looks; but Lady Beauport was so -anxious to tell her something illustrative of "poor Lionel's" beauty, grace, -daring, or dash--no matter which or what--that Annie found it impossible to get -in another word.</p> -<p>A day or two later, when Lord Caterham had rallied a good deal, and was able -to listen to Annie as she read to him, and while she was so engaged, and he was -looking at her with the concentrated earnestness she remarked so frequently in -his gaze of late,--Algy Barford was announced. Algy had been constantly at the -house to inquire for Lord Caterham; but to-day Stephens had felt sure his master -would be able and glad to see Algy. Every body liked that genial soul, and -servants in particular--a wonderful test of popularity and its desert. He came -in very quietly, and he and Annie exchanged greetings cordially. She liked him -also. After he had spoken cheerily to Caterham, and called him "dear old boy" at -least a dozen times in as many sentences, the conversation was chiefly -maintained between him and Miss Maurice. She did not think much talking would do -for Arthur just then, and she made no movement towards leaving the room, as was -her usual custom. Algy was a little subdued in tone and spirits: it was -impossible even to him to avoid seeing that Caterham was looking much more worn -and pale than usual; and he was a bad hand at disguising a painful impression, -so that he was less fluent and discursive than was his wont, and decidedly ill -at ease.</p> -<p>"How is your painting getting on, Miss Maurice?" he said, when a pause became -portentous.</p> -<p>"She has been neglecting it in my favour," said Lord Caterham. "She has not -even finished the portrait you admired so much, Algy."</p> -<p>"O!--ah!--'The Muse of Painting,' wasn't it? It is a pity not to finish it, -Miss Maurice. I think you would never succeed better than in that case,--you -admire the original so much."</p> -<p>"Yes," said Annie, with rather an uneasy glance towards Caterham, "she is -really beautiful. Arthur thinks her quite as wonderful as I do; but I have not -seen her lately--she has been ill. By the bye, Arthur, Geoffrey Ludlow wrote to -me yesterday inquiring for you; and only think what he says!--'I hope my wife's -illness did not upset Lord Caterham; but I am afraid it did." Annie had taken a -note from the pocket of her apron, andread these words in a laughing voice.</p> -<p>"Hopes his wife's illness did not upset Lord Caterham!" repeated Algy Barford -in a tone of whimsical amazement. "What may that mean, dear old boy? Why are you -supposed to be upset by the peerless lady of the unspeakable eyes and the -unapproachable hair?"</p> -<p>Annie laughed, and Caterham smiled as he replied, "Only because Mrs. Ludlow -fainted here in this room very suddenly, and very 'dead,' one day lately; and as -Mrs. Ludlow's fainting was a terrible shock to Ludlow, he concludes that it was -also a terrible shock to me,--that's all."</p> -<p>"Well, but," said Algy, apparently seized with an unaccountable access of -curiosity, "why did Mrs. Ludlow faint? and what brought her here to faint in -your room?"</p> -<p>"It was inconsiderate, I confess," said Caterham, still smiling; "but I don't -think she meant it. The fact is, I had asked Ludlow to come and see me; and he -brought his wife; and--and she has not been well, and the drive was too much for -her, I suppose. At all events, Ludlow and I were talking, and not minding her -particularly, when she said something to me, and I turned round and saw her -looking deadly pale, and before I could answer her she fainted."</p> -<p>"Right off?" asked Algy, with an expression of dismay so ludicrous that Annie -could not resist it, and laughed outright.</p> -<p>"Right off, indeed," answered Caterham; "down went the photograph-book on the -floor, and down she would have gone if Ludlow had been a second later, or an -inch farther away! Yes; it was a desperate case, I assure you. How glad you must -feel that you wer'n't here, Algy,--eh? What would you have done now? Resorted to -the bellows, like the Artful Dodger, or twisted her thumbs, according to the -famous prescription of Mrs. Gamp?"</p> -<p>But Algy did not laugh, much to Lord Caterham's amusement, who believed him -to be overwhelmed by the horrid picture his imagination conjured up of the -position of the two gentlemen under the circumstances.</p> -<p>"But," said Algy, with perfect gravity, "why did she faint? What did she say? -People don't tumble down in a dead faint because they're a little tired, dear -old boy--do they?"</p> -<p>"Perhaps not in general, Algy, but it looks like it in Mrs. Ludlow's case. -All I can tell you is that the faint was perfectly genuine and particularly -'dead,' and that there was no cause for it, beyond the drive and the fatigue of -looking over the photographs in that book. I am very tired of photographs -myself, and I suppose most people are the same, but I haven't quite come to -fainting over them yet."</p> -<p>Algy Barford's stupefaction had quite a rousing effect on Lord Caterham, and -Annie Maurice liked him and his odd ways more than ever. He made some trifling -remark in reply to Caterham's speech, and took an early opportunity of minutely -inspecting the photograph-book which he had mentioned.</p> -<p>"So," said Algy to himself, as he walked slowly down St. Barnabas Square; -"she goes to see Caterham, and faints at sight of dear old Lionel's portrait, -does she? Ah, it's all coming out, Algy; and the best thing you can do, on the -whole is to keep your own counsel,--that's about it, dear old boy!"</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> - <h4><a name="div2_12" href="#div2Ref_12">CHAPTER XII.</a></h4> -<h5>GATHERING CLOUDS.</h5> -<br> - <p>"My younger brother Lionel Brakespere;" those were Lord Caterham's -words. Margaret had heard them distinctly before consciousness left her; there -was no mistake, no confusion in her mind,--"my younger brother Lionel -Brakespere." All unconsciously, then, she had been for months acquainted and in -occasional communication with <i>his</i> nearest relatives! Only that day she -had been in the house where he had lived; had sat in a room all the associations -of which were doubtless familiar to him; had gazed upon the portrait of that -face for the sight of which her heart yearned with such a desperate restless -longing!</p> -<p>Lord Caterham's brother! Brother to that poor sickly cripple, in whom life's -flame seemed not to shine, but to flicker merely,--her Lionel, so bright and -active and handsome! Son of that proud, haughty Lady Beauport--yes, she could -understand that; it was from his mother that he inherited the cool bearing, the -easy assurance, the never-absent <i>hauteur</i> which rendered him conspicuous -even in a set of men where all these qualities were prized and imitated. She had -not had the smallest suspicion the name she had known him by was assumed, or -that he had an earl for his father and a viscount for his brother. He had been -accustomed to speak of "the governor--a good old boy;" but his mother and his -brother he never mentioned.</p> -<p>They knew him there, knew him as she had never known him--free, unrestrained, -without that mask which, to a certain extent, he had necessarily worn in her -presence. In his intercourse with them he had been untrammelled, with no lurking -fear of what might happen some day; no dodging demon at his side suggesting the -end, the separation that he knew must unavoidably come. And she had sat by, -ignorant of all that was consuming their hearts' cores, which, had she been able -to discuss it with them, would have proved to be her own deepest, most -cherished, most pertinacious source of thought. They?--who were they? How many -of them had known her Lionel?--how many of them had cared for him? Lady Beauport -and Lord Caterham, of course--but of the others? Geoffrey himself had never -known him. No; thank God for that! The comparison between her old lover and her -husband which she had so often drawn in her own mind had never, could never have -occurred to him. Geoffrey's only connection with the Beauport family had been -through Annie Maurice. Ah! Annie Maurice!--the heiress now, whose sudden -acquisition of wealth and position they were all talking of--she had not seen -Lionel in the old days; and even if she had, it had been slight matter. But -Margaret's knowledge of the world was wide and ample, and it needed very little -experience--far less indeed than she had had--to show her what might have been -the effect had those two met under the existent different circumstances.</p> -<p>For Margaret knew Lionel Brakespere, and read him like a book. All her wild -infatuation about him,--and her infatuation about him was wilder, madder than it -had ever been before--all the length of time since she lost him,--all the long, -weary, deadening separation, had not had the smallest effect on her calm matured -judgment. She knew that he was at heart a scoundrel; she knew that he had no -stability of heart, no depth of affection. Had not her own experience of him -taught her that? had not the easy, indifferent, heartless way in which he had -slipped out of her knotted arms, leaving her to pine and fret and die, for all -he cared, shown her that? She had a thorough appreciation of his worship of the -rising sun,--she knew how perfectly he would have sold himself for wealth and -position; and yet she loved him, loved him through all!</p> -<p>This was her one consolation in the thought of his absence--his exile. Had he -been in England, how readily would he have fallen into those machinations which -she guessed his mother would have been only too ready to plot! She knew he was -thousands of miles away; and the thought that she was freed from rivalry in a -great measure reconciled her to his absence. She could hold him in her heart of -hearts as her own only love; there was no one, in her thoughts, to dispute her -power over him. He was hers,--hers alone. And he had obtained an additional -interest in her eyes since she had discovered his identity. Now she would -cultivate that acquaintance with his people,--all unknowingly she should be able -to ally herself more closely to him. Casual questions would bring direct -answers--all bearing on the topic nearest her heart: without in the smallest -degree betraying her own secret, she would be able to feed her own -love-flame,--to hear of, to talk of him for whom every pulse of her heart -throbbed and yearned.</p> -<p>Did it never occur to her to catechise that heart, to endeavour to portray -vividly to herself the abyss on the brink of which she was standing,--to ask -herself whether she was prepared to abnegate all sense of gratitude and duty, -and to persevere in the course which--not recklessly, not in a moment of -passion, but calmly and unswervingly--she had begun to tread? Yes; she had -catechised herself often, had ruthlessly probed her own heart, had acknowledged -her baseness and ingratitude, yet had found it impossible to struggle against -the pervading thrall. Worse than all, the sight of the man to whom she owed -every thing--comfort, respectability, almost life itself,--the sight of him -patiently labouring for her sake had become oppressive to her; from calmly -suffering it, she had come to loathe and rebel against it. Ah, what a contrast -between the present dull, dreary, weary round and the bright old days of the -past! To her, and to her alone, was the time then dedicated. She would not then -have been left to sit alone, occupying her time as best she might, but every -instant would have been devoted to her; and let come what might on the morrow, -that time would have been spent in gaiety.</p> -<p>Was there no element of rest in the new era of her life? Did not the child -which lay upon her bosom bring some alleviating influence, some new sphere for -the absorption of her energies, some new hope, in the indulgence in which she -might have found at least temporary forgetfulness of self? Alas, none! She had -accepted her maternity as she had accepted her wifehood,--calmly, quietly, -without even a pretence of that delicious folly, that pardonable -self-satisfaction, that silly, lovable, incontrovertible, charming pride which -nearly always accompanies the first experience of motherhood. Old Geoff was mad -about his firstborn--would leave his easel and come crooning and peering up into -the nursery,--would enter that sacred domain in a half-sheepish manner, as -though acknowledging his intrusion, but on the score of parental love hoping for -forgiveness,--would say a few words of politeness to the nurse, who, inexorable -to most men, was won over by his genuine devotion and his evident -humility,--would take up the precious bundle, at length confided to him, in the -awkwardest manner, and would sit chirrupping to the little putty face, or swing -the shapeless mass to and fro, singing meanwhile the dismallest of apparently -Indian dirges, and all the while be experiencing the most acute enjoyment. Geoff -was by nature a heavy sleeper; but the slightest cry of the child in the -adjoining chamber would rouse him; the inevitable infantile maladies expressed -in the inevitable peevish whine, so marvellously imitated by the toy-baby -manufacturers, would fill him with horror and fright, causing him to lie awake -in an agony of suspense, resting on his elbow and listening with nervous anxiety -for their cessation or their increase; while Margaret, wearied out in mental -anxiety, either slept tranquilly by his side or remained awake, her eyes closed, -her mind abstracted from all that was going on around her, painfully occupied -with retrospect of the past or anticipation of the future. She did not care for -her baby? No--plainly no! She accepted its existence as she had accepted the -other necessary corollaries of her marriage; but the grand secret of maternal -love was as far removed from her as though she had never suffered her travail -and brought a man-child into the world. That she would do her duty by her baby -she had determined,--much in the same spirit that she had decided upon the -strict performance of her conjugal duty; but n question of love influenced her. -She did not dislike the child,--she was willing to give herself up to the -inconveniences which its nurture, its care, its necessities occasioned her; but -that was all.</p> -<p>If Margaret did not "make a fuss" with the child, there were plenty who did; -numberless people to come and call; numberless eyes to watch all that -happened,--to note the <i>insouciance</i> which existed, instead of the -solicitude which should have prevailed; numberless tongues to talk and chatter -and gossip,--to express wonderment, to declare that their owners "had never seen -the like," and so on. Little Dr. Brandmm found it more difficult than ever to -get away from his lady-patients. After all their own disorders had been -discussed and remedies suggested, the conversation was immediately turned to his -patient at Elm Lodge; and the little medico had to endure and answer a sharp -fire of questions of all kinds. Was it really a fine child? and was it true that -Mrs. Ludlow did not care about it? She was nursing it herself; yes: that proved -nothing; every decent woman would do that, rather than have one of those -dreadful creatures in the house--pints of porter every hour, and doing nothing -but sit down and abuse every one, and wanting so much waiting on, as though they -were duchesses. But was it true? Now, doctor, you must know all these stories -about her not caring for the child? Caring!--well, you ought to know, with all -your experience, what the phrase meant. People would talk, you know, and that -was what they said; and all the doctor's other patients wanted to know was -whether it was really true. He did his best, the little doctor--for he was a -kindly-hearted little creature, and Margaret's beauty had had its usual effect -upon him,--he did his best to endow the facts with a roseate hue; but he had a -hard struggle, and only partially succeeded. If there was one thing on which the -ladies of Lowbar prided themselves, it was on their fulfilment of their maternal -duties; if there was one bond of union between them, it was a sort of tacitly -recognised consent to talk of and listen to each other's discussion of their -children, either in existence or in prospect. It was noticed now that Margaret -had always shirked this inviting subject; and it was generally agreed that it -was no wonder, since common report averred that she had no pride in her -firstborn. A healthy child too, according to Dr. Brandram--a fine healthy -well-formed child. Why, even poor Mrs. Ricketts, whose baby had spinal -complaint, loved it, and made the most of it; and Mrs. Moule, whose little Sarah -had been blind from her birth, thought her offspring unmatchable in the village, -and nursed and tended it night and day. No wonder that in a colony where these -sentiments prevailed, Margaret's reputation, hardly won, was speedily on the -decline. It may be easily imagined too that to old Mrs. Ludlow's observant eyes -Margaret's want of affection for her child did not pass unnoticed. By no one was -the child's advent into the world more anxiously expected than by its -grandmother, who indeed looked forward to deriving an increased social status -from the event, and who had already discussed it with her most intimate friends. -Mrs. Ludlow had been prepared for a great contest for supremacy when the child -was born--a period at which she intended to assert her right of taking -possession of her son's house and remaining its mistress until her -daughter-in-law was able to resume her position. She had expected that in this -act she would have received all the passive opposition of which Margaret was -capable--opposition with which Geoff, being indoctrinated, might have been in a -great measure successful. But, to her intense surprise, no opposition was made. -Margaret received the announcement of Mrs. Ludlow's intended visit and Mrs. -Ludlow's actual arrival with perfect unconcern; and after her baby had been -born, and she had bestowed on it a very calm kiss, she suffered it to be removed -by her mother-in-law with an expression which told even more of satisfaction -than resignation. This behaviour was so far different from any thing Mrs. Ludlow -had expected, that the old lady did not know what to make of it; and her -daughter-in-law's subsequent conduct increased her astonishment. This -astonishment she at first tried to keep to herself; but that was impossible. The -feeling gradually vented itself in sniffs and starts, in eyebrow-upliftings for -the edification of the nurse, in suggestive exclamations of "Well, my dear?" and -"Don't you think, my love?" and such old-lady phraseology. Further than these -little ebullitions Mrs. Ludlow made no sign until her daughter came to see her; -and then she could no longer contain herself, but spoke out roundly.</p> -<p>"What it is, my dear, I can't tell for the life of me; but there's something -the matter with Margaret. She takes no more notice of the child than if it were -a chair or a table;--just a kiss, and how do you do? and nothing more."</p> -<p>"It's because this is her first child, mother. She's strange to it, you know, -and--"</p> -<p>"Strange to it, my dear! Nonsense! Nothing of the sort. You're a young girl, -and can't understand these things. But not only that,--one would think, at such -a time, she would be more than ever fond of her husband. I'm sure when Geoff was -born I put up with more from your father than ever I did before or since. His -'gander-month,' he called it; and he used to go gandering about with a parcel of -fellows, and come home at all hours of the night--I used to hear him, though he -did creep upstairs with his boots off--but he never had cross word or look from -me."</p> -<p>"Well, but surely, mother, Geoff has not had either cross words or cross -looks from Margaret?"</p> -<p>"How provoking you are, Matilda! That seems to be my my fate, that no one can -understand me. I never said he had, did I? though it would be a good thing for -him if he had, poor fellow, I should say--any thing better than what he has to -endure now."</p> -<p>"Don't be angry at my worrying you, dear mother; but for Heaven's sake tell -me what you mean--what Geoff has to endure?"</p> -<p>"I am not angry, Til; though it seems to be my luck to be imagined angry when -there's nothing further from my thoughts. I'm not angry, my dear--not in the -least."</p> -<p>"What about Geoff, mother?"</p> -<p>"O, my dear, that's enough to make one's blood boil! Ive never said a word to -you before about this, Matilda--being one of those persons who keep pretty much -to themselves, though I see a great deal more than people think for,--Ive never -said a word to you before about this; for, as I said to myself, what good could -it do? But I'm perfectly certain that there's something wrong with Margaret."</p> -<p>"How do you mean, mother? Something wrong!--is she ill?"</p> -<p>"Now, my dear Matilda, as though a woman would be likely to be well when -she's just had----. Bless my soul, the young women of the present day are very -silly! I wasn't speaking of her health, of course."</p> -<p>"Of what then, mother?" said Til, with resignation.</p> -<p>"Well, then, my dear, haven't you noticed,--but I suppose not: no one appears -to notice these things in the way that I do,--but you might have noticed that -for the last few weeks Margaret has seemed full of thought, dreamy, and not -caring for any thing that went on. If Ive pointed out once to her about the mite -of a cap that that Harriet wears, and all her hair flying about her ears, and a -crinoline as wide as wide, Ive spoken a dozen times; but she's taken no notice; -and now the girl sets me at defiance, and tells me I'm not her mistress, and -never shall be I That's one thing; but there are plenty of others. I was sure -Geoffrey's linen could not be properly aired--the colds he caught were so awful; -and I spoke to Margaret about it, but she took no notice; and yesterday, when -the clothes came home from the laundress, I felt them myself, and you might have -wrung the water out of them in pints. There are many other little things too -that Ive noticed; and I'll tell you what it is, Matilda--I'm certain she has got -something on her mind."</p> -<p>"O, I hope not, poor girl, poor dear Margaret!"</p> -<p>"Poor dear fiddlestick! What nonsense you talk, Matilda! If there's any one -to be pitied, it's Geoffrey, I should say; though what he could have expected, -taking a girl for his wife that he'd known so little of, and not having any -wedding-breakfast, or any thing regular, I don't know!"</p> -<p>"But why is Geoffrey to be pitied, mother?"</p> -<p>"Why? Why, because his wife doesn't love him, my dear! Now you know it!"</p> -<p>"O, mother, for Heaven's sake don't say such a thing! You know you're--you -won't mind what I say, dearest mother,--but you're a little apt to jump at -conclusions, and--"</p> -<p>"O yes, I know, my dear; I know I'm a perfect fool!--I know that well enough; -and if I don't, it's not for want of being reminded of it by my own daughter. -But I know I'm right in what I say; and what's more, my son shall know it before -long."</p> -<p>"O, mother, you would never tell Geoff!--you would never--"</p> -<p>"If a man's eyes are not open naturally, my dear, they must be opened for -him. I shall tell Geoffrey my opinion about his wife; and let him know it in -pretty plain terms, I can tell you!"</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> - <h4><a name="div2_13" href="#div2Ref_13">CHAPTER XIII.</a></h4> -<h5>MR. STOMPFF'S DOUBTS.</h5> -<br> - <p>It is not to be supposed that because Geoffrey Ludlow's married life -offered no very striking points for criticism, it was left uncriticised by his -friends. Those, be they married or single, quiet or boisterous, convivial or -misanthropical, who do not receive discussion at the hands of their -acquaintance, are very few in number. There can be nothing more charmingly -delightful, nothing more characteristic of this chivalrous age, than the manner -in which friends speak of each other behind, as the phrase goes, "each other's -backs." To two sets of people, having a third for common acquaintance, this -pastime affords almost inexpressible delight, more especially if the two sets -present have been made acquainted with each other through the medium of the -absent third. It is rather dangerous ground at first, because neither of the two -sets present can tell whether the other may not have some absurd scruples as to -the propriety of canvassing the merits or demerits of their absent friend; but a -little tact, a little cautious dealing with the subject, a few advances made as -tentatively as those of the elephant on the timber bridge, soon show that the -discussion will not be merely endured, but will be heartily welcome; and -straightway it is plunged into with the deepest interest. How they manage to -keep that carriage,--that's what we've always wanted to know! O, you've noticed -it too. Well, is it rouge, or enamel, or what? That's what Ive always said to -George--how that poor man can go on slaving and slaving as he does, and all the -money going in finery for her, is what I can't understand! What a compliment to -our opinion of our powers of character-reading to find all our notions indorsed -by others, more especially when those notions have been derogatory to those with -whom we have for some time been living on terms of intimacy! To be sure there is -another side to the medal, when we find that those who have known our dear -absents a much shorter time than we have, claim credit for being far more -sharp-sighted than we. They marked at once, they say, all the shortcomings which -we had taken so long to discover; and they lead the chorus of depreciation, in -which we only take inferior parts.</p> -<p>It was not often that Mr. Stompff busied himself with the domestic concerns -of the artists who formed his staff: It was generally quite enough for him -provided they "came up to time," as he called it, did their work well, and did -not want too much money in advance. But in Geoffrey Ludlow Mr. Stompff took a -special interest, regarding him as a man out of whom, if properly worked, great -profit and fame were to be made. He had paid several visits to Elm Lodge, -ostensibly for the purpose of seeing how the Brighton-Esplanade picture was -progressing; but with this he combined the opportunity of inspecting the -domestic arrangements and noting whether they were such as were likely to "suit -his book." No man more readily understood the dispiriting influence of a -slattern wife or a disorderly home upon the work that was to be done.</p> -<p>"Ive seen 'em," he used to say, "chock-full of promise, and all go to the bad -just because of cold meat for dinner, or the house full of steam on -washing-days. They'd rush away, and go off--public-house or any where--and then -goodbye to my work and the money theyve had of me! What I like best 's a regular -expensive woman,--fond of her dress and going about, and all that,--who makes a -man stick to it to keep her going. That's when you get the work out of a cove. -So I'll just look-up Ludlow, and see how he's goin' on."</p> -<p>He did "look-up" Ludlow several times; and his sharp eyes soon discovered a -great deal of which he did not approve, and which did not seem likely to -coincide with his notions of business. He had taken a dislike to Margaret the -first time he had seen her, and his dislike increased on each subsequent visit. -There was something about her which he could scarcely explain to himself,--a -"cold stand-offishness," he phrased it,--which he hated. Margaret thought Mr. -Stompff simply detestable, and spite of Geoff's half-hints, took no pains to -disguise her feelings. Not that she was ever demonstrative--it was her calm -quiet <i>insouciance</i> that roused Mr. Stompff's wrath. "I can't tell what to -make of that woman," he would say; "she never gives Ludlow a word of -encouragement, but sits there yea-nay, by G--, lookin' as though she didn't know -he was grindin' his fingers off to earn money for her! She don't seem to take -any notice of what's goin' on; but sits moonin' there, lookin' straight before -her, and treatin'me and her husband as if we was dirt! Who's she, I should like -to know, to give herself airs and graces like that? It was all very well when -Ludlow wanted a model for that Skyllar picture; but there's no occasion for a -man to marry his models, that Ive heard of--leastways it ain't generally done. -She don't seem to know that it's from me all the money comes, by the way she -treats me. She don't seem to think that that pretty house and furniture, and all -the nice things which she has, are paid for by my money. She's never a decent -word to say to me. Damme, I hate her!"</p> -<p>And Mr. Stompff did not content himself by exploding in this manner. He let -off this safety-valve of self-communion to keep himself from boiling over; but -all the cause for his wrath still remained, and he referred to it, mentally, not -unfrequently. He knew that Geoffrey Ludlow was one of his greatest cards; he -knew that he had obtained a certain mastery over him at a very cheap rate; but -he also knew that Ludlow was a man impressible to the highest degree, and that -if he were preoccupied or annoyed, say by domestic trouble for instance--and -there was nothing in a man of Geoffrey's temperament more destructive to work -than domestic trouble--he would be incapable of earning his money properly. Why -should there be domestic trouble at Elm Lodge? Mr. Stompff had his ears wider -open than most men, and had heard a certain something which had been rumoured -about at the time of Geoff's marriage; but he had not paid much attention to it. -There were many <i>ateliers</i> which he was in the habit of frequenting,--and -the occupants of which turned out capital pictures for him,--where he saw ladies -playing the hostess's part whose names had probably never appeared in a -marriage-register; but that was nothing to him. Most of them accepted Mr. -Stompff's compliments, and made themselves agreeable to the great -<i>entrepreneur</i>, and laughed at his coarse story and his full-flavoured -joke, and were only too delighted to get them, in conjunction with his cheque. -But this wife of Ludlow's was a woman of a totally different stamp; and her -treatment of him so worried Mr. Stompff that he determined to find out more -about her. Charley Potts was the most intimate friend of Ludlow's available to -Mr. Stompff, and to Charley Potts Mr. Stompff determined to go.</p> -<p>It chanced that on the morning which the great picture-dealer had selected to -pay his visit, Mr. Bowker had strolled into Charley Potts's rooms, and found -their proprietor hard at work. Mr. Bowker's object, though prompted by very -different motives from those of Mr. Stompff, was identically the same. Old -William had heard some of those irrepressible rumours which, originating no one -knows how, gather force and strength from circulation, and had come to talk to -Mr. Potts about them. "Dora in the Cornfield" had progressed so admirably since -Bowker's last visit, that after filling his pipe he stood motionless before it, -with the unlighted lucifer in his hand.</p> -<p>"'Pon my soul, I think you'll do something some day, young 'un!" were his -cheering words. "That's the real thing! Wonderful improvement since I saw it; -got rid of the hay-headed child, and come out no end. Don't think the sunlight's -<i>quite</i> that colour, is it? and perhaps no reason why those reaping-parties -shouldn't have noses and mouths as well as eyes and chins. Don't try scamping, -Charley,--you're not big enough for that; wait till you're made an R.A., and -then the critics will point out the beauties of your outline; at present you -must copy nature. And now"--lighting his pipe--"how are you?"</p> -<p>"O, I'm all right, William," responded Mr. Potts; "all right, and working -like any number of steam-engines. Orson, sir--if I may so describe myself--Orson -is endowed with reason. Orson has begun to find out that life is different from -what he imagined, and has gone in for something different."</p> -<p>"Ha!" said old Bowker, eyeing the young man kindly as he puffed at his pipe; -"it's not very difficult to discover what's up now, then.</p> -<p>"O, I don't want to make any mystery about it," said Charley. "The simple -fact is, that having seen the folly of what is called a life of pleasure--"</p> -<p>"At thirty years of age!" interrupted Bowker.</p> -<p>"Well, what then?--at thirty years of age! One does not want to be a -Methuselah like you before one discovers the vanity, the emptiness, the -heartlessness of life."</p> -<p>"Of course not, Charley?" said Bowker, greatly delighted. "Go on!"</p> -<p>"And I intend to--to----to cut it, Bowker, and go in for something better. -It's something, sir, to have something to work for. I have an end in view, to--"</p> -<p>"Well, but you've always had that. I thought that your ideas were -concentrated on being President of the Academy, and returning thanks for your -health, proposed by the Prime Minister."</p> -<p>"Bowker, you are a ribald. No, sir; there is a spur to my ambition far beyond -the flabby presidentship of that collection of dreary old parties--"</p> -<p>"Yes, I know and the spur is marked with the initials M.L. That it, Master -Charley?"</p> -<p>"It may be, Bowker, and it may be not. Meanwhile, my newly-formed but -unalterable resolutions do not forbid the discussion of malt-liquor, and -Caroline yet understands the signal-code."</p> -<p>With these words, Mr. Potts proceeded to make his ordinary pantomimic -demonstration at the window, and, when the beer arrived, condescended to give up -work for a time; and, lighting a pipe and seating himself in his easy-chair, he -entered into conversation with his friend.</p> -<p>"And suppose the spur were marked with M.L.," said he, reverting to the -former topic, after a little desultory conversation,--"suppose the spur were -marked with M. L., what would be the harm of that, Bowker?"</p> -<p>"Harm!" growled old Bowker; "you don't imagine when you begin to speak -seriously of such a thing that I, of all people, should say there was any harm -in it? I thought you were chaffing at first, and so I chaffed; but I'm about the -last man in the world to dissuade a young fellow with the intention and the -power to work from settling himself in life with a girl such as I know this one -to be. So far as I have seen of her, she has all our Geoff's sweetness of -disposition combined with an amount of common-sense and knowledge of the world -which Geoff never had and never will have."</p> -<p>"She's A1, old boy, and that's all about it; but we're going a-head rather -too quickly. Ive not said a word to her yet, and I scarcely know whether--"</p> -<p>"Nonsense, Chancy! A man who is worth any thing knows right well whether a -woman cares for him or not; and knows in what way she cares for him too. On this -point I go back to my old ground again, and say that Geoffrey Ludlow's sister -could not be dishonest enough to flirt and flatter and play the deuce with a -man. There's too much honesty about the family; and you would be in a very -different state of mind, young fellow, if you thought there was any doubt as to -how your remarks would be received in that quarter, when you chose to speak."</p> -<p>Mr. Potts smiled, and pulled his moustache, triumphantly now, not doubtfully -as was his wont. Then his face settled into seriousness, as he said:</p> -<p>"You're right, William, I think. I hope so, please God! Ive never said so -much as this to any one, as you may guess; but I love that girl with all my -heart and soul, and if only the dealers will stick by me, I intend to tell her -that same very shortly. But what you just said has turned my thoughts into -another channel--our Geoff."</p> -<p>"Well, what about our Geoff?" asked Mr. Bowker, twisting round on his seat, -and looking hard at his friend.</p> -<p>"You must have noticed, Bowker--probably much more than I have, for you're -more accustomed to that sort of thing--that our Geoff's not right lately. -There's something wrong up there at Elm Lodge, that I can't make out,--that I -daren't think, of. You remember our talks both before and after Geoff's -marriage? Well, I must hark back upon them. He's not happy, William--there, you -have the long and the short of it! I'm a bad hand at explaining these matters, -but Geoff's not happy. He's made a mistake; and though I don't think he sees it -himself--or if he does, he would die sooner than own it--there can be no doubt -about it. Mrs. Ludlow does not understand,--does not appreciate him; and our -Geoff's no more like our crony of old days than I'm like Raffaelle. There, -that's it, as clear as I can put it!"</p> -<p>Bowker waited for an instant, and then he said:</p> -<p>"Ive tried hard enough, God knows!--hard enough to prevent myself from -thinking as you think, Charley; but all to no purpose. There is a cloud over -Geoff's life, and I fear it springs from----Some one knocking. Keep 'em out, if -possible; we don't want any one boring in here just now."</p> -<p>But the knocker, whoever he was, seemed by no means inclined to be kept out. -He not only obeyed the regular directions and "tugged the trotter," but he -afterwards gave three distinct and loud raps with his fist on the door, which -was the signal to the initiated; and when the door was opened and the knocker -appeared in the person of Mr. Stompff, further resistance was useless.</p> -<p>The great man entered the room with a light and airy step and a light and -airy address. "Well, Charley, how are you? Come to give you a look-up, you see. -Hallo! who's this?--Mr. Bowker, how do you do, sir?" in a tone which meant, -"What the devil do you do here?"--"how are you, sir?--Well, Charley, what are -you at? Going to the bad, you villain,--going to the bad!"</p> -<p>"Not quite that, I hope, Mr. Stompff--"</p> -<p>"Working for Caniche, eh? That's the same thing, just the same thing! Ive -heard all about it. You've let that miserable Belgian get old of you, eh? This -is it, is it? Gal in a cornfield and mowers? what you call 'em--reapers? That's -it! reapers, and a little child. Some story, eh? O, ah! Tennyson; I don't know -him--not bad, by Jove! not half bad it's Caniche's?"</p> -<p>"Yes; that's Caniche's commission."</p> -<p>"Give you fifty more than he's given to make it over to me. You won't, of -course not, you silly feller! it's only my joke. But look here, mind you give me -the refusal of the next. I can do better for you than Caniche. He's a poor -paltry chap. I go in for great things,--that's my way, Mr. Bowker."</p> -<p>"Is it?" growled old William over his pipe; "then you go in also for great -pay, Mr. Stompff, I suppose?"</p> -<p>"Ask your friend Ludlow about that. He'll tell you whether I pay handsomely -or not, sir.--By the way, how is your friend Ludlow Potts?"</p> -<p>"He's all right, I believe."</p> -<p>"And his wife, how's she?"</p> -<p>There was something in his tone and in the expression of his eyes which made -Mr. Potts say:</p> -<p>"Mrs. Ludlow is going on very well, I believe," in a tone of seriousness very -unusual with Charley.</p> -<p>"That's all right," said Mr. Stompff. "Going on very well, eh? Every body -will be glad to hear that, and Ludlow in partickler. Going on very well--in a -regular domestic quiet manner, eh? That's all right. Hasn't been much used to -the domestic style before her marriage, I should think, eh?"</p> -<p>"Whatever you may think, I should advise you not to say much, Mr. Stompff," -said Bowker. "I don't think Geoff would much like hearing those things said of -his wife; I'm sure I should not of mine."</p> -<p>"N-no; but you have not a wife; I--I mean living, Mr. Bowker," said Stompff -with a sneer.</p> -<p>William Bowker swallowed down a great lump rising in his throat, and forcibly -restrained the involuntary clenching of his fists, as he replied, "No, you're -right there, Mr. Stompff; but still I repeat my advice."</p> -<p>"O, I shall say nothing. People will talk, you know, Whether I'm silent or -not, and people will want to know who Mrs. Ludlow was before she married Ludlow, -and why she's so silent and preoccupied, and why she never goes into society, -and why she faints away when she looks at photograph-books, and so on. But I -didn't come here to talk of Mrs. Ludlow. Now, Potts, <i>mon brave</i>, let us -discuss business."</p> -<p>When the great man took his departure, after proposing handsome terms to -Charley Potts for a three years' engagement, Bowker said; "There's more in what -we were saying when that blatant ruffian came in than I thought for, Charley. -The news of Geoff's domestic trouble has got wind."</p> -<p>"I'm afraid so. But what did Stompff mean about the fainting and the -photograph-book?"</p> -<p>"God knows! probably an invention and a lie. But when people like Stompff -begin to talk in that way, it's bad for those they talk about, depend upon it."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> - <h4><a name="div2_14" href="#div1Ref_14">CHAPTER XIV.</a></h4> -<h5>THREATENING.</h5> -<br> - <p>Geoffrey Ludlow felt considerable anxiety about his wife after the day -of their inauspicious visit to Lord Caterham; and as anxiety was quite a foreign -element in Geoff's placid temperament, it did not sit well upon him, and it -rendered him idle and desultory. He could not make up his mind as to the true -source of his anxiety,--the real spring of his discomfort. Margaret's health was -very good; her naturally fine physique shook off illness easily and rapidly, and -her rare beauty was once more irradiated with the glow of health and strength. -Yet Geoffrey's inquietude was not lessened. He loved this strange woman--this -woman who compelled admiration, indeed, from others, but won love only from him -with passionate and intense devotion. But he was ill at ease with her, and he -began to acknowledge to himself that it was so. He knew, he felt, that there was -some new element, some impalpable power in their lives, which was putting -asunder those who had never been very closely united in real bonds of sympathy -and confidence, with an irresistible, remorseless hand,--invisible and sure as -that of Death.</p> -<p>There are no words to tell what this good fellow suffered in his kindly, -unselfish, simple way, as day by day the conviction forced itself upon him that -the woman he had so loved, the woman for whom he lived, and worked, and thought, -and hoped, was more and more divided from him by some barrier--all the more -impassable because he could not point to it and demand an explanation of its -presence, or utter a plea for its removal. He would sit in his painting-room -quite idle, and with a moody brow--unlike the Geoff Ludlow of old times--and -think and puzzle himself about his wife; he would sometimes work, in short -desultory fits of industry, desperately, as though putting thought from him by -main force; and then he would meet Margaret, at meals or other times of -association, with so indifferent an assumption of being just as usual, that it -was wonderful she did not notice the change in her husband. But Geoffrey did not -interest her, and Margaret did not observe him with any curiosity. The state of -mind of this ill-assorted pair at this time was very curious, had there been any -one to understand and analyse it.</p> -<p>"What can it be?" Geoffrey would ask himself. "I cannot make it out. She does -not take any interest in any thing. I thought all women loved their children at -least, and the coldest warmed to their infants; but she does not."</p> -<p>Geoffrey had ceased to wonder at Margaret's coldness to him. She had always -been cold, and latterly her reserve and silence had increased. She made no -effort to hide the <i>ennui</i> which wholly possessed her; she made no attempt -to simulate the interest in his occupations which she had never felt in more -than a lukewarm degree. His perceptions were not very quick; but when he did see -a thing, he was apt to understand and reason upon it, and he reasoned upon this -now; he pondered upon it and upon his marriage, and he wondered when he -remembered the joy and hope with which he had entered upon the pretty, -comfortable new home and the quiet industrious life. What had come to it all? -What had changed it, and yet left it the same? He had not failed in any duty to -this woman; he had not given her less, but more than he had promised; for he was -much better off than he had hoped to be, and she had the command of every -shilling he earned. Never had an unkind word, a negligent act, a failure in the -tenderest of household kindnesses, recorded itself in her memory against this -man, who was her preserver, her protector, her husband. Surprise, trouble, vague -apprehension, above all, the bewilderment of inexplicable wrong, were in -Geoffrey's mind; but not a touch of bitterness against her. He remembered the -story she had told him, and the promise he had pledged to her, and his generous -heart rested in the assurance she had then given him, and sought no farther. His -was not the nature which would count up the items in the bargain between them, -and set down the large balance that really existed on his side. What had he -given her? To answer this question aright, knowledge must have been had of her -whole life and all its depths of suffering, of actual physical want sounded; all -her love of luxury, all her incapacity to bear privation, all her indolence, her -artistic sensuousness, her cultivated power of enjoyment, must have been known -and weighed.</p> -<p>He had given her ease, security, respectability,--a name, a home which was -comfortable to the verge of luxury, which included all that any woman could -reasonably desire who had voluntarily accepted a life upon the scale which it -implied--a home to which his industry and his love constantly added new comforts -and decorations. Geoffrey never thought of these things,--he did not appraise -them; nor did his generous heart dwell upon the sacrifice he had made, the risk -he had incurred, in short, upon the extraordinary imprudence of his marriage. -His nature was too magnanimous, and not sufficiently practical for such -considerations he thought of nothing but the love he had given her,--the love -she did not seem to understand, to care for,--and he wondered, in his simple -way, why such love, so deep and quiet, so satisfied with home and her, could not -make her more happy and cheerful. Poor Geoffrey, calm and peace were the -conditions of life in which alone he could find or imagine happiness, and they -were just those which were detestable to Margaret. It is possible that, had she -been caught from the depths of her degradation and despair in the grasp of a -nature stronger and more violent than her own, the old thrall might have fallen -from her, and she might have been swayed by the mingled charm and authority, the -fierceness, the delight, the fear of a great passion, so preoccupying that she -would have had no time for retrospect, so entrancing that she would have been -forced to live in the present. But the hand that had raised her from the abyss -was only gentle and tender; it lacked the force which would have wrung -submission from her afterwards, the power to imply that it could wound as well -as caress,--and its touch had no potency for that perverted nature. What had she -given him? Just her beauty,--nothing more. She was his wife, and she cared for -him no more than she cared for the furniture of her rooms and the trinkets in -her jewel-case (poor things, she thought, which once would have been unworthy of -her wearing, but chosen with all Geoff's humble science, and bought with the -guerdon of many a day of Geoff's hard work); he was her child's father; and the -child bored her a little more unendurably than all the rest. Indeed, all the -rest was quiet--which at least was something--but the child was not quiet; and -Geoffrey made a fuss about it--a circumstance which lent a touch of impatience -to her distaste. He talked about the infant,--he wanted to know if she thought -her boy's eyes were like her own? and whether she would like him to be an artist -like his father? He talked about the boy's eyes, and Lionel's electric glances -were haunting her troubled soul; he babbled about the boy's future, when she was -enduring the tortures of Tantalus in her terrible longing for the past.</p> -<p>The child throve, and Geoffrey loved the little creature with a vigilant -affection curious and beautiful to see. When he felt that the hopes he had built -upon the infant, as a new and strong tie between himself and Margaret, as a -fresh source of interest, something to awaken her from her torpidity, were not -destined to be realised, he turned, in the intensity of his disappointment and -discomfiture, to the child itself; and sought--unconsciously it may be, at least -unavowedly to himself--to fill up the void in his heart, to restore the warmth -to his home, through the innocent medium of the baby. The child did not resemble -his mother, even after the difficult-to-be-discovered fashion of likenesses in -babyhood. When he opened his eyes, in the solemn and deliberate way in which -young children look out upon the mysterious world, they did not disclose violet -tints nor oval-shaped heavy lids; they were big brown eyes, like Geoffrey's, and -the soft rings of downy hair, which the nurse declared to be "the beautifullest -curls she ever see on an 'ead at 'is age," were not golden but dark brown. -Geoffrey held numerous conferences with the nurse about her charge, and might be -found many times in the day making his way with elaborate caution, and the -noiseless step which is a characteristic of big men, up the nursery stair; and -seen by the curious, had there been any to come there, gazing at the infant -lying in his cradle, or on his nurse's knee, with a wistful rueful expression, -and his hands buried in the pockets of his painting-coat.</p> -<p>He never found Margaret in the nursery on any of these occasions, and she -never evinced the slightest interest in the nursery government, or responded to -any of his ebullitions of feeling on the subject. Of course the servants were -not slow to notice the indifference of the mother, and to comment upon it with -unreserved severity. Margaret was not a favourite at any time--"master" being -perfection in their minds--and her cold reserve and apathy impressing the -domestics, who could not conceive that "a good home" could be despicable in even -the most beautiful eyes, very unfavourably.</p> -<p>Margaret was arraigned before the domestic tribunal, unknown to herself; -though, had she known it, the circumstance would have made no impression upon -her. Her cold pride would at all times have rendered her indifferent to opinion; -and now that indifference, weariness, and distaste had entire possession of her, -she had not even cared to hide the dreary truth from her husband's mother and -sister. What had become of her resolutions with regard to them? Where were her -first impulses of gratitude? Gone--sunk in the Dead Sea of her overmastering -passion--utterly lost beneath the tide of her conscienceless selfishness. She -could not strive, she could not pretend, she could not play any part longer. Why -should she, to whom such talk was twaddle of the trashiest description, try to -appear interested because she had given birth to Geoffrey's child? Well, there -was the child; let them make much of it, and talk nonsense to it and about it. -What was Geoffrey's child to her, or Geoffrey's mother, or--she had gone very -near to saying Geoffrey himself either, but something dimly resembling a pang of -conscience stopped her. He was very good, very honest, very kind; and she was -almost sorry for him,--as nearly sorry as she could be for any but herself; and -then the tide of that sorrow for herself dashed over and swept all these -trifling scraps of vague regret, of perhaps elementary remorse, away on its -tumultuous waves.</p> -<p>She was cursed with such keen memory, she was haunted with such a terrible -sense of contrast! Had it been more dreadful, more agonising, when she was a -wanderer in the pitiless streets,--starving, homeless, dying of sheer want; when -the bodily suffering she endured was so great that it benumbed her mind, and -deadened it to all but craving for food and shelter? The time of this terrible -experience lay so far in the past now, that she had begun to forget the reality -of the torture; she had begun to undervalue its intensity, and to think that she -had purchased rescue too dear. Too dead--she, whose glance could not fall around -her without resting on some memorial of the love she had won; she, whose daily -life was sheltered from every breath of ill and care! She had always been weary; -now she was growing enraged. Like the imprisoned creatures of the desert and the -jungle, in whom long spells of graceful apathetic repose are succeeded by fierce -fits of rebellious struggle, she strove and fought with the gentle merciful fate -which had brought her into this pretty prison and supplied her with dainty daily -fare. It had all been bearable--at least until now--and she had borne it well, -and never turned upon her keeper. But the wind had set from the lands of sun and -fragrance, from the desert whose sands were golden, whose wells were the -sparkling waters of life and love, and she had scented the old perfume in the -breeze. All the former instincts revived, the slight chain of formal uncongenial -habit fell away, and in the strength of passion and beauty she rebelled against -her fate. Perhaps the man she loved and longed for, as the sick long for health -or the shipwrecked for a sail, had never seen her look so beautiful as she -looked one day, when, after Mrs. Ludlow and her daughter, who had come to lunch -at Elm Lodge, had gone away, and Geoffrey, puzzled and mortified more than ever, -had returned to his painting-room, she stood by the long window of the -drawing-room, gazing out over the trim little space which bloomed with flowers -and glowed in the sunshine, with eyes which seemed indeed as if their vision -cleft distance and disdained space. Her cheeks, usually colourless, were touched -with a faint rose-tinge; and the hurry and excitement of her thoughts seemed to -pervade her whole frame, which was lighted by the rays of the afternoon sun, -from the rich coils of her red-gold hair to the restless foot which tapped the -carpet angrily. As she stood, varying expressions flitted over her face like -clouds; but in them all there was an intensity new to it, and which would have -told an observer that the woman who looked so was taking a resolution.</p> -<p>Suddenly she lifted her hands above her head to the full extent of her arms, -then tore the twisted fingers asunder with a moan, as if of pain or hunger, and -letting them fall by her side, flung herself into a chair.</p> -<p>"Have you heard any thing of Lord Caterham lately?" asked Mrs. Geoffrey -Ludlow of her husband, a few days after his mother's visit, just as Geoffrey, -having breakfasted, was about to retire to his painting-room. She asked the -question in the most careless possible manner, and without removing her eyes -from the <i>Times</i>, which she was reading; but Geoffrey was pleased that she -should have asked it at all,--any sign of interest on Margaret's part in any one -for whom he cared being still precious to Geoffrey, and becoming rarer and more -rare.</p> -<p>"No, dear," he replied; "Annie said she would write as soon as Lord Caterham -should be well enough to see me. I suppose I may tell her, then, that she may -come and see you. You are quite well now, Margaret?"</p> -<p>"O yes, quite well," she replied; and then added, with the faintest flicker -of colour on her cheek, "Lord Caterham's brother is not at home, I believe. Have -you ever seen him?"</p> -<p>"Captain Brakespere? No, net I. There's something wrong about him. I don't -understand the story, but Annie just mentioned that Lord Caterham had been in -great distress about him. Well, Margaret, I'm off now to the Esplanade."</p> -<p>He looked wistfully at her; but she did not speak or lift up her eyes, and he -went out of the room.</p> -<p>If there was trouble of the silent and secret kind in Geoffrey's home, there -was also discontent of the outspoken sort at his mother's cheerful house in -Brompton.</p> -<p>Mrs. Ludlow was wholly unprepared to find that Margaret cared so little for -her child. It was with no small indignation that she commented upon Margaret's -demeanour, as she and her daughter sat together; and deeper than her indignation -lay her anxiety, and a vague apprehension of evil in store for her darling son.</p> -<p>"She is sulky and discontented,--that's what she is," repeated Mrs. Ludlow; -"and what she can want or wish for that she has not got passes my -comprehension."</p> -<p>Miss Ludlow said that perhaps it was only accidental. She would be sorry to -think Margaret had such faults of temper to any confirmed degree. It would be -dreadful for dear old Geoff, who was so sweet-tempered himself, and who never -could understand unamiable persons. But she added she did not think Geoff -perceived it. She was sure he would never think that Margaret was not fond of -the child.</p> -<p>"O yes, he does perceive it," said Mrs. Ludlow; "I can see that very plainly; -I saw it in his face when he came up to the nursery with us, and she never -offered to stir; and did you not notice, Til, that when I asked her what the -doctor said about vaccinating baby, she looked at me quite vacantly, and -Geoffrey answered? Ah, no; he knows it well enough, poor fellow; and how ever he -is to get through life with a woman with a bad temper and no heart, I'm sure I -can't tell."</p> -<p>Geoffrey had never relaxed in his attention to his mother. In the early days -of his marriage, when he had persuaded himself that there was nothing in the -least disappointing in Margaret's manner, and that he was perfectly happy; in -those days to which he looked back now, in the chill dread and discomfort of the -present, as to vanished hours of Paradise, he had visited his mother, sent her -presents, written short cheery notes to her and Til, and done every thing in his -power to lesson their sense of the inevitable separation which his marriage had -brought about. His love and his happiness had had no hardening or narrowing -effect upon Geoffrey Ludlow. They had quickened his perceptions and added -delicacy to his sympathies. But there was a difference now. Geoffrey felt -unwilling to see his mother and sister; he felt that their perception of -Margaret's conduct had been distinct, and their disapproval complete; and he -shrank from an interview which must include avoidance of the subject occupying -all their minds. He would not willingly have had Margaret blamed, even by -implication by others; though there was something more like anger than he had -ever felt or thought he could feel towards her in his gentle heart, as he -yielded to the conviction that she had no love for her child.</p> -<p>Thus it happened that Geoffrey did not see his mother and sister for a week -just at this time, during which interval there was no change in the state of -affairs at home. He wrote, indeed, to Til, and made cheery mention of the boy -and of his picture, which was getting on splendidly, and at which he was working -so hard that he could not manage to get so far as Brompton for a day or two yet, -but would go very soon; and Margaret sent her love. So Geoffrey made out a -letter which might have been written by a blundering schoolboy--a letter over -which his mother bent sad and boding looks, and Til had a "good cry." Though -Geoffrey had not visited them lately, the ladies had not been altogether -deprived of the society of men and artists. The constancy with which Charley -Potts paid his respects was quite remarkable; and it fell out that, seeing -Matilda rather out of spirits, and discerning that something was going wrong, -Charley very soon extracted from Til what that something was, and they proceeded -to exchange confidences on the subject of Geoffrey and his beautiful wife. -Charley informed Matilda that none of "our fellows" who had been introduced to -Mrs. Geoffrey liked her; and as for Stompff, "he hates her all out, you know," -said the plain-spoken Charley; "but I don't mind that, for she's a lady, and -Stompff--he--he's a beast, you know."</p> -<p>When Geoffrey could no longer defer a visit to his mother without the risk of -bringing about questions and expostulations which must make the state of things -at home openly known, and place him in the embarrassing position of being -obliged to avow an estrangement for which he could assign no cause, he went to -Brompton. The visit was not a pleasant one, though the mother and sister were -even more demonstrative in their affectionate greeting than usual, and though -they studiously avoided any reference to the subject in their minds and in his. -But this was just what he dreaded; they did studiously avoid it; and by doing so -they confirmed all his suspicions, they realised all his fears. Geoffrey did not -even then say to himself that his marriage was a mistake, and his mother and -sister had discovered it; but had his thoughts, his misgivings been put into -words, they must have taken some such shape. They talked energetically about the -child, and asked Geoff all sorts of feminine questions, which it would have -affected a male listener rather oddly to have heard Geoff answer with perfect -seriousness, and a thorough acquaintance with details. He had several little -bits of news for them; how Mr. Stompff, reminiscent of his rather obtrusive -promise, had sent the clumsiest, stumpiest, ugliest lump of a silver mug -procurable in London as a present to the child, but had not presented himself at -Elm Lodge; how Miss Maurice had been so delighted with the little fellow, and -had given him a beautiful embroidered frock, and on Lord Caterham's behalf -endowed him with a salver "big enough to serve himself up upon, mother," said -Geoff, with his jolly laugh: "I put him on it, and carried him round the room -for Annie to see."</p> -<p>Beyond the inevitable inquiries, there was no mention made of Margaret; but -when his mother kissed him at parting, and when Til lingered a moment longer -than usual, with her arms round his neck, at the door, Geoffrey felt the depth -and bitterness of the trouble that had come into his life more keenly, more -chillingly than he had felt it yet.</p> -<p>"This shall not last," he said, as he walked slowly towards home, his head -bent downwards, and all his features clouded with the gloom that had settled -upon him. "This shall not last any longer. I have done all I can; if she is -unhappy, it is not my fault; but I must know why. I cannot bear it; I have not -deserved it. I will keep silence no longer. She must explain what it means."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> - <h4><a name="div2_15" href="#div2Ref_15">CHAPTER XV.</a></h4> -<h5>LADY BEAUPORT'S PLOT COLLAPSES.</h5> -<br> - <p>Although the flame of life, at its best a feeble flicker, now -brightened by a little gust of hope, now deadened by an access of despair,--had -begun steadily to lessen in Lord Caterham's breast, and he felt, with that -consciousness which never betrays, that his interest in this world, small as it -had been, was daily growing less, he had determined to prevent the execution of -one act which he knew would be terribly antagonistic to the welfare of her whom -his heart held dearest. We, fighting the daily battle of life, going forth each -morning to the encounter, returning each eve with fresh dints on our harness, -new notches in our swords, and able to reckon up the cost and the advantages -gained by the day's combat, are unable to appreciate the anxieties and -heart-burnings, the longings and the patience of those whom we leave behind us -as a <i>corps de reserve</i>, apparently inactive, but in reality partaking of -all the worst of the contest without the excitement of sharing it. The conflict -that was raging amongst the Beauport family was patent to Caterham; he saw the -positions taken up by the contending parties, had his own shrewd opinion as to -their being tenable or the reverse, calmly criticised the various points of -strategy, and laid his plans accordingly. In this it was an advantage to him -that he was out of the din and the shouting and the turmoil of the battle; -nobody thought of him, any more than any one in the middle of an action thinks -of the minister in his office at home, by whom the despatches are written, and -who in reality pulls the strings by which the man in scarlet uniform and -gold-laced cocked-hat is guided, and to whom he is responsible. Lord Caterham -was physically unfitted for the conduct of strategic operations, but he was -mentally qualified for the exercise of diplomacy in the highest degree; and -diplomacy was required in the present juncture.</p> -<p>In his solitary hours he had been accustomed to recal his past life in its -apparently insignificant, but to him important ramifications;--the red south -wall is the world to the snail that has never known other resting-place;--and in -these days of illness and languor he reverted more and more to his old means of -passing the time. A dull retrospect--a weary going over and over again of -solitude, depression, and pain. Thoughts long since forgotten recurred to him as -in the silence of the night he passed in review the petty incidents of his -uneventful career. He recollected the burning shame which had first possessed -him at the knowledge of his own deformity; the half envy, half wonder, with -which he had gazed at other lads of his own age; the hope that had dawned upon -him that his parents and friends might feel for him something of the special -love with which Tiny Tim was regarded in that heartfullest of all stories, <i> -The Christmas Carol</i>; how that wondrous book had charmed him, when, a boy of -ten or twelve years old, he had first read it; how, long before it had been seen -by either his father or mother, he had studied and wept over it; how, prompted -by a feeling which he could not analyse, he had induced Lord Beauport to read -it, how he knew--intuitively, he was never told--that it had been shown to his -mother; and how that Christmastide he had been treated with consideration and -affection never before accorded to him--had been indeed preferred to Lionel, -greatly to that young gentleman's astonishment and disgust. It did not last -long, that halcyon time; the spells of the romancer held the practical father -and the fashionable mother in no lengthened thrall; and when they were -dissipated, there was merely a crippled, deformed, blighted lad as their eldest -hope and the heir to their honours. Tiny Tim borne aloft on his capering -father's shoulders; Tiny Tim in his grave,--these were images to wring the heart -not unpleasantly, and to fill the eyes with tears of which one was rather proud, -as proof of how easily the heart was wrung: but for a handsome couple--one known -as a <i>beau garçon</i>, the other as a beauty--to have to face the stern fact -that their eldest son was a cripple was any thing but agreeable.</p> -<p>Untrusted--that was it. Never from his earliest days could he recollect what -it was to have trust reposed in him. He knew--he could not help knowing--how -superior he was in ability and common-sense to any in that household; he knew -that his father at least was perfectly aware of this; and yet that Lord Beauport -could not disconnect the idea of bodily decrepitude and mental weakness; and -therefore looked upon his eldest son as little more than a child in mind. As for -Caterham's mother, the want of any feeling in common between them, the utter -absence of any maternal tenderness, the manifest distaste with which she -regarded him, and the half-wearied, half-contemptuous manner in which she put -aside the attempts he made towards a better understanding between them, had long -since begun to tell upon him. There was a time when, smarting under her lifelong -neglect, and overcome by the utter sense of desolation weighing him down, he had -regarded his mother with a feeling bordering on aversion; then her presence, -occasionally bestowed upon him--always for her own purposes---awakened in him -something very like disgust. But he had long since conquered that: he had long -since argued himself out of that frame of mind. Self-commune had done its work; -the long, long days and nights of patient reflexion and self-examination, aided -by an inexplicable sense of an overhanging great change, had softened and -subdued all that had been temporarily hard and harsh in Lord Caterham's nature; -and there was no child, kneeling at its little bedside, whose "God bless dear -papa and mamma!" was more tenderly earnest than the blessing which the crippled -man constantly invoked on his parents.</p> -<p>He loved them in a grave, steady, reverential, dutiful way--loved them even -with greater warmth, with more complete fondness than he had done for years; but -his love never touched his instinct of justice--never warped his sense of what -was right. He remembered how, years before, he had been present, a mere boy, -sitting perched up in his wheelchair, apparently forgotten, in an obscure corner -of his father's study at Homershams, while Lord Beauport administered a terrific -"wigging," ending in threats of gaols and magistrates, to an unlucky wretch -accused of poaching by the head-keeper; and he recollected how, when the man had -been dismissed with a severe warning, he had talked to and argued with his -father, first on the offence, and then on Lord Beauport's administration of -justice, with an air of grave and earnest wisdom which had amused his father -exceedingly. He had held the same sentiments throughout his dreary life--he held -them now. He knew that a plot was formed by his mother to bring his brother -Lionel back to England, with a view to his marriage with Annie Maurice, and he -was determined that that plot should not succeed. Why? He had his reasons, as -they had theirs. To his own heart he confessed that he loved Annie with all the -depth of his soul; but that was not what prompted him in this matter. He should -be far removed from the troubling before that; but he had his reason, and he -should keep it to himself. They had not trusted in him, though they had been -compelled to take allies from the outside--dear old Algy Barford, for -instance--but they had not trusted him, and he would not reveal his secret. Was -Lionel to marry Annie Maurice, eh? No; that should never be. He might not be -there himself to prevent it; but he would leave behind him instructions with -some one, which would--Ah! he had hit upon the some one at once,--Geoffrey -Ludlow, Annie's oldest and dearest friend, honest as the day, brave and -disinterested; not a clever business man perhaps, but one who, armed with what -he could arm him with, must, with his sheer singleness of purpose, carry all -before him. So far, so good; but there would be a first step which they would -take perhaps before he could bring that weapon into play. His mother would -contrive to get Lionel into the house, on his return, to live with them, so that -he might have constant opportunities of access to Annie. That was a point in -which, as he gleaned, she placed the greatest confidence. If her Lionel had not -lost all the fascinating qualities which had previously so distinguished him; if -he preserved his looks and his address, this young girl--so inexperienced in the -world's ways, so warm-hearted and impressible--would have no choice but to -succumb.</p> -<p>Caterham would see about that at once. Lionel should never remain <i>en -permanence</i> in that house again. Lady Beauport would object of course. She -had, when she had set her mind upon an object, a steady perseverance in its -accomplishment; but neither her patience nor her diplomacy were comparable to -his, when he was equally resolved, as she should find. No; on that point at -least he was determined. His darling, his treasure, should not even be compelled -to run the gauntlet of such a sin-stained courtship as his brother Lionel's must -necessarily be. What might be awaiting her in the future, God alone knew: -temptations innumerable; pursuit by fortune-hunters: all those trials which -beset a girl who, besides being pretty and rich, has no blood-relative on whom -to reckon for counsel and aid. He would do his best to remedy this deficiency; -he would leave the fullest instructions, the warmest adjurations to good -Geoffrey Ludlow--ah! what a pity it was that Ludlow's wife was not more heartful -and reliable!--and he would certainly place a veto upon the notion that Lionel, -on his return, should become an inmate of the house. He knew that this must be -done quickly, and he determined to take the first opportunity that presented -itself. That opportunity was not long in coining; within ten days after -Margaret's fainting-fit, Lady. Beauport paid one of her rare maternal visits, -and Lord Caterham saw that his chance had arrived.</p> -<p>There was an extra glow of geniality in Lady Beauport's manner that morning, -and the frosty peck which she had made at her son's cheek had perhaps a trifle -more warmth in it than usual. She seated herself instead of standing, as was her -wont, and chatted pleasantly.</p> -<p>"What is this I hear about your having a lady fainting in your room, Arthur?" -said she, with one of her shiniest smiles. (What calumny they spread about -enamel! Lady Beauport smiled perpetually, and her complexion never cracked in -the slightest degree.) "You must not bring down scandal on our extremely proper -house. She did faint, didn't she?"</p> -<p>"O, yes, mother, she did faint undoubtedly--went what you call regularly -'off,' I believe."</p> -<p>"Ah! so Stephens told Timpson. Well, sir, don't you think that is -reprehensible enough? A lady comes to call on a bachelor, and is discovered -fainting! Why? Heaven knows--" and her ladyship gave an unpleasantly knowing -chuckle.</p> -<p>"Well, I must admit that no one knows, or ever will know why, save that the -lady was probably over-fatigued, having only just recovered from a serious -illness. But then, you know, the lady's husband was with her, so that--"</p> -<p>"O, yes, I heard all about that. You are a most prudent swain, Caterham! The -lady's husband with her, indeed! Most prudent! You always remind me of the -play--I don't know what it's called--something about a French milliner and a -screen--"</p> -<p>"'The School for Scandal,' you mean?"</p> -<p>"Very likely. Ive forgotten the name, but I know I recollect seeing Farren -and Miss Foote and all of them in it. And I so often think of the two brothers: -you so quiet and reserved, like one; and the other so rackety and buoyant, so -full of high spirits and gaiety, like our Lionel. Ah me!" and Lady Beauport -heaved a deep sigh and clasped her hands sadly in front of her.</p> -<p>Caterham smiled--rather a sad dreary smile--as he said, "Let us trust that -quiet and reserve don't always have the effect which they produced on the -gentleman to whom you are alluding, mother. But I may as well let you know the -real story of Mrs. Ludlow's fainting-fit, which seems to have become rather -warped in its journey. I had asked her husband to call upon me on a matter of -business; and he foolishly brought her--only just out of her confinement--with -him. The consequence was, that, as we were talking, and she was looking through -a book of photographs, she fainted away."</p> -<p>"Ay! I heard something of that sort. She must be a curious person to be so -easily affected, or it was thoughtless of her husband to bring her out too soon. -He is an odd kind of man though, is he not? Absent, and that kind of thing?"</p> -<p>"Ye-es; his heart is in his work, and he is generally thinking about it."</p> -<p>"So I had imagined. What odd people you know, Arthur! Your acquaintances all -seem such strange people--so different from your father's and mine!"</p> -<p>"Yes, mother," said Caterham, with a repetition of the sad smile; "perhaps -you're right generally. Your friends would scarcely care for me, and I am sure I -do not care for them. But Geoffrey Ludlow became known to me through his old -intimacy with Annie--our Annie."</p> -<p>"Ye-es. I scarcely know why 'our Annie,' though. You see, both your father -and I have many blood-relations, more or less distant, on either side; and it -would not be particularly convenient if the mere fact of their being -blood-relations compelled us to acknowledge them as 'ours.' Not that Ive any -thing to say against Miss Maurice, though; on the contrary, she's a very -charming girl. At one time I thought that--However, let that pass. She holds -quite a different position now; and I think every one will allow that my -treatment of her is what it should be."</p> -<p>"Of course, mother. No one would dream of doubting it."</p> -<p>"Well, perhaps not, Arthur; but you're such a recluse, you know, that you're -scarcely a judge of these things--one does not know what people won't say. The -world is so full of envy and jealousy, and all that, I'm sure my position in -regard to the matter is any thing but an agreeable one. Here I am, having to act -<i>chaperon</i> to this girl, who is known now as an heiress; and all kinds of -men paying her attention, simply on account of her wealth. What I suffer when -we're out together, you can't conceive. Every night, wherever we may be, there -is a certain set of men always hanging about her, waiting for an -introduction--persons whose acquaintance cannot do her the slightest good, and -with whom she is yet quite as willing to talk or to dance as she is with he most -available <i>parti</i> in London."</p> -<p>Caterham smiled again. "You forget, mother, that she's not accustomed to the -kind of life--"</p> -<p>"No; I don't forget anything of the kind, Arthur. It is her not being -accustomed to it that is my greatest trouble. She is as raw as a child of -seventeen Aft her first drawing-room. If she had any <i>savoir faire</i>, any -knowledge of society, I should be perfectly at ease. A girl of any appreciation -would know how to treat these people in an instant. Why, I know myself, that -when I was far younger than Miss Maurice, I should have felt a kind of -instinctive warning against two-thirds of the men with whom Annie Maurice is as -talkative and as pleasant as though they were really persons whose acquaintance -it was most desirable that she should make."</p> -<p>"And yet Annie is decidedly a clever girl."</p> -<p>"So much the worse, Arthur,--so much the worse. The more reason that she is -utterly unlikely to possess or to be able readily to acquire the peculiar -knowledge which would fit her to act under the circumstances of which I am -speaking. Your clever people--such at least as are called clever by you and -those whom you cultivate--are precisely the people who act idiotically in -worldly affairs, who either know nothing or who set at defiance the -<i>convenances</i> of society, and of whom nothing can be made. That man--no, -let me give you an example--that man who dined here last Thursday on your -invitation--Professor Somebody, wasn't he?--Ive heard of him at that place where -they give the scientific lectures in Albemarle Street--was any thing ever seen -like his cravat, or his shoes, or the way in which he ate his soup?--he trod on -my dress twice in going down to dinner, and I heard perfectly plainly what Lady -Clanronald said to that odious Mr. Beauchamp Hogg about him."</p> -<p>"My father spoke to me in the highest terms about--"</p> -<p>"Of course he did; that's just it. Your father knows nothing about this sort -of thing. It all falls upon me. If Annie Maurice were to make a <i>mésalliance</i>, -or, without going so far as that, were to permit herself to be engaged to some -penniless fortune-hunter, and were to refuse--as she very likely would, for she -has an amount of obstinacy in her composition, I am inclined to think, which one -very seldom finds--to listen to the remonstrances of those whose opinion ought -to have weight with her, it is I, not your father, who would be blamed by the -world."</p> -<p>"Your troubles certainly seem greater, mother, than I, in my bachelor -ignorance, could have imagined."</p> -<p>"They are not comprehensible, even after my explanation, Arthur, by those who -have not to undergo them. There is scarcely any thing in my married life which -has given me such pleasure as the thought that, having no daughters, I should be -relieved of all duties of chaperonage; that I should not be compelled to go to -certain places unless I wished; and that I should be able to leave others at -what hours I liked. And now I find this very duty incumbent upon me."</p> -<p>"Well, but, my dear mother, surely Annie is the very last girl in the world -for whom it is necessary to make any such sacrifices. She does not care about -going out; and when out, she seems, from all she says to me, to have only one -anxiety, and that is--to get home again as soon as possible."</p> -<p>"Ay, from all she says to you, Arthur; but then you know, as Ive said before, -you are a regular old bachelor, without the power of comprehending these things, -and to whom a girl certainly would not be likely to show her real feelings. No; -there's only one way to relieve me from my responsibility."</p> -<p>"And that is--"</p> -<p>"And that is by getting her married."</p> -<p>"A-ah!" Caterham drew a long breath--it was coming now.</p> -<p>"Married," continued Lady Beauport, "to some one whom we know, and in whom we -could trust; some one who would keep her near us, so that we could still keep up -an interest in her; and you--for I know how very much attached you are to her, -Arthur--could see her constantly, without trouble to yourself. That is the only -manner in which I can see a conclusion to my anxiety on Annie's account."</p> -<p>Lady Beauport endeavoured to speak in the same tone in which she had -commenced the conversation; but there was a quiver in her voice and a tremulous -motion in her hands which showed Caterham plainly that she was ill at ease.</p> -<p>"And do you think that such a husband would be easily found for Annie, -mother?" said he, looking up at her with one of his steady piercing glances from -under his eyebrows.</p> -<p>"Not easily, of course; but still to be found, Arthur."</p> -<p>"From your manner, you seem to have already given the subject some attention. -May I ask if you have any one in prospect who would fulfil all the conditions -you have laid down in the first place, and in the second would be likely to be -acceptable to Annie?"</p> -<p>"How very singular you are, Arthur! You speak in a solemn tone, as if this -were the most important matter in the world."</p> -<p>"It is sufficiently important to Annie at least. Would you mind answering -me?"</p> -<p>Lady Beauport saw that it was useless fighting off the explanation any -further. Her project must be disclosed now, however it might be received by her -eldest son; and she determined to bring her stateliest and most dignified manner -to its disclosure: so she composed her face to its usual cold statuesque -calmness, folded her wandering hands before her, and in a voice in which there -was neither break nor tremor, said:</p> -<p>"No: I will answer you quite straightforwardly. I think that it would be an -admirable thing for all parties if a marriage could be arranged between Annie -Maurice and your brother Lionel. Lionel has position, and is a -distinguished-looking man, of whom any woman might be proud; and the fortune -which Mr. Ampthill so oddly left to Miss Maurice will enable him to hold his own -before the world, and--how strangely you look, Caterham!--what is the -matter?--what were you about to say?"</p> -<p>"Only one thing, mother--that marriage must never be."</p> -<p>"Must never be!"</p> -<p>"Never. Hear me out. I have kept accurate account of all you have said, and -will judge you in the first place simply out of your own mouth. Your first point -was that Miss Maurice should be married to some one whom we knew, and whom we -could trust. Could we trust Lionel? Could we trust the man whose father's head -was bowed to the dust, whose mother's eyes were filled with tears at the mere -recital of his deeds of sin and shame? Could we trust the man who was false to -his friend, and who dragged down into the dirt not merely himself, but all who -bore his name? You spoke of his position--what is that, may I ask? Are we to -plume ourselves on our relationship with an outcast? or are we to hold out as an -inducement to the heiress the fact that her intended husband's liberty is at the -mercy of those whom he has swindled and defrauded?"</p> -<p>"Caterham! Arthur! you are mad--you--"</p> -<p>"No, mother, I am simply speaking the truth. I should not even have insisted -on that in all its bitterness, had I not been goaded to it by your words. You -talk of devoting the fortune which Annie Maurice has inherited to setting Lionel -right before the world, and you expect me to sit quietly by! Why, the merest -instincts of justice would have made me cry out against such a monstrous -proposition, even if Lionel had not long since forfeited, as Annie has long -since won, all my love."</p> -<p>"A-h!" said Lady Beauport, suddenly pausing in her tears, and looking up at -him,--"long since won all your love, eh? I have often suspected that, Caterham; -and now you have betrayed yourself. It is jealousy then,--mere personal -jealousy,--by which all your hatred of your younger brother is actuated!"</p> -<p>Once more the dreary smile came over Lord Caterham's face. "No, mother," said -he, "it is not that. I love Annie Maurice as I love the sun, as I love health, -as I love rest from pain and weariness; and with about as much hope of winning -either. You could confer on me no greater happiness than by showing me the man -deserving of her love; and the thought that her future would have a chance of -being a happy one would relieve my life of its heaviest anxiety. But marry -Lionel she shall not; nay, more, she shall not be exposed to the chance of -communication with him, so long as I can prevent it."</p> -<p>"You forget yourself, Lord Caterham! You forget not merely whose house you -are in, but to whom you are speaking."</p> -<p>"I trust not, mother. I trust I shall never--certainly not now, at this -time--forget my duty to you and to my father; but I know more than I can ever -divulge even to you. Take for granted what I tell you; let what you know of -Lionel's ways and conduct suffice to prove that a marriage between him and Annie -is impossible,--that you would be culpable in lending yourselves to such a -scheme."</p> -<p>"I have not the least idea of what you are talking about, Arthur," said Lady -Beauport after a minute's pause. "You appear to have conceived some ridiculous -idea about your brother Lionel, into the discussion of which you must really -excuse my following you. Besides, even if you had good grounds for all you say, -you are too late in making the remonstrance. Lionel arrived in England the day -before yesterday."</p> -<p>Lord Caterham started, and by the help of his stick raised himself for a -moment.</p> -<p>"Lionel returned! Lionel in England, mother! After all his promises, after -the strict conditions on which my father purchased for him immunity from the -penalties of his crime! How is this? Does Lord Beauport know it?"</p> -<p>Lady Beauport hesitated. She had been betrayed by her vexation into saying -more than she had intended, and had placed Lionel in his brother's power. Lord -Caterham, she had hoped, would have received her confidence in a different -spirit,--perhaps she had calculated on his being flattered by its novelty,--and -would assist her in breaking the fact of the prodigal's return to his father, -and winning him over to her way of thinking. She had by no means forgotten the -painful solemnity with which the Earl had renounced Lionel, and the formal -sentence of exclusion which had been passed against him; but Lady Beauport -understood her husband well, and had managed him with tolerable success for many -years. He had forbidden all mention of their son to her, as to every other -member of the family; but Lady Beauport had been in the habit of insinuating an -occasional mention of him for some time past; and it had not been badly -received. Perhaps neither the father nor the mother would have acknowledged to -themselves or to each other the share in this change of feeling which belonged -to the unmistakable daily decline of Lord Caterham's health. They never alluded -to the future, but they saw it, and it influenced them both. Lady Beauport had -not looked for Lionel's return so soon; she had expected more patience--it might -have been appropriately called more decency--from him; she had thought her -difficulties would be much lessened before his return; but he had neglected her -injunctions, and forestalled her instructions: he had arrived,--there was no -help for it; she must meet the difficulty now. She had been meeting -difficulties, originating from the same source, for many years; and though -Caterham's manner annoyed her deeply, she kept her courage up. Her first -instinct was to evade her son's last question, by assuming an injured tone in -reference to his first. So she said,</p> -<p>"O, it's all very well to talk about his promises, Arthur; but, really, how -you could expect Lionel to remain in Australia I cannot understand."</p> -<p>"I did not, and I do not, form any expectations whatever concerning Lionel, -mother," her son replied, in a steady voice, and without releasing her from his -gaze; "that is beside the question. Lionel has broken his pledged word to my -father by returning here,--you know he has,--and he has not given any career a -fair trial. I can guess the expectations with which he has returned," he -continued in a bitter tone; "and God knows I trust they are not unfounded. But -my place is not vacant <i>yet</i>; and he has forfeited his own. You cannot -restore it to him. Why has he returned?"</p> -<p>Lady Beauport did not dare to say, "Because I wrote to him, and told him to -come home, and marry Annie Maurice, and buy the world's fickle favour over again -with her money, while waiting for yours;" but her silence said it for her; and -Caterham let his eyes drop from her face in disgust, as he coldly said,</p> -<p>"Once more, madam, I ask you, is my father aware that Lionel is in London?"</p> -<p>"No," she replied boldly, seeing things were at the worst; "he is not. I tell -you, Caterham, if you tell him, before I have time and opportunity to break it -to him, and set your father against him, and on keeping his word just as a point -of pride, I will never forgive you. What good could it do you? What harm has -Lionel done you? How could he stay in that horrid place? He's not a tradesman, I -should think; and what could he <i>do</i> there? nor an Irishman, I hope; so -what could he <i>be</i> there? The poor boy was perfectly miserable; and when I -told him to come lit, me, I thought you'd help me, Arthur,--I did indeed."</p> -<p>A grave sad smile passed over Lord Caterham's worn face. Here was his proud -mother trying to cajole him for the sake of the profligate son who had never -felt either affection or respect for her. Had a less object been at stake he -might have yielded to the weakness which he rather pitied than despised; yielded -all the more readily that it would not be for long. But Annie's peace, Annie's -welfare was in danger, and his mother's weakness could meet with no toleration -at his hands.</p> -<p>"Listen to me, mother," he said; "and let this be no more mentioned between -us. I am much exhausted to-day, and have little strength at any time; but my -resolve is unshaken. I will not inform my father of Lionel's return, if you -think you can manage to tell him, and to induce him to take it without anger -more successfully than I can. But while I live Lionel Brakespere shall never -live in the same house with Annie Maurice; and whether I am living or dead, I -will prevent his ever making her his wife. This is her proper home; and I will -do my best to secure her remaining in it; but how long do you suppose she would -stay, if she heard the plans you have formed?" Lady Beauport attempted to speak, -but he stopped her. "One moment more, mother," he said, "and I have done. Let me -advise you to deceive my father no more for Lionel. He is easily managed, I have -no doubt, by those whom he loves and admires; but he is impatient of deceit, -being very loyal himself. Tell him without delay what you have done; but do not, -if even he takes it better than you hope, and that you think such a suggestion -would be safe,--do not suggest that Lionel should come here. Let me, for my -little time, be kept from any collision with my father. I ask this of you, -mother." O, how the feeble voice softened, and the light in the eyes deepened! -"And my requests are neither frequent nor hard to fulfil, I think."</p> -<p>He had completely fathomed her purpose; he had seen the projects she had -formed, even while he was speaking the first sentences; and had defeated them. -By a violent effort she controlled her temper,--perhaps she had never made so -violent an effort, even for Lionel, before,--and answered,--</p> -<p>"I hardly understand you, Arthur; but perhaps you are right. At all events, -you agree to say nothing to your father,--to leave it to me?"</p> -<p>"Certainly," said Caterham. He had won the day; but his mother's manner had -no sign of defeat about it, no more than it had sign of softening. She rose, and -bade him goodmorning. He held her hand for a moment, and his eyes followed her -wistfully, as she went out of his room.</p> -<p>As she passed through the passage, just outside her son's door she saw a -stout keen-looking man sitting on the bench, who rose and bowed as she passed.</p> -<p>When Stephens answered the bell, he found his master lying back, bloodless -and almost fainting. After he had administered the usual restoratives, and when -life seemed flowing back again, the valet said,</p> -<p>"Inspector Blackett, my lord, outside."</p> -<p>Lord Caterham made a sign with his hand, and the stout man entered.</p> -<p>"The usual story, Blackett, I suppose?"</p> -<p>"Sorry to say so, my lord. No news. Two of my men tried Maidstone again -yesterday, and Canterbury, thinking they were on the scent there; but no signs -of her."</p> -<p>"Very good, Blackett," said Caterham faintly; "don't give in yet."</p> -<p>Then, as the door closed behind the inspector, the poor sufferer looked up -heavenward and muttered, "O Lord, how long--how long?"</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> - <h4><a name="div3_00" href="#div3Ref_00">Book the Third </a></h4> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> - <h4><a name="div3_01" href="#div3Ref_01">CHAPTER I.</a></h4> -<h5>THE WHOLE TRUTH.</h5> -<br> - <p>No one who knew Geoffrey Ludlow would have recognised him in the -round-shouldered man with the prone head, the earth-seeking eyes, the hands -plunged deeply in his pockets, plodding home on that day on which he had -determined that Margaret should give him an explanation of her conduct towards -him. Although Geoff had never been a roisterer, had never enlisted in that army -of artists whose members hear "the chimes o'midnight," had always been -considered more or less slow and steady, and was looked upon as one of the most -respectable representatives of the community, yet his happy disposition had -rendered him a general favourite even amongst those ribalds, and his equable -temper and kindly geniality were proverbial among all the brethren of the brush. -Ah, that equable temper, that kindly geniality,--where were they now? Those -expanded nostrils, those closed lips, spoke of very different feelings; that -long steady stride was very different from the joyous step which had provoked -the cynicism of the City-bound clerks; that puckered brow, those haggard cheeks, -could not be recognised as the facial presentments of the Geoffrey Ludlow of a -few short months since.</p> -<p>In good sooth he was very much altered. The mental worrying so long striven -against in silence had begun to tell upon his appearance; the big broad -shoulders had become rounded; the gait had lost its springy elasticity, the face -was lined, and the dark-brown hair round the temples and the long full beard -were dashed with streaks of silver. These changes troubled him but little. -Never, save perhaps during the brief period of his courtship of Margaret, had he -given the smallest thought to his personal appearance; yellow soap and cold -water had been his cosmetics, and his greatest sacrifice to vanity had been to -place himself at rare intervals under the hairdresser's scissors. But there were -other changes to which, try as he might, he could not blind himself. He knew -that the very source and fount of his delight was troubled, if not sullied; he -knew that all his happiness, so long wished for, so lately attained, was -trembling in the balance; he felt that indefinable, indescribable sensation of -something impending, something which would shatter his roof-tree and break up -that home so recently established. As he plunged onward through the seething -streets, looking neither to the right nor to the left, he thought vaguely of the -events of the last few months of his life--thought of them, regarding them as a -dream. How long was it since he was so happy at home with his old mother and -with Til? when the monthly meeting of the Titians caused his greatest -excitement, and when his hopes of fame were yet visionary and indistinct? How -long was it since he had met <i>her</i> that fearful night, and had drunk of the -beauty and the witchery which had had such results? He was a man now before the -world with a name which people knew and respected, with a wife whose beauty -people admired; but, ah! where was the quietude, the calm unpretending happiness -of those old days?</p> -<p>What could it mean? Had she a wish ungratified? He taxed his mind to run -through all the expressions of her idle fancy, but could think of none with -which he had not complied. Was she ill? He had made that excuse for her before -her baby was born; but now, not merely the medical testimony, but his own -anxious scrutiny told him that she was in the finest possible health. There was -an odd something about her sometimes which he could not make out--an odd way of -listening vacantly, and not replying to direct questions, which he had noticed -lately, and only lately; but that might be a part of her idiosyncrasy. Her -appetite too was scarcely as good as it used to be; but in all other respects -she seemed perfectly well. There might have been some difficulty with his mother -and sister, he had at first imagined; but the old lady had been wonderfully -complaisant; and Til and Margaret, when they met, seemed to get on excellently -together. To be sure his mother had assumed the reins of government during -Margaret's confinement, and held them until the last moment compatible with -decency; but her <i>régime</i> had been over long since; and Margaret was the -last person to struggle for power so long as all trouble was taken off her -hands. Had the neighbours slighted her, she might have had some cause for -complaint; but the neighbours were every thing that was polite, and indeed at -the time of her illness had shown her attention meriting a warmer term. What -could it mean? Was there-- No; he crushed out the idea as soon as it arose in -his mind. There could not be any question about--any one else--preying on her -spirits? The man, her destroyer--who had abandoned and deserted her--was far -away; and she was much too practical a woman not to estimate all his conduct at -its proper worth. No amount of girlish romance could survive the cruel schooling -which his villany had subjected her to; and there was no one else whom she had -seen who could have had any influence over her. Besides, at the first, when he -had made his humble proffer of love, she had only to have told him that it could -not be, and he would have taken care that her future was provided for--if not as -it had been, at all events far beyond the reach of want. O, no, that could not -be.</p> -<p>So argued Geoff with himself--brave, honest, simple old Geoff, with the heart -of a man and the guilelessness of a child. So he argued, determining at the same -time that he would pluck out the heart of the mystery at once, whatever might be -at its root; any thing would be better than this suspense preying on him daily, -preventing him from doing his work, and rendering him moody and miserable.</p> -<p>But before he reached his home his resolution failed, and his heart sunk -within him. What if Margaret were silent and preoccupied? what if the occasional -gloom upon her face became more and more permanent? Had not her life been full -of sorrow? and was it wonderful that the remembrance of it from time to time -came over her? She had fearlessly confided her whole story to him; she had given -him time to reflect on it before committing himself to her; and would it be -generous, would it be even just, to call her to account now for freaks of -behaviour engendered doubtless in the memory of that bygone time? After all, -what was the accusation against her? None. Had there been the smallest trace of -levity in her conduct, how many eyebrows were there ready to be lifted--how many -shoulders waiting to be shrugged! But there was nothing of the kind; all that -could be said about her was that,--all that could be said about her--now he -thought it over, nothing was said about her; all that was hinted was that her -manner was cold and impassable; that she took no interest in what was going on -around her, and that therefore there must be something wrong. There is always -something to be complained of. If her manner had been light and easy, they would -have called her a flirt, and pitied him for having married a woman so utterly -ill-suited to his staid habits. He knew so little of her when he married her, -that he ran every kind of risk as to what she might really prove to be; and on -reflection he thought he had been exceedingly lucky. She might have been giddy, -vulgar, loud, presuming, extravagant; whereas she was simply reserved and -undemonstrative,--nothing more. He had been a fool in thinking of her as he had -done during the last few weeks; he had,--without her intending it doubtless, for -she was an excellent woman,--he had taken his tone in this matter from his -mother, with whom Margaret was evidently no favourite, and--there, never -mind--it was at an end now. She was his own darling wife, his lovely companion, -merely to sit and look at whom was rapturous delight to a man of his keen -appreciation of the beauty of form and colour; and as to her coldness and -reserve, it was but a temporary mannerism, which would soon pass away.</p> -<p>So argued Geoffrey Ludlow with himself,--brave, honest, simple old Geoff, -with the heart of a man, and the guilelessness of a child.</p> -<p>So happy was he under the influence of his last thought, that he longed to -take Margaret to his heart at once, and without delay to make trial of his -scheme for dissipating her gloom; but when he reached home, the servant told him -that her mistress had gone out very soon after he himself had left that morning, -and had not yet returned. So he went through into the studio, intending to work -at his picture; but when he got there he sunk down into a chair, staring -vacantly at the lay-figure, arranged as usual in a preposterous attitude, and -thinking about Margaret. Rousing himself, he found his palette, and commenced to -set it; but while in the midst of this task, he suddenly fell a-thinking again, -and stood there mooning, until the hope of doing any work was past, and the -evening shadows were falling on the landscape. Then he put up his palette and -his brushes, and went into the dining-room. He walked to the window, but had -scarcely reached it, when he saw a cab drive up. The man opened the door, and -Margaret descended, said a few hasty words to the driver, who touched his hat -and fastened on his horse's nosebag, and approached the house with rapid steps.</p> -<p>From his position in the window, he had noticed a strange light in her eyes -which he had never before seen there, a bright hectic flush on her cheek, a -tight compression of her lips. When she entered the room he saw that in his -first hasty glance he had not been deceived; that the whole expression of her -face had changed from its usual state of statuesque repose, and was now stern, -hard, and defiant.</p> -<p>He was standing in the shadow of the window-curtain, and she did not see him -at first; but throwing her parasol on the table, commenced pacing the room. The -lamp was as yet unlit, and the flickering firelight--now glowing a deep dull -red, now leaping into yellow flame--gave an additional weirdness to the set -intensity of her beautiful face. Gazing at her mechanically walking to and fro, -her head supported by one hand, her eyes gleaming, her hair pushed back off her -face, Geoffrey again felt that indescribable sinking at his heart; and there was -something of terror in the tone in which, stepping forward, he uttered her -name--"Margaret!"</p> -<p>In an instant she stopped in her walk, and turning towards the place whence -the voice came, said, "You there, Geoffrey?"</p> -<p>"Yes, darling,--who else? I was standing at the window when the cab drove up, -and saw you get out. By the way, you've not sent away the cab, love; is he -paid?"</p> -<p>"No, not yet,--he will--let him stay a little."</p> -<p>"Well, but why keep him up here, my child, where there is no chance of his -getting a return-fare? Better pay him and let him go. I'll go and pay him!" and -he was leaving the room.</p> -<p>"Let him stay, please," said Margaret in her coldest tones; and Geoffrey -turned back at once. But as he turned he saw a thrill run through her, and -marked the manner in which she steadied her hand on the mantelpiece on which she -was leaning. In an instant he was by her side.</p> -<p>"You are ill, my darling?" he exclaimed. "You have done too much again, and -are over-fatigued----"</p> -<p>"I am perfectly well," she said; "it was nothing--or whatever it was, it has -passed. I did not know you had returned. I was going to write to you."</p> -<p>"To write to me!" said Geoff in a hollow voice,--"to write to me!"</p> -<p>"To write to you. I had something to tell you--and--and I did not know -whether I should ever see you again!"</p> -<p>For an instant the table against which Geoffrey Ludlow stood seemed to spin -away under his touch, and the whole room reeled. A deadly faintness crept over -him, but he shook it off with one great effort, and said in a very low tone, "I -scarcely understand you--please explain."</p> -<p>She must have had the nature of a fiend to look upon that large-souled loving -fellow, stricken down by her words as by a sudden blow, and with his heart all -bleeding, waiting to hear the rest of her sentence. She had the nature of a -fiend, for through her set teeth she said calmly and deliberately:</p> -<p>"I say I did not know whether I should ever see you again. That cab is -detained by me to take me away from this house, to which I ought never to have -come--which I shall never enter again."</p> -<p>Geoff had sunk into a chair, and clutching the corner of the table with both -hands, was looking up at her with a helpless gaze.</p> -<p>"You don't speak!" she continued; "and I can understand why you are silent. -This decision has come upon you unexpectedly, and you can scarcely realise its -meaning or its origin. I am prepared to explain both to you. I had intended -doing so in a letter, which I should have left behind me; but since you are -here, it is better that I should speak."</p> -<p>The table was laid for dinner, and there was a small decanter of sherry close -by Geoff's hand. He filled a glass from it and drank it eagerly. Apparently -involuntarily, Margaret extended her hand towards the decanter; but she -instantly withdrew it, and resumed:</p> -<p>"You know well, Geoffrey Ludlow, that when you asked me to become your wife, -I declined to give you any answer until you had heard the story of my former -life. When I noticed your growing interest in me--and I noticed it from its very -first germ--I determined that before you pledged yourself to me--for my wits had -been sharpened in the school of adversity, and I read plainly enough that love -from such a man as you had but one meaning and one result,--I determined that -before you pledged yourself to me you should learn as much as it was necessary -for you to know of my previous history. Although my early life had been spent in -places far away from London, and among persons whom it was almost certain I -should never see again, it was, I thought, due to you to explain all to you, -lest the gossiping fools of the world might some day vex your generous heart -with stories of your wife's previous career, which she had kept from you. Do you -follow me?"</p> -<p>Geoffrey bowed his head, but did not speak.</p> -<p>"In that story I told you plainly that I had been deceived by a man under -promise of marriage; that I had lived with him as his wife for many months; that -he had basely deserted me and left me to starve,--left me to die--as I should -have died had you not rescued me. You follow me still?"</p> -<p>She could not see his face now,--it was buried in his hands; but there was a -motion of his head, and she proceeded:</p> -<p>"That man betrayed me when I trusted him, used me while I amused him, -deserted me when I palled upon him. He ruined, you restored me; he left me to -die, you brought me back to life; he strove to drag me to perdition, you to -raise me to repute. I respected, I honoured you; but I loved him! yes, from -first to last I loved him; infatuated, mad as I knew it to be, I loved him -throughout! Had I died in those streets from which you rescued me, I should have -found strength to bless him with my last breath. When I recovered consciousness, -my first unspoken thought was of him. It was that I would live, that I would -make every exertion to hold on to life, that I might have the chance of seeing -him again. Then dimly, and as in a dream, I saw you and heard your voice, and -knew that you were to be a portion of my fate. Ever since, the image of that man -has been always present before me; his soft words of love have been always -ringing in my ears; his gracious presence has been always at my side. I have -striven and striven against the infatuation. Before Heaven I swear to you that I -have prayed night after night that I might not be led into that awful temptation -of retrospect which beset me; that I might be strengthened to love you as you -should be loved, to do my duty towards you as it should be done. All in vain, -all in vain! That one fatal passion has sapped my being, and rendered me utterly -incapable of any other love in any other shape. I know what you have done for -me--more than that, I know what you have suffered for me. You have said nothing; -but do you think I have not seen how my weariness, my coldness, the -impossibility of my taking interest in all the little schemes you have laid for -my diversion, have irked and pained you? Do you think I do not know what it is -for a full heart to beat itself into quiet against a stone? I know it all; and -if I could have spared you one pang, I swear I would have done so. But I loved -this man; ah, how I loved him! He was but a memory to me then; but that memory -was far, far dearer than all reality! He is more than a memory to me now; for he -lives, and he is in London and I have seen him!"</p> -<p>Out Of Geoffrey Ludlow's hands came, raised up suddenly, a dead white face -with puckered lips, knit brows, and odd red streaks and indentations round the -eyes.</p> -<p>"Yes, Geoffrey Ludlow," she continued, not heeding the apparition, "I have -seen him,--now, within this hour,--seen him, bright, well, and handsome--O, so -handsome!--as when I saw him first; and that has determined me. While I thought -of him as perhaps dead; while I knew him to be thousands of miles away, I could -bear to sit here, to drone out the dull monotonous life, striving to condone the -vagrancy of my thoughts by the propriety of my conduct,--heart-sick, weary, and -remorseful. Yes, remorseful, so far as you are concerned; for you are a true and -noble man, Geoffrey. But now that he is here, close to me, I could not rest -another hour,--I must go to him at once. Do you hear, Geoffrey,--at once?"</p> -<p>He tried to speak, but his lips were parched and dry, and he only made an -inarticulate sound. There was no mistaking the flash of his eyes, however. In -them Margaret had never seen such baleful light; so that she was scarcely -astonished when, his voice returning, he hissed out "I know him!"</p> -<p>"You know him?"</p> -<p>"Yes; just come back from Australia--Lord Caterham's brother! I had a letter -from Lord Caterham to-day,--his brother--Lionel Brakespere!"</p> -<p>"Well," she exclaimed, "what then? Suppose it be Lionel Brakespere, what -then, I ask--what then?"</p> -<p>"Then!" said Geoffrey, poising his big sinewy arm--"then, let him look to -himself; for, by the Lord, I'll kill him!"</p> -<p>"What!" and in an instant she had left her position against the mantelpiece, -and was leaning over the table at the corner where he sat, her face close to -his, her eyes on his eyes, her hot breath on his cheeks--"You dare to talk of -killing him, of doing him the slightest injury! You dare to lift your hand -against my Lionel! Look here, Geoffrey Ludlow: you have been good and kind and -generous to me,--have loved me, in your fashion--deeply, I know; and I would let -us part friends; but I swear that if you attempt to wreak your vengeance on -Lionel Brakespere, who has done you no harm--how has he injured you?--I will be -revenged on you in a manner of which you little dream, but which shall break -your heart and spirit, and humble your pride to the dust. Think of all this, -Geoffrey Ludlow--think of it. Do nothing rashly, take no step that will madden -me, and drive me to do something that will prevent your ever thinking of me with -regret, when I am far away."</p> -<p>There was a softness in her voice which touched a chord in Geoffrey Ludlow's -breast. The fire faded out of his eyes; his hands, which had been -tight-clenched, relaxed, and spread out before him in entreaty; he looked up at -Margaret through blinding tears, and in a broken voice said,</p> -<p>"When you are far away! O, my darling, my darling, you are not going to leave -me? It cannot be,--it is some horrible dream. To leave me, who live but for you, -whose existence is bound up in yours! It cannot be. What have I done?--what can -you charge me with? Want of affection, of devotion to you? O God, it is hard -that I should have to suffer in this way! But you won't go, Margaret darling? -Tell me that--only tell me that."</p> -<p>She shrank farther away from him, and seemed for a moment to cower before the -vehemence and anguish of his appeal; but the next her face darkened and -hardened, and as she answered him, the passion in her voice was dashed with a -tone of contempt.</p> -<p>"Yes, I will leave you," she said,--"of course I will leave you. Do you not -hear me? Do you not understand me? I have seen him, I tell you, and every thing -which is not him has faded out of my life. What should I do here, or any where, -where he is not? The mere idea is absurd. I have only half lived since I lost -him, and I could not live at all now that I have seen him again. Stay here! not -leave <i>you!</i> stay <i>here!</i>" She looked round the room with a glance of -aversion and avoidance, and went on with increasing rapidity: "You have never -understood me. How should you? But the time has come now when you must try to -understand me, for your own sake; for mine it does no matter--nothing matters -now."</p> -<p>She was standing within arm's-length of him, and her face was turned full -upon him: but she did not seem to see him. She went on as though reckoning with -herself, and Geoffrey gazed upon her in stupefied amazement; his momentary rage -quenched in the bewilderment of his anguish.</p> -<p>"I don't deny your goodness--I don't dispute it--I don't think about it at -all; it is all done with, all past and gone; and I have no thought for it or -you, beyond these moments in which I am speaking to you for the last time. I -have suffered in this house torments which your slow nature could neither suffer -nor comprehend--torments wholly impossible to endure longer. I have raged and -rebelled against the dainty life of dulness and dawdling, the narrow hopes and -the tame pleasures which have sufficed for you. I must have so raged and -rebelled under any circumstances; but I might have gone on conquering the -revolts, if I had not seen him. Now, I tell you, it is no longer possible, and I -break with it at once and for ever. Let me go quietly, and in such peace as may -be possible: for go I must and I will. You could as soon hold a hurricane by -force or a wave of the sea by entreaty."</p> -<p>Geoffrey Ludlow covered his face with his hands, and groaned. Once again she -looked at him--this time as if she saw him--and went on:</p> -<p>"Let me speak to you, while I can, of yourself--while I can, I say, for his -face is rising between me and all the world beside, and I can hardly force -myself to remember any thing, to calculate any thing, to realise any thing which -is not him. You ask me not to leave you; you would have me stay! Are you mad, -Geoffrey Ludlow? Have you lived among your canvases and your colours until you -have ceased to understand what men and women are, and to see facts? Do you know -that I love him, though he left me to what you saved me from, so that all that -you have done for me and given me has been burdensome and hateful to me, because -these things had no connection with him, but marked the interval in which he was -lost to me? Do you know that I love him so, that I have sickened and pined in -this house, even as I sickened and pined for hunger in the streets you took me -from, for the most careless word he ever spoke and the coldest look he ever gave -me? Do you know the agonised longing which has been mine, the frantic weariness, -the unspeakable loathing of every thing that set my life apart from the time -when my life was his? No, you don't know these things! Again I say, how should -you? Well, I tell them to you now, and I ask you, are you mad that you say, -'Don't leave me'? Would you have me stay with <i>you</i> to think of <i>him</i> -all the weary hours of the day, all the wakeful hours of the night? Would you -have me stay with you to feel, and make you know that I feel, the tie between us -an intolerable and hideous bondage, and that with every pang of love for him -came a throb of loathing for you? No, no! you are nothing to me now,--nothing, -nothing! My thoughts hurry away from you while I speak; but if any thing so -preposterous as my staying with you could be possible, you would be the most -hateful object on this earth to me."</p> -<p>"My God!" gasped Geoffrey. That was all The utter, unspeakable horror with -which her words, poured out in a hard ringing voice, which never faltered, -filled him overpowered all remonstrance. A strange feeling, which was akin to -fear of this beautiful unmasked demon, came over him. It was Margaret, his wife, -who spoke thus! The knowledge and its fullest agony were in his heart; and yet a -sense of utter strangeness and impossibility were there too. The whirl within -him was not to be correctly termed thought; but there was in it something of the -past, a puzzled remembrance of her strange quietude, her listlessness, her -acquiescent, graceful, wearied, compliant ways; and this was she,--this woman -whose eyes burned with flames of passion and desperate purpose--on those -ordinarily pale cheeks two spots of crimson glowed,--whose lithe frame trembled -with the intense fervour of the love which she was declaring for another man! -Yes, this was she! It seemed impossible; but it was true.</p> -<p>"I waste words," she said; "I am talking of things beside the question, and I -don't want to lie to you. Why should I? There has been nothing in my life worth -having but him, nothing bearable since I lost him, and there is nothing else -since I have found him again. I say, I must leave you for your sake, and it is -true; but I would leave you just the same if it was not true. There is nothing -henceforth in my life but him."</p> -<p>She moved towards the door as she spoke, and the action seemed to rouse -Geoffrey from the stupefaction which had fallen upon him. She had her hand upon -the door-handle though, before he spoke.</p> -<p>"You are surely mad!" he said "I think so.--I hope so; but even mad women -remember that they are mothers. Have you forgotten your child, that you rave -thus of leaving your home?"</p> -<p>She took her hand from the door and leaned back against it--her head held up, -and her eyes turned upon him, the dark eyebrows shadowing them with a stern -frown.</p> -<p>"I am not mad," she said; "but I don't wonder you think me so. Continue to -think so, if you needs must remember me at all. Love is madness to such as you; -but it is life, and sense, and wisdom, and wealth to such as I and the man I -love. At all events it is all the sanity I ask for or want. As for the child--" -she paused for one moment, and waved her hand impatiently.</p> -<p>"Yes," repeated Geoffrey hoarsely,--"the child!"</p> -<p>"I will tell you then, Geoffrey Ludlow," she said, in a more deliberate tone -than she had yet commanded,--"I care nothing for the child! Ay, look at me with -abhorrence now; so much the better for <i>you</i>, and not a jot the worse for -me. What is your abhorrence to me?--what was your love? There are women to whom -their children are all in all. I am not of their number; I never could have -been. They are not women who love as I love. Where a child has power to sway and -fill a woman's heart, to shake her resolution, and determine her life, love is -not supreme. There is a proper and virtuous resemblance to it, no doubt, but not -love--no, no, not love. I tell you I care nothing for the child. Geoffrey -Ludlow, if I had loved you, I should have cared for him almost as little; if the -man I love had been his father, I should have cared for him no more, if I know -any thing of myself. The child does not need me. I suppose I am not without the -brute instinct which would lead me to shelter and feed and clothe him, if he -did; but what has he ever needed from me? If I could say without a lie that any -thought of him weighs with me--but I cannot--I would say to you, for the child's -sake, if for no other reason, I must go. The child is the last and feeblest -argument you can use with me--with whom indeed there are none strong or -availing."</p> -<p>She turned abruptly, and once more laid her hand upon the door-handle. Her -last words had roused Geoffrey from the inaction caused by his amazement. As she -coldly and deliberately avowed her indifference to the child, furious anger once -more awoke within him. He strode hastily towards her and sternly grasped her by -the left arm. She made a momentary effort to shake off his hold; but he held her -firmly at arm's-length from him, and said through his closed teeth:</p> -<p>"You are a base and unnatural woman--more base and unnatural than I believed -any woman could be. As for me, I can keep silence on your conduct to myself; -perhaps I deserved it, seeing where and how I found you." She started and -winced. "As for the child, he is better motherless than with such a mother; but -I took you from shame and sin, when I found you in the street, and married you; -and you shall not return to them if any effort of mine can prevent it. You have -no feeling, you have no conscience, you have no pride; you glory in a passion -for a man who flung you away to starve! Woman, have you no sense of decency -left, that you can talk of resuming your life of infamy and shame?"</p> -<p>The husband and wife formed a group which would have been awful to look upon, -had there been any one to witness that terrible interview, as they stood -confronting one another, while Geoffrey spoke. As his words came slowly forth, a -storm of passion shook Margaret's frame. Every gleam of colour forsook her face; -she was transformed into a fixed image of unspeakable wrath. A moment she stood -silent, breathing quickly, her white lips dry and parted. Then, as a faint -movement, something like a ghastly smile, crept over her face, she said:</p> -<p>"You are mistaken, Geoffrey Ludlow; I leave my life of infamy and shame in -leaving <i>you!</i>"</p> -<p>"In leaving me! Again you are mad!"</p> -<p>"Again I speak the words of sanity and truth. If what I am going to tell you -fills you with horror, I would have spared you; you have yourself to thank. I -intended to have spared you this final blow,--I intended to have left you in -happy ignorance of the fact--which you blindly urge me to declare by your -taunts. What did I say at the commencement of this interview? That I wanted us -to part friends. But you will not have that. You reproach me with ingratitude; -you taunt me with being an unnatural mother; finally, you fling at me my life of -infamy and shame; I repeat that no infamy, no shame could attach to me until I -became--your mistress!"</p> -<p>The bolt had shot home at last. Geoffrey leapt to his feet, and stood erect -before her; but his strength must have failed him in that instant; for he could -only gasp, "My mistress!"</p> -<p>"Your mistress. That is all I have been to you, so help me Heaven!"</p> -<p>"My wife! my own--married--lawful wife!"</p> -<p>"No, Geoffrey Ludlow, no! In that wretched lodging to which you had me -conveyed, and where you pleaded your love, I told you--the truth indeed, but not -the whole truth. Had you known me better then,--had you known me as you--as you -know me now, you might have guessed that I was not one of those trusting -creatures who are betrayed and ruined by fair words and beaming glances, come -they from ever so handsome a man. One fact I concealed from you, thinking, as my -Lionel had deserted me, and would probably never be seen again, that its -revelation would prevent me from accepting the position which you were about to -offer me; but the day that I fled from my home at Tenby I was married to Lionel -Brakespere; and at this moment I am his wife, not merely in the sight of God, -but by the laws of man!"</p> -<p>For some instants he did not speak, he did not move from the chair into which -he had again fallen heavily during her speech: he sat gazing at her, his -breathing thickened, impeded, gasping. At length he said:</p> -<p>"You're--you're speaking truth?"</p> -<p>"I am speaking gospel-truth, Geoffrey Ludlow. You brought it upon yourself: I -would have saved you from the knowledge of it if I could, but you brought it -upon yourself."</p> -<p>"Yes--as you say--on myself;" still sitting gazing vacantly before him, -muttering to himself rather than addressing her. Suddenly, with a wild shriek, -"The child! O God, the child!"</p> -<p>"For the child's sake, no less than for your own, you will hold your tongue -on this matter," said Margaret, in her calm, cold, never-varying tone. "In this -instance at least you will have sense enough to perceive the course you ought to -take. What I have told you is known to none but you and me, and one other--who -can be left with me to deal with. Let it be your care that the secret remains -with us."</p> -<p>"But the child is a----"</p> -<p>"Silence, man!" she exclaimed, seizing his arm,--"silence now,--for a few -moments at all events. When I am gone, proclaim your child's illegitimacy and -your own position if you will, but wait till then. Now I can remain here no -longer. Such things as I absolutely require I will send for. Goodbye, Geoffrey -Ludlow."</p> -<p>She gathered her shawl around her, and moved towards the door. In an instant -his lethargy left him; he sprang up, rushed before her, and stood erect and -defiant.</p> -<p>"You don't leave me in this way, Margaret. You shall not leave me thus. I -swear you shall not pass!"</p> -<p>She looked at him for a moment with a half-compassionate, half-interested -face. This assumption of spirit and authority she had never seen in him before, -and it pleased her momentarily. Then she said quietly:</p> -<p>"O yes, I shall. I am sure, Mr. Ludlow, you will not prevent my going to my -husband!"</p> -<p>When the servant, after waiting more than an hour for dinner to be rung for, -came into the room to see what was the cause of the protracted delay, she found -her master prostrate on the hearth-rug, tossing and raving incoherently. The -frightened girl summoned assistance; and when Dr. Brandram arrived, he announced -Mr. Ludlow to be in the incipient stage of a very sharp attack of brain-fever.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> - <h4><a name="div3_02" href="#div3Ref_02">CHAPTER II.</a></h4> -<h5>THE REVERSE OF THE MEDAL</h5> -<br> - <p>It was one of those cheerless days not unfrequent at the end of -September, which first tell us that such fine weather as we have had has taken -its departure, and that the long dreary winter is close at hand. The air was -moist and "muggy;" there was no freshening wind to blow away the heavy dun -clouds which lay banked up thick, and had seemed almost motionless for days; -there was a dead faint depression over all things, which weighed heavily on the -spirits, impeded the respiration, and relaxed the muscles. It was weather which -dashed and cowed even the lightest-hearted, and caused the careworn and the -broken to think self-destruction less extraordinary than they had hitherto -considered it.</p> -<p>About noon a man was looking out of one of the upper-windows of Long's Hotel -on the dreary desert of Bond Street. He was a tall man; who with straight-cut -features, shapely beard, curling light hair, and clear complexion, would have -been generally considered more than good-looking, notwithstanding that his eyes -were comparatively small and his mouth was decidedly sensual. That he was a man -of breeding and society one could have told in an instant--could have told it by -the colour and shape of his hands, by his bearing, by the very manner in which -he, leaving the window from time to time, lounged round the room, his hands -plunged in his pockets or pulling at his tawny beard. You could have told it -despite of his dress, the like of which had surely never been seen before on any -visitor to that select hostelry; for he wore a thick jacket and trousers of blue -pilot-cloth, a blue flannel-shirt, with a red-silk handkerchief knotted round -the collar, and ankle jack-boots. When he jumped out of the cab at the door on -the previous day, he had on a round tarpaulin-hat, and carried over his arm an -enormous pea-jacket with horn buttons; and as he brought no luggage with him -save a small valise, and had altogether the appearance of the bold smugglers who -surreptitiously vend cigars and silk-handkerchiefs, the hall-porter at first -refused him admittance; and it was not until the proprietor had been summoned, -and after a close scrutiny and a whispered name had recognised his old customer, -that the strange-looking visitor was ushered upstairs. He would have a private -room, he said; and he did not want it known that he was back just yet--did -Jubber understand? If any body called, that was another matter: he expected his -mother and one or two others; but he did not want it put in the papers, or any -thing of that kind. Jubber did understand, and left Captain Lionel Brakespere to -himself.</p> -<p>Captain Lionel Brakespere, just at that time, could have had no worse -company. He had been bored to death by the terrible monotony of a long -sea-voyage, and had found on landing in England that his boredom was by no means -at an end. He had heard from his mother that "that awkward business had all been -squared," as he phrased it; and that it was desirable he should return home at -once, where there was a chance of a marriage by which "a big something was to be -pulled off," as he phrased it again. So he had come back, and there he was at -Long's; but as yet he was by no means happy. He was doubtful as to his position -in society, as to how much of his escapade was known, as to whether he would be -all right with his former set, or whether he would get the cold shoulder, and -perhaps be cut. He could only learn this by seeing Algy Barford, or some other -fellow of the <i>clique</i>; and every fellow was of course out of town at that -infernal time of year. He must wait, at all events, until he had seen his -mother, to whom he had sent word of his arrival. He might be able to learn -something of all this from her. Meantime he had taken a private room; not that -there was much chance of his meeting any one in the coffee-room, but some fellow -might perhaps stop there for the night on his way through town; and he had sent -for the tailor, and the hair-cutter fellow, and that sort of thing, and was -going to be made like a Christian again--not like the cad he'd looked like in -that infernal place out there.</p> -<p>He lounged round the room, and pulled his beard and yawned as he looked out -of the window; pulling himself together afterwards by stretching out his hands -and arms, and shrugging his shoulders and shaking himself, as if endeavouring to -shake off depression. He <i>was</i> depressed; there was no doubt about it. Out -there it was well enough. He had been out there just long enough to have begun -to settle down into his new life, to have forgotten old ties and old feelings; -but here every thing jarred upon him. He was back in England certainly, but back -in England in a condition which he had never known before. In the old days, at -this time of year, he would have been staying down at some country-house, or -away in some fellow's yacht, enjoying himself to the utmost; thoroughly -appreciated and highly thought of,--a king among men and a favourite among -women. Now he was cooped up in this deserted beastly place, which every one -decent had fled from, not daring even to go out and see whether some old -comrade, haply retained in town by duty, were not to be picked up, from whom he -could learn the news, with whom he might have a game of billiards, or something -to get through the infernally dragging wearisome time. He expected his mother. -She was his truest and stanchest friend, after all, and had behaved splendidly -to him all through this terrible business. It was better that she should come -down there, and let him know exactly how the land lay. He would have gone home, -but he did not know what sort of a reception he might have met with from the -governor; and from all he could make out from his mother's letters, it was very -likely that Caterham might cut up rough, and say or do something confoundedly -unpleasant. It was an infernal shame of Caterham, and just like his -straightlaced nonsense--that it was. Was not he the eldest son, and what did he -want more? It was all deuced well for him to preach and moralise, and all that -sort of thing; but his position had kept him out of temptation, else he might -not be any better than other poor beggars, who had fallen through and come to -grief.</p> -<p>So he reasoned with himself as he lounged round and round the room; and at -last began to consider that he was a remarkably ill-used person. He began to -hate the room and its furniture, altered the position of the light and elegant -little couch, flung himself into the arm-chair, drumming his heels upon the -floor, and rose from itleaving the chintz covering all tumbled, and the -antimacassar all awry, drummed upon the window, stared at the prints already -inspected--the "Hero and his Horse," which led him into reminiscences of seeing -the old Duke with his white duck trousers and his white cravat, with the silver -buckle gleaming at the back of his bowed head, at Eton on Montem days--glanced -with stupid wonderment at Ward's "Dr. Johnson reading the Manuscript of the -<i>Vicar of Wakefield</i>," which conveyed to him no idea whatsoever--looked at -a proof of "Hogarth painting the Muse of Comedy," and wondered "who was the old -cock with the fat legs, drawing." He watched the few people passing through the -streets, the very few hansom-cabs with drivers listlessly creeping up and down, -as though conscious that the chances of their being hired were dismally remote, -the occasional four-wheelers with perambulators and sand-spades on the top, and -bronzed children leaning out of the windows, talking of the brief holiday over -and the work-a-day life about to recommence--he watched all this, and, watching, -worked himself up to such a pitch of desperation that he had almost determined -to brave all chances of recognition, and sally forth into the streets, when the -door opened and a waiter entering, told him that a lady was waiting to speak -with him.</p> -<p>His mother had come at last, then? Let her be shown up directly.</p> -<p>Of all things Lionel Brakespere abhorred a "scene;" and this was likely to be -an uncommonly unpleasant meeting. The Mater was full of feeling and that sort of -thing, and would probably fling herself into his arms as soon as the waiter was -gone, and cry, and sob, and all that sort of thing, and moan over him--make a -fellow look so confoundedly foolish and absurd, by Jove! Must get that over as -soon as possible--all the hugging and that--and then find out how matters really -stood. So he took up his position close to the door; and as the footsteps -approached, was a little astonished to hear his heart thumping so loudly.</p> -<p>The door opened, and passing the bowing waiter, who closed it behind her, a -lady entered. Though her veil was down, Lionel saw instantly that it was not his -mother. A taller, younger woman, with step graceful though hurried, an eager -air, a strange nervous manner. As the door closed, she threw up her veil and -stood revealed--Margaret!</p> -<p>He fell back a pace or two, and the blood rushed to his heart, leaving his -face as pale as hers. Then, recovering himself, he caught hold of the table, and -glaring at her, said hoarsely, "You here!"</p> -<p>There was something in his tone which jarred upon her instantly. She made a -step forward, and held out her hand appealingly--"Lionel," she said, quite -softly, "Lionel, you know me?"</p> -<p>"Know you?" he repeated. "O yes--I--I have that honour. I know you fast -enough--though what you do here I <i>don't</i> know. What do you do here?"</p> -<p>"I came to see you."</p> -<p>"Devilish polite, I'm sure. But--now you have seen me--" he hesitated and -smiled. Not a pleasant smile by any means: one of those smiles in which the -teeth are never shown. A very grim smile, which slightly wrinkled the lips, but -left the eyes hard and defiant; a smile which Margaret knew of old, the sight of -which recalled the commencement of scenes of violent passion and bitter -upbraiding in the old times; a smile at sight of which Margaret's heart sank -within her, only leaving her strength enough to say: "Well!"</p> -<p>"Well!" he repeated--"having seen me--having fulfilled the intention of your -visit--had you not better--go?"</p> -<p>"Go!" she exclaimed--"leave you at once, without a look, without a word! Go! -after all the long weary waiting, this hungering to see and speak with you to -pillow my head on your breast, and twine my arms round you as I used to do in -the dear old days! Go! in the moment when I am repaid for O such misery as you, -Lionel, I am sure, cannot imagine I have endured--the misery of absence from -you; the misery of not knowing how or where you were--whether even you were dead -or alive; misery made all the keener by recollection of joy which I had known -and shared with you. Go! Lionel, dearest Lionel, you cannot mean it! Don't try -me now, Lionel; the delight at seeing you again has made me weak and faint. I am -not so strong as I used to be. Lionel, dearest, don't try me too much."</p> -<p>Never had she looked more beautiful than now. Her arms were stretched out in -entreaty, the rich tones of her voice were broken, tears stood in her -deep-violet eyes, and the dead-gold hair was pushed off the dead-white brow. Her -whole frame quivered with emotion--emotion which she made no attempt to conceal.</p> -<p>Lionel Brakespere had seated himself on the corner of the table, and was -looking at her with curiosity. He comprehended the beauty of the picture before -him, but he regarded it as a picture. On most other men in his position such an -appeal from such a woman would have caused at least a temporary rekindling of -the old passion; on him it had not the slightest effect, beyond giving him a -kind of idea that the situation was somewhat ridiculous and slightly annoying. -After a minute's interval he said, with his hands in his pockets, and his legs -swinging to and fro:</p> -<p>"It's deuced kind of you to say such civil things about me, and I appreciate -them--appreciate them, I assure you. But, you see the fact of the matter is, -that I'm expecting my mother every minute, and if she were to find you here, I -should be rather awkwardly situated."</p> -<p>"O," cried Margaret, "you don't think I would compromise you, Lionel? You -know me too well for that. You know too well how I always submitted to be kept -in the background--only too happy to live on your smiles, to know that you were -feted and made much of."</p> -<p>"O, yes," said Lionel, simply; "you were always a deuced sensible little -woman."</p> -<p>"And I sha'n't be in the way, and I sha'n't bore you. They need know nothing -of my existence, if you don't wish it, any more than they used. And we shall -lead again the dear old life--eh, Lionel?"</p> -<p>"Eh!" repeated he in rather a high key,--"the dear old life!"</p> -<p>"Ah, how happy I was!" said Margaret. "You, whose intervening time has been -passed in action, can scarcely imagine how I have looked back on those -days,--how eagerly I have longed for the time to come when I might have them -again."</p> -<p>"Gad!" said he, "I don't exactly know about my time being passed in action. -It's been horribly ghastly and melancholy, and deuced unpleasant, if you mean -that."</p> -<p>"Then we will both console ourselves for it now, Lionel, We will forget all -the misery we have suffered, and--"</p> -<p>"Y-es!" said he, interrupting her, swinging his leg a little more slowly, and -looking quietly up into her face; "I don't exactly follow you in all this."</p> -<p>"You don't follow me?"</p> -<p>"N-no! I scarcely think we can be on the same tack, somehow."</p> -<p>"In what way?"</p> -<p>"In all this about leading again the old life, and living the days over -again, and consoling ourselves, and that kind of thing."</p> -<p>"You don't understand it?"</p> -<p>"Well, I don't know about understanding it. All I mean to say is, I'm not -going to have it."</p> -<p>But for something in his tone, Margaret might not have entirely comprehended -what he sought to convey in his words, so enraptured was she at seeing him -again. But in his voice, in his look, there was a bravado that was unmistakable. -She clasped her hands together in front of her; and her voice was very low and -tremulous, as she said,</p> -<p>"Lionel, what do you mean?"</p> -<p>"What do I mean? Well, it's a devilish awkward thing to say--I can't conceive -how it came about--all through your coming here, and that sort of thing; but it -appears to me that, as I said before, you're on the wrong tack. You don't seem -to see the position."</p> -<p>"I don't indeed. For God's sake speak out!"</p> -<p>"There, you see!--that's just it; like all women, taking the thing so much in -earnest, and--"</p> -<p>"So much in earnest? Is what would influence one's whole life a thing to be -lightly discussed or laughed over? Is--"</p> -<p>"There you are again! That's exactly what I complain of. What have I to do -with influencing your life?"</p> -<p>"All--every thing!"</p> -<p>"I did not know it, then, by Jove,--that's all Ive got to say. You're best -out of it, let me tell you. My influence is a deuced bad one, at least for -myself."</p> -<p>Once again the tone, reckless and defiant, struck harshly on her ear. He -continued, "I was saying you did not seem to see the position. You and I were -very good friends once upon a time, and got on very well together; but that -would never do now."</p> -<p>She turned faint, sick, and closed her eyes; but remained silent.</p> -<p>"Wouldn't do a bit," he continued. "You know Ive been a tremendous -cropper--must have thought deuced badly of me for cutting off in that way; but -it was my only chance, by Jove; and now Ive come back to try and make all -square. But I must keep deuced quiet and mind my p's and q's, or I shall go to -grief again, like a bird."</p> -<p>She waited for a moment, and then she said faintly and slowly, "I understand -you thoroughly now. You mean that it would be better for us to remain apart for -some time yet?"</p> -<p>"For some time?--yes. Confound it all, Margaret!--you won't take a hint, and -you make a fellow speak out and seem cruel and unkind, and all that kind of -thing, that he does not want to. Look here. You ought never to have come here at -all. It's impossible we can ever meet again."</p> -<p>She started convulsively; but even then she seemed unable to grasp the truth. -Her earnestness brought the colour flying to her cheeks as she said hurriedly, -"Why impossible, Lionel,--why impossible? If you are in trouble, who has such a -right to be near you as I? If you want assistance and solace, who should give it -you before me? That is the mistake you made, Lionel. When you were in your last -trouble you should have confided in me: my woman's wit might have helped you -through it; or at the worst, my woman's love would have consoled you in it."</p> -<p>She was creeping closer to him, but stopped as she saw his face darken and -his arms clasp themselves across his breast.</p> -<p>"D--n it all!" said he petulantly; "you won't understand, I think. This sort -of thing is impossible. Any sort of love, or friendship, or trust is impossible. -Ive come back to set myself straight, and to pull out of all the infernal -scrapes I got myself into before I left; and there's only one way to do it."</p> -<p>"And that is--"</p> -<p>"Well, if you will have it, you must. And that is--by making a good -marriage."</p> -<p>She uttered a short sharp cry, followed by a prolonged wail, such as a -stricken hare gives. Lionel Brakespere looked up at her; but his face never -relaxed, and his arms still remained tightly folded across his breast. Then she -spoke, very quietly and very sadly:</p> -<p>"By making a good marriage! Ah! then I see it all. That is why you are -annoyed at my having come to you. That is why you dread the sight of me, because -it reminds you that I am in the way; reminds you of the existence of the clog -round your neck that prevents your taking up this position for which you long; -because it reminds you that you once sacrificed self to sentiment, and permitted -yourself to be guided by love instead of ambition. That is what you mean?"</p> -<p>His face was darker than ever as he said, "No such d--d nonsense. I don't -know what you're talking about; no more do you I should think, by the way in -which you are going on. What <i>are</i> you talking about?"</p> -<p>He spoke very fiercely; but she was not cowed or dashed one whit. In the same -quiet voice she said: "I am talking about myself--your wife!"</p> -<p>Lionel Brakespere sprung from the corner of the table on which he had been -sitting, and stood upright, confronting her.</p> -<p>"O, that's it, is it?" in a hard low voice. "That's your game, eh? I thought -it was coming to that. Now, look here," shaking his fist at her,--"drop that for -good and all; drop it, I tell you, or it will be the worse for you. Let me hear -of your saying a word about your being my wife, and, so help me God, I'll be the -death of you! That's plain, isn't it? You understand that?"</p> -<p>She never winced; she never moved. She sat quietly under the storm of his -rage; and when he had finished speaking, she said:</p> -<p>"You can kill me, if you like,--you very nearly did, just before you left -me,--but so long as I am alive I shall be your wife!"</p> -<p>"Will you, by George?--not if there's law in the land, I can tell you. What -have you been doing all this time? How have you been living since Ive been away? -How do you come here, dressed like a swell as you are, when I left you without -money? I shall want to know all that; and I'll find out, you may take your oath. -There are heaps of ways of discovering those things now, and places where a -fellow has only to pay for it, and he may know any thing that goes on about any -body. I don't think you would particularly care to have those inquiries made -about <i>you</i>, eh?"</p> -<p>She was silent. He waited a minute; then, thinking from her silence that he -had made a point, went on:</p> -<p>"You understand me at last, don't you? You see pretty plainly, I should -think, that being quiet and holding your tongue is your best plan don't you? If -you're wise you'll do it; and then, when I'm settled, I may make you some -allowance--if you want it, that's to say,--if your friends whove been so kind to -you while Ive been away don't do it. But if you open your mouth on this matter, -if you once hint that you've any claim on me, or send to me, or write to me, or -annoy me at all, I'll go right in at once, find out all you've been doing, and -then see what they'll say to you in the Divorce Court. You hear?"</p> -<p>Still she sat perfectly silent. He was apparently pleased with his eloquence -and its effect, for he proceeded:</p> -<p>"This is all your pretended love for me, is it? This is what you call -gratitude to a fellow, and all that kind of thing? Turning up exactly when -you're not wanted, and coolly declaring that you're going in to spoil the only -game that can put me right and bring me home! And this is the woman who used to -declare in the old days that she'd die for me, and all that! I declare I didn't -think it of you, Madge!"</p> -<p>"Don't call me by that name!" she screamed, roused at last; "don't allude to -the old days, in God's name, or I shall go mad! The recollection of them, the -hope of their renewal, has been my consolation in all sorts of misery and pain. -I thought that to hear them spoken of by you would have been sufficient -recompense for all my troubles: now to hear them mentioned by your lips agonises -and maddens me; I--"</p> -<p>"This is the old story," he interrupted; "you haven't forgotten that -business, I see. This is what you used to do before, when you got into one of -these states. It frightened me at first, but I got used to it; and Ive seen a -great deal too much of such things to care for it now, I can tell you. If you -make this row, I'll ring the bell--upon my soul I will!"</p> -<p>"O, Lionel, Lionel!" said Margaret, stretching out her hands in entreaty -towards him--"don't speak so cruelly! You don't know all I have gone through for -you--you don't know how weak and ill I am. But it is nothing to what I will do. -You don't know how I love you, Lionel, my darling! how I have yearned for you; -how I will worship and slave for you, so that I may only be with you. I don't -want to be seen, or heard of, or known, so long as I am near you. Only try me -and trust me, only let me be your own once more."</p> -<p>"I tell you it's impossible," said he petulantly. "Woman, can't you -understand? I'm ruined, done, shut up, cornered, and the only chance of my -getting through is by my marriage with some rich woman, who will give me her -money in exchange for--There, d--n it all,--it's no use talking any more about -it. If you can't see the position, I can't show it you any stronger; and there's -an end of it. Only, look here!--keep your mouth shut, or it will be the worse -for you. You understand that?--the worse for you."</p> -<p>"Lionel!" She sprang towards him and clasped her hands round his arm. He -shook her off roughly, and moved towards the door.</p> -<p>"No more foolery," he said in a low deep voice. "Take my warning now, and go. -In a fortnight's time you can write to me at the Club, and say whether you are -prepared to accept the conditions I have named. Now, go."</p> -<p>He held the door open, and she passed by him and went out. She did not -shrink, or faint, or fall. Somehow, she knew not how, she went down the stairs -and into the street. Not until she had hailed a cab, and seated herself in it, -and was being driven off, did she give way. Then she covered her face with her -hands, and burst into a passionate fit of weeping, rocking herself to and fro, -and exclaiming, "And it is for this that I have exiled myself from my home, and -trampled upon a loving heart! O my God! my God; if I could only have loved -Geoffrey Ludlow!--O, to love as I do, such a man as this!"</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> - <h4><a name="div3_03" href="#div3Ref_03">CHAPTER III.</a></h4> -<h5>GONE TO HIS REST.</h5> -<br> - <p>The last-mentioned interview between Lord Caterham and his mother, -though productive of good in a certain way--for Lady Beauport, however bravely -she succeeded in bearing herself at the time, was in reality not a little -frightened at her son's determination--had a visibly bad effect on Caterham's -health. The excitement had been too much for him. The physician had enjoined -perfect rest, and an absence of all mental effort, in the same way in which they -prescribe wine and nourishing food to the pauper, or Turkish baths to the -cripple on the outskirts of Salisbury Plain. Perfect rest and absence of all -mental effort were utterly impossible to Caterham, whose mind was on the rack, -who knew that he had pitted himself against time for the accomplishment of his -heart's desire, and who felt that he must either fulfil his earnest intention, -or give up it and life simultaneously. Life was so thin and faint and feeble -within him, that he needed all of it he could command to bear him up merely -through "the fever called living,"--to keep him together sufficiently to get -through the ordinary quiet routine of his ever-dull day. When there was an -exceptional occasion--such as the interview with his mother, for instance, where -he had gone through a vast amount of excitement--it left him exhausted, -powerless, incapable of action or even of thought, to an extent that those -accustomed only to ordinary people could never have imagined.</p> -<p>The next day he was too ill to leave his bed; but that made little difference -to the rest of the household. Lord Beauport was away in Wales looking after some -mines on one of his estates, which had suddenly promised to be specially -productive. Lady Beauport, detained in town for the due carrying out of her -plans with respect to Lionel, sent down her usual message of inquiry by Timpson, -her maid, who communicated with Stephens, and gave the reply to her mistress. -Lady Beauport repeated the message, "Very unwell indeed, eh?" and adding, "this -weather is so horribly depressing," proceeded with her toilette. Miss Maurice -sent grapes and flowers and some new perfume to the invalid; and--it revived him -more than any thing else--a little hurried note, bidding him not give way to -depression, but rouse sufficiently to get into his easy-chair by the morrow, and -she would spend all the day with him, and read to him, and play to him whatever -he wanted.</p> -<p>He had strength enough to raise that little note to his lips so soon as he -heard the door shut behind the outgoing Stephens; to kiss it over and over -again, and to place it beneath his pillow ere he sunk into such imitation of -rest as was vouchsafed to him. A want of sleep was one of the worst symptoms of -his malady, and the doctors had all agreed that if they could only superinduce -something like natural sleep, it might aid greatly in repairing the little -strength which had been given to him originally, and which was so gradually and -imperceptibly, and yet so surely, wearing away. But that seemed to be -impossible. When he was first assisted to bed he was in a sufficiently drowsy -state, partly from the fatigue of the day, partly from the effect of the wine, -of which the doctors insisted on his taking a quantity which would have been -nothing to an ordinary man, but was much to one feeble in frame, and unable to -take any exercise to carry off its strength. Then, after a short slumber--heavy, -stertorous, and disturbed--he would wake, bright and staring, without the -smallest sign of sleep in his head or in his eye. In vain would he toss from -side to side, and try all the known recipes for somnolence--none were of the -slightest avail. He could not sleep, he could not compose himself in the least -degree, he could not empty his mind as it were; and the mind must be, or at all -events must seem, empty before sleep will take possession of it. Lord Caterham's -mind in the dead silence of the night was even more active than it was in the -daytime. Before him rose up all the difficulties which he had to surmount, the -dangers which he had to avoid, the hopes and fears and triumphs and vexations -which made up the sum of his bitter life. They were not many now,--they never -had been diffuse at any time; so little had Caterham been a citizen of the -world, that all his aspirations had lain within a very small compass, and now -they centred in one person--Annie Maurice. To provide for her safety when he was -not there to look after it in person; to leave such records as would show what -action he had taken in her behalf, and on what grounds that action had been -undertaken; to arm some competent and willing person so thoroughly to bestir -himself at the necessary juncture as to prevent the chance of the conspiracy -against Annie's future being carried into effect:--these were the night-thoughts -which haunted Caterham's couch, and rendered him sleepless.</p> -<p>Sleeplessness had its usual effect. The following day he was quite worn out -in mind and body,--felt it, knew it, could not deny the fact when it was -suggested to him mildly by Stephens, more firmly by his doctors,--but yet -persevered in his intention of getting up. He was sure he should be so much -better out of bed; he was certain that a change--were it only to his -easy-chair--would do him so much good. He could be very positive--"obstinate" -was the phrase by which the doctors distinguished it, "arbitrary" was Stephen's -phrase--when he chose; and so they let him have his way, wondering why he -preferred to leave the calm seclusion of his bed. They little knew that the -contents of that little note which the valet had seen protruding from the corner -of his master's pillow when he went in to call him in the morning had worked -that charm; they did not know that she had promised to spend the day with him -and read and play to him. But he did; and had he died for it, he could not have -denied himself that afternoon of delight.</p> -<p>So he was dressed, and wheeled into his sitting-room, and placed by his desk -and among his books. He had twice nearly fainted during the process and -Stephens, who knew his every look, and was as regardful of his master's health -as the just appreciation of a highly-paid place could make him, had urged Lord -Caterham to desist and return to his bed. But Caterham was obstinate; and the -toilette was performed and the sitting-room gained, and then he desired that -Miss Maurice might be told he was anxious to see her.</p> -<p>She came in an instant. Ah, how radiant and fresh she looked as she entered -the room! Since the end of the season, she had so far assumed her heiress -position as to have a carriage of her own and a saddle-horse; and instead of -accompanying Lady Beauport in her set round of "airing," Annie had taken long -drives into country regions, where she had alighted and walked in the fresh air, -duly followed by the carriage; or on horseback, and attended by her groom, had -galloped off to Hampstead and Highgate and Willesden and Ealing in the early -morning, long before Lady Beauport had thought of unclosing her eyes. It was -this glorious exercise, this enjoyment of heaven's light and air and sun, that -had given the rose to Annie's cheeks and the brilliance to her eyes. She was -freckled here and there; and there was a bit of a brown mark on her forehead, -showing exactly how much was left unshaded by her hat. These were things which -would have distressed most well-regulated Belgravian damsels; but they troubled -Annie not one whit; and as she stood close by his chair, with her bright eyes -and her pushed-off brown hair, and the big teeth gleaming in her fresh wholesome -mouth, Caterham thought he had never seen her look more charming, and felt that -the distance between her, brimming over with health, and him, gradually -succumbing to disease, was greater than ever.</p> -<p>Annie Maurice was a little shocked when she first glanced at Caterham. The -few days which had intervened since she had been to his room had made a great -difference in his appearance. His colour had not left him--on the contrary, it -had rather increased--but there was a tight look about the skin, a dull -glassiness in his eyes, and a pinched appearance in the other features, which -were unmistakable. Of course she took no notice of this: but coming in, greeted -him in her usual affectionate manner. Nor was there any perceptible difference -in his voice as he said:</p> -<p>"You see I have kept you to your word, Annie. You promised, if I were in my -easy-chair, that you would play and read to me; and here I am."</p> -<p>"And here I am to do your bidding, Arthur! and too delighted to do it, and to -see you sufficiently well to be here. You're not trying too much, are you, -Arthur?"</p> -<p>"In what, Annie?"</p> -<p>"In sitting up and coming into this room. Are you strong enough to leave your -bed?"</p> -<p>"Ah, I am so weary and wretched alone, Annie. I long so for companionship, -for--" he checked himself and said, "for some one to talk, to read, to keep me -company in all the long hours of the day. I'm not very bright just now, and even -I have been stronger--which seems almost ridiculous--but I could keep away no -longer, knowing you would come to lighten my dreariness."</p> -<p>Though his voice was lower and more faint than usual, there was an -impassioned tone in it which she had never heard before, and which jarred ever -so slightly on her ear. So she rose from her seat, and laughingly saying that -she would go at once and perform part of her engagement, sat down at the piano, -and played and sang such favourite pieces of his as he had often been in the -habit of asking for. They were simple ballads,--some of Moore's melodies, -Handel's "Harmonious Blacksmith," and some of Mendelssohn's <i>Lieder ohne Wörte</i>,--all -calm, soft, soothing music, such as Caterham loved; and when Annie had been -playing for some time he said:</p> -<p>"You don't know how I love to hear you, Annie! you're getting tired now, -child."</p> -<p>"Not in the least degree, Arthur. I could go on singing all day, if it amused -you."</p> -<p>"It does more than amuse me, Annie. I cannot describe to you the feeling that -comes over me in listening to your singing; nothing else has such a calm, holy, -sanctifying influence on me. Listening to you, all the petty annoyances, the -carking cares of this world fade away, and--"</p> -<p>He ceased speaking suddenly; and Annie looking round, saw the tears on his -cheek. She was about to run to him, but he motioned her to keep her seat, and -said: "Annie dear, you recollect a hymn that I heard you sing one night when you -first came here?--one Sunday night when they were out, and you and I sat alone -in the twilight in the drawing-room? Ah, I scarcely knew you then, but that hymn -made a great impression on me."</p> -<p>"You mean--</p> -<p class="continue" style="margin-left:10%; font-size:smaller">'Abide with me! -fast falls the eventide<br> -The darkness deepens: Lord, with me abide!'"</p> -<br> - <p>"Yes, that is it. How lovely it is!--both words and music, I think."</p> -<p>"Yes, it is lovely. It was written by a Mr. Lyte, when he was--"</p> -<p>She checked herself, but he finished the sentence for her,--"When he was -dying. Yes; I recollect your telling me so that night. Sing it for me, dear."</p> -<p>She turned to the piano at once, and in an instant the rich deep tones of her -voice were ringing through the room. Annie Maurice sang ballads sweetly, but she -sang hymns magnificently. There was not the slightest attempt at ornamentation -or <i>bravura</i> in her performance, but she threw her whole soul into her -singing; and the result was rich and solemn melody. As she sang, she seemed to -embody the spirit of the composer, and her voice vibrated and shook with the -fervour which animated her.</p> -<p>Half leaning on his stick, half reclining in his chair, Caterham watched her -in rapt delight; then when she had finished, and ere the thrilling music of her -voice had died away, he said: "Thanks, dear--again a thousand thanks! Now, once -more a request, Annie. I shall not worry you much more, my child."</p> -<p>"Arthur,"--and in an instant she was by his side,--"if you speak like that, I -declare I will not sing to you."</p> -<p>"O yes, you will, Annie dear!---O yes, you will. You know as well as I do -that--Well, then"--obedient to a forefinger uplifted in warning--"I'll say no -more on that point. But I want you now to sing me the old-fashioned Evening -Hymn. Ive a very ancient love for dear old Bishop Ken, and I don't like to think -of his being set aside for any modern hymnologist,--even for such a specimen as -that you have just sung. Sing me 'Glory to Thee,' Annie,--that is, if you are -old-fashioned enough to know it."</p> -<p>She smiled, and sang. When she ceased, finding that he remained speechless -and motionless, she went up to him, fearing that he had fainted. He was lying -back in his chair perfectly quiet, with his eyes closed. When she touched him, -he opened them dreamily, saying, "'That I may dread the grave as little as my -bed.' Yes, yes!--Ah, Annie dear, you've finished!--and to think that you, a -modern young lady, should be able to sing old Bishop Ken without book! Where did -you learn him?"</p> -<p>"When I was a very little child,--at the Priory, Arthur. Geoffrey Ludlow--as -Ive told you, I think--used to come out to us every Sunday; and in the evening -after dinner, before I went to bed, he used to ask for his little wife to sing -to him. And then poor papa used to tell me to sit on Geoff's knee, and I used to -sing the Evening Hymn."</p> -<p>"Ay," said Caterham in an absent manner, "Geoffrey Ludlow's little wife! -Geoffrey Ludlow's little wife!--ay, ay! 'That so I may, rise glorious at Thine -awful day!' In Thy mercy, in Thy mercy!" and saying this, he fainted away.</p> -<p>That evening Algy Barford, at Lord Dropmore's in Lincolnshire, on his return -from shooting, found a telegram on his dressing-room table. It was from Annie -Maurice, and begged his immediate return to town.</p> -<p>Lord Caterham was better the next day. Though still very weak, he insisted on -being dressed and wheeled into his sitting-room. Once there, he had his -despatch-box placed before him, and the writing-materials put ready to his hand. -Of late he had occasionally been in the habit of employing an amanuensis. Annie -Maurice had frequently written from his dictation; and when she had been -engaged, a son of the old housekeeper, who was employed at a law-stationer's, -and who wrote a hand which was almost illegible from its very clearness, had -sometimes been pressed into the service. But now Lord Caterham preferred writing -for himself. Annie had sent to beg him to rest; and in reply he had scrawled two -lines, saying that he was ever so much better, and that he had something to do -which must be done, and which when done would leave him much happier and easier -in mind. So they left him to himself; and Stephens, looking in from time to -time, as was his wont, reported to the servants'-hall that his master was "at it -as hard as ever--still a-writin'!" They wondered what could thus occupy him, -those curious domestics. They knew exactly the state in which he was, the feeble -hold that he had on life;--what do they not know, those London servants?--and -they thought that he was making his will, and speculated freely among themselves -as to what would be the amount of Stephens's inheritance; and whether it would -be a sum of money "down," or an annuity; and whether Stephens would invest it -after the usual fashion of their kind--in a public-house, or whether, from -excessive gentility, he was not "a cut above that." Lord Caterham would not hold -out much longer, they opined; and then Mr. Lionel would come in for his title; -and who Mr. Lionel was--inquired about by the new servants, and the description -of Mr. Lionel by the old servants--and mysterious hints as to how, in the matter -of Mr. Lionel, there had been a "screw loose" and a "peg out;" how he was a -"regular out-and-out fast lot," and had had to "cut it;"--all this occasioned -plenty of talk in the servants'-hall, and made the dreary autumn-day pass quite -pleasantly. And still the sick man sat at his desk, plying his pen, with but -rare intervals of rest--intervals during which he would clasp his poor aching -head, and lift his shrivelled attenuated hands in earnest silent prayer.</p> -<br> - <p>The Beauport household was sunk in repose the next morning, when a -sharp ring at the bell, again and again repeated, aroused the young lady who as -kitchen-maid was on her preferment, and whose dreams of being strangled by the -cook for the heaviness of her hand in an omelette were scared by the shrill -clanging of the bell which hung immediately over her head. The first notion of -"fire" had calmed down into an idea of "sweeps" by the time that she had covered -her night-attire with a dingy calico robe known to her as her "gownd;" and she -was tottering blindly down stairs before she recollected that no sweeps had been -ordered, and thought that it was probably a "runaway." But lured perhaps by a -faint idea that it might be the policeman, she descended; and after an enormous -amount of unbolting and unchaining, found herself face-to-face with a -fresh-coloured, light-bearded, cheery gentleman, who wore a Glengarry cap, had a -travelling-rug in his hand, was smoking a cigar, and had evidently just alighted -from a hansom-cab which was standing at the door, and the driver of which was -just visible behind a big portmanteau and a gun-case. The fresh-coloured -gentleman was apparently rather startled at the apparition of the kitchen-maid, -and exclaimed, apparently involuntarily, "Gad!" in a very high key. Recovering -himself instantly, he asked how Lord Caterham was. Utterly taken aback at -discovering that the visitor was not the policeman, the kitchen-maid was -floundering about heavily for an answer, when she was more than ever -disconcerted at seeing the fresh-coloured gentleman tear off his Glengarry-cap -and advance up the steps with outsretched hand. These demonstrations were not -made in honour of kitchen-maid, but of Annie Maurice, who had been aroused from -her usual light sleep by the ring, and who, guessing at the visitor, had come -down in her dressing-gown to see him.</p> -<p>They passed into the dining-room, and then he took her hand and said: "I only -got your telegram at dinner-time last night, my dear Miss Maurice, and came off -just as I was. Dropmore--deuced civil of him--drove me over to the station -himself hard as he could go, by Jove! just caught mail-train, and came on from -King's Cross in a cab. It's about Caterham, of course. Bad news,--ay, ay, ay! -He--poor--I can't say it--he's in danger, he--" And brave old Algy stopped, his -handsome jolly features all tightened and pinched in his anxiety.</p> -<p>"He is very, very ill, dear Mr. Barford,--very ill; and I wanted you to see -him. I don't know--I can't tell why--but I think he may possibly have something -on his mind--something which he would not like to tell me, but which he might -feel a relief in confiding to some one else; and as you, I know, are a very dear -and valued friend of his, I think we should all like you to be that some one. -That was what made me send for you."</p> -<p>"I'm--I'm not a very good hand at eloquence, Miss Maurice--might put pebbles -in my mouth and shout at the sea-shore and all that kind of thing, like the--the -celebrated Greek person, you know--and wouldn't help me in getting out a word; -but though I can't explain, I feel very grateful to you for sending for me, to -see--dear old boy!" The knot which had been rising in Algy Barford's throat -during this speech had grown nearly insurmountable by this time, and there were -two big tears running down his waistcoat. He tried to pull himself together as -he said: "If he has any thing to say, which he would like to say to me--of -course--I shall--any thing that would--God bless him, my dear old boy!--good, -patient, dear darling old boy, God bless him!" The thought of losing his old -friend flashed across him in all its dread heart-wringing dreariness, and Algy -Barford fairly broke down and wept like a child. Recovering himself after a -moment, he seized Annie's hand, and muttering something to the effect that he -would be back as soon as he had made himself a little less like an Esquimaux, he -dashed into the cab and was whirled away.</p> -<p>You would scarcely have thought that Algy Barford had had what is called -sleep, but what really is a mixture of nightmare and cramp in a -railway-carriage, had you seen him at eleven o'clock, when he next made his -appearance at St. Barnabas Square, so bright and fresh and radiant was he. He -found Annie Maurice awaiting his arrival, and had with her a short earnest -conversation as to Caterham's state. From that he learned all. The doctors had a -very bad opinion of their patient's state: it was--hum--ha!--Yes--you -know!--general depression--a want of vitality, which--just now--looking at his -normal lack of force, of what we call professionally <i>vis vita</i>, might--eh? -Yes, no doubt, serious result. Could not be positively stated whether he would -not so far recover--pull through, as it is called--rally, as we say, as -to--remain with us yet some time; but in these cases there was always--well, -yes, it must be called a risk. This was the decision which the doctors had given -to Annie, and which she, in other words, imparted to Algy Barford, who, coupling -it with his experience of the guarded manner in which fashionable physicians -usually announced their opinions, felt utterly hopeless, and shook his head -mournfully. He tried to be himself; to resume his old smile and old confident -buoyant way; he told his dear Miss Maurice that she must hope for the best; that -these doctor-fellows, by Jove, generally knew nothing; half of them died -suddenly themselves, without even having anticipated their own ailments; -"physician, heal thyself," and all that sort of thing; that probably Caterham -wanted a little rousing, dear old boy; which rousing he would go in and give -him. But Annie marked the drooping head and the sad despondent manner in which -he shrugged his shoulders and plunged his hands into his pockets when he thought -she had retired--marked also how he strove to throw elasticity into his step and -light into his face as he approached the door of Caterham's room.</p> -<p>It had been arranged between Algy and Annie Maurice that his was to have the -appearance of a chance visit, so that when Stephens had announced him, and Lord -Caterham had raised his head in wonder, Algy, who had by this time pulled -himself together sufficiently, said: "Ah, ha Caterham!--dear old boy!--thought -you had got rid of us all out of town, eh?--and were going to have it all to -yourself! Not a bit of it, dear boy! These doctor-fellows tell you one can't get -on without ozone. Don't know what that is--daresay they're right. All I know is, -I can't get on without a certain amount of chimney-pot. Country, delicious fresh -air, turf; heather, peat-bog, stubble, partridge, snipe, grouse--all deuced -good! cows and pigs, and that kind of thing; get up early, and go to bed and -snore; get red face and double-chin and awful weight--then chimney-pot required. -I always know, bless you! Too much London season, get my liver as big as -Strasburg goose's, you know--<i>foie gras</i> and feet nailed to a board, and -that kind of thing; too much country, tight waistcoat, red face--awfully -British, in point of fact. Then, chimney-pot. I'm in that state now; and Ive -come back to have a week's chimney-pot and blacks and generally cabbage-stalky -street--and then I shall go away much better."</p> -<p>"You keep your spirits, Algy, wherever you are." The thin faint voice struck -on Algy Barford's ear like a knell. He paused a minute and took a short quick -gulp, and then said: "O yes, still the same stock on hand, Caterham. I could -execute country orders, or supply colonial agencies even, with promptitude and -despatch, I think. And you, Arthur--how goes it with you?"</p> -<p>"Very quietly, Algy,--very, very quietly, thank God! Ive had no return of my -old pain for some time, and the headache seems to have left me."</p> -<p>"Well, that's brave! We shall see you in your chair out on the lawn at the -hunt-breakfast at Homershams again this winter, Arthur. We shall--"</p> -<p>"Well, I scarcely think that. I mean, not perhaps as you interpret me; but--I -scarcely think--However, there's time enough to think of that. Let's talk of -nearer subjects. I'm so glad you chanced to come to town, Algy--so very glad. -Your coming seems predestined; for it was only yesterday I was wishing I had you -here."</p> -<p>"Tremendously glad I came, dear old boy! Chimney-pot attack fell in handy -this time, at all events. What did you want, Arthur, old fellow? Not got a new -leaning towards dogginess, and want me to go up to Bill George's? Do you -recollect that Irish deerhound I got for you?"</p> -<p>"I recollect him well--poor old Connor. No, not a dog now. I want you -to--just raise me a bit, Algy, will you?--a little bit: I am scarcely strong -enough to--that's it. Ah, Algy, old fellow, how often in the long years that we -have been chums have you lifted this poor wretched frame in your strong arms!"</p> -<p>It was a trial for a man of Algy Barford's big heart; but he made head -against it even then, and said in a voice harder and drier than usual from the -struggle, "How often have I brought my bemuddled old brains for you to take them -out and pick them to pieces and clean them, and put them back into my head in a -state to be of some use to me!--that's the question, dear old boy. How often -have you supplied the match to light the tow inside my head--Ive got deuced -little outside now--and sent me away with some idea of what I ought to do when I -was in a deuce of a knot! Why, I recollect once when Lionel and I--what is it, -dear old boy?"</p> -<p>"You remind me--the mention of that name--I want to say something to you -Algy, which oddly enough had--just reach me that bottle, Algy; thanks!--which--"</p> -<p>"Rest a minute, dear old boy; rest. You've been exerting yourself too much."</p> -<p>"No; I'm better now--only faint for a minute. What was I saying?--O, about -Lionel. You recollect a letter which--" his voice was growing again so faint -that Algy took up the sentence.</p> -<p>"Which I brought to you; a letter from Lionel, after he had, you know, dear -old boy--board ship and that kind of thing?"</p> -<p>"Yes, that is the letter I mean. You--you knew its contents, Algy?"</p> -<p>"Well, Arthur, I think I did--I--you know Lionel was very fond of me, -and--used to be about with him, you know, and that kind of thing--"</p> -<p>"You knew his--his wife?"</p> -<p>"Wife, Gad, did he say?--Jove! Knew you were--dear me!--charming -person--lady. Very beautiful--great friend of Lionel's; but not his wife, dear -old boy--somebody else's wife."</p> -<p>"Somebody else's wife?"</p> -<p>"Yes; wonderful story. Ive wanted to tell you, and, most extraordinary thing, -something always interrupted. Friend of yours too; tall woman red hair, violet -eyes--wife of painter-man--Good God, Arthur!"</p> -<p>Well might he start; for Lord Caterham threw his hands wildly above his head, -then let them fall helplessly by his side. By the time Algy Barford had sprung -to his chair, and passed his arms around him, the dying man's head had drooped -on to his right shoulder, and his eyes were glazing fast.</p> -<p>"Arthur! dear Arthur! one instant! Let me call for help."</p> -<p>"No, Algy; leave us so; no one else. Only one who could--and she--better -not--bless her! better not. Take my hand, Algy, old friend--tried, trusted, dear -old friend--always thoughtful, always affectionate--God bless you--Algy! Yes, -kiss my forehead again. Ah, so happy! where the wicked cease from troubling and -the--Yes, Lord, with me abide, with me abide!--the darkness deepens: Lord, with -me abide!"</p> -<p>And as the last words fell faintly on Algy Barford's ears, the slight form -which was lying in Algy Barford's arms, and on which the strong man's tears were -falling like rain, slipped gradually out of his grasp--dead.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> - <h4><a name="div3_04" href="#div3Ref_04">CHAPTER IV.</a></h4> -<h5>THE PROTRACTED SEARCH.</h5> -<br> - <p>Annie Maurice was aroused from the brooding loneliness in which she had -sought refuge, in the first bewilderment and stupefaction of her grief, by a -communication from Lord Beauport. All was over now; the last sad ceremonial had -taken place; and the place which had known Arthur, in his patient suffering, in -his little-appreciated gentleness and goodness, should know him no more for -ever. The crippled form was gone, and the invalid-chair which had for so long -supported it had been removed, by order of the housekeeper, to a receptacle for -discarded articles of use or ornament. Lord and Lady Beauport were not likely to -notice the circumstance, or to object to it if they did. The blinds were -decorously drawn; the rooms were scrupulously arranged; every thing in them in -its place, as though never to be used or handled any more. The books, the -objects of art, the curious things which the dead man alone of all the house had -understood and valued, had a staring lifeless look about them in the -unaccustomed precision of their distribution; the last flowers which Annie ha -placed in the Venetian glasses had withered, and been thrown away by the notable -housemaids. A ray of sunlight crept in at one side of the blind, and streamed -upon the spot where Arthur's head had fallen back upon his friend's arm,--ah, -how short a time ago!--and yet all looked strange and changed, not only as if he -had gone away for ever, but as if he had never been there at all. Annie had not -gone into the rooms since he had left them for the last time; she had an -instinctive feeling of how it would be, and she could not bear it yet; she knew -that in nothing would there be so sharp a pang as in seeing the familiar things -which had been so like him, grown so unlike. So, when her maid told her that -Lord Beauport wished to see her immediately, she asked nervously where he was.</p> -<p>"In the library, Miss Annie," said her maid, and looked very pityingly at the -purple eyelids and white face.</p> -<p>"Alone?"</p> -<p>No, his lordship was not alone; one of the lawyer gentlemen and her ladyship -were with him.</p> -<p>Annie went slowly and reluctantly to the library. She did not think for a -moment that Lord and Lady Beauport were indifferent to the death of their eldest -son; on the contrary, she knew that the event had come upon them with a mighty -shock, and that they had felt it, if not deeply, at least violently and keenly. -But she had the faculty of vivid perception, and she used it intuitively; and in -this case it told her that shame, self-detection, and remorse,--the vague -uneasiness which besets all who cannot reckon with themselves to the full in the -daylight of conscience, but, like the debtor called to an account, kept -something back,--mingled largely with their grief. It was not wholehearted, -lavish, sacred, like hers; it was not the grief which takes the spontaneous form -of prayer, and chastens itself into submission, elevating and sanctifying the -mind and character of the mourner. Annie knew, by that keen unreasoning instinct -of hers, that while her sole and earnest desire was to keep the memory of her -dead cousin green, recalling his words, his counsels, his wishes,--dwelling on -his views of life and its duties, and preserving him in her faithful heart, for -ever near her, as a living friend,--while her chosen thoughts would be of him, -and her best consolation in memory,--his father and mother would forget him if -they could. They mourned for him, but it was with captious impatient grief; -there was a sting in every remembrance, every association, which they could not -yet escape from, but would have put away if they had had the power. To them, -sorrow for the dead was as a haunting enemy, to be outwitted and left behind as -speedily as might be; to her it was a friend, cherished and dear, solemnly -greeted, and piously entertained.</p> -<p>When Annie entered the library, she found that the "lawyer gentleman," whom -her maid had mentioned, was the family solicitor, Mr. Knevitt, who was well -known to her, and for whom Caterham had had much liking and respect. Lord -Beauport and he were standing together beside a long table, strewn with papers, -and on which stood a large despatch-box open, and, as she saw while she walked -up the room, also full of papers. At some distance from the table, and in the -shade, Lady Beauport was seated, her hands clasped together in her lap, and her -figure leaning completely back in the deep arm-chair she occupied. She looked -very pale and worn, and her deep mourning was not becoming to her. Sharp -contention of thought and feeling was going on under that calm exterior,--bitter -pangs, in which vexation had a large share, as well as regret, and a sense that -she was to be baffled in the future as she had been defeated in the past. Ay, -the future,--she had begun to think of it already, or rather she had begun (when -had she ever ceased?) to think of <i>him</i>. Lionel was the future to her. What -if there were more trouble and opposition in store for her? What if Arthur (ah, -poor fellow! he had never understood young men different from himself, and he -was always hard on Lionel) had left any communication for his father, had -written any thing touching the particulars of Lionel's career which he knew, and -had warned her not to ask? Hitherto nothing of the sort had been found in the -examination of Lord Caterham's papers instituted by Lord Beauport and Mr. -Knevitt. There was a packet for Annie Maurice, indeed; they had found it an hour -ago, and Lord Beauport had just sent for Annie in order to hand it over to her. -Lady Beauport had, however, no apprehensions connected with this matter; the -virtues of the dead and the vices of the living son (though she would not have -given them their true name) secured her from feeling any. Whatever Lionel had -done she felt convinced was not of a nature to be communicated to Annie, and -Caterham would have guarded her with the utmost caution from hearing any thing -unfit for her ears. No, no; there was no danger in that quarter. Had she not -felt sure, before this "dreadful thing"--as she called Lord Caterham's death to -herself--happened, that the scrupulous delicacy of her son, where Annie was -concerned, would be her best aid and defence against his defeat of her projects? -The letter, the packet--whatever it might be called--was probably an effusion of -feeling, a moral lecture on life, or a posthumous guide to studies, in which -Arthur had desired to see his gentle and interesting cousin proficient.</p> -<p>So Lady Beauport looked at the packet as it lay on the table, close to the -despatch-box, without the least anxiety, and fixed her impatient attention on -the further investigation of the papers, continued by Lord Beauport and Mr. -Knevitt. It was not until they had concluded as much of their melancholy task as -they proposed to undertake that day, that the Earl sent the summons which -brought Annie to the library.</p> -<p>He took up the packet as she drew near, and said, very sadly:</p> -<p>"This is for you my dear."</p> -<p>"From--from Arthur?" she asked, in a trembling voice. "Yes, Annie,--we found -it among his papers."</p> -<p>She took it from him, looked at it, and sat down in a chair beside the table, -but made no attempt to break the seal. Lady Beauport did not speak. The Earl -resumed his conversation with Mr. Knevitt, and Annie sat still and silent for a -few minutes, Then she interrupted Lord Beauport by asking him if he required her -for any thing further.</p> -<p>"No, my dear," he said kindly; "you may go away if you like. How weary you -look!" he added, with a deep sigh. Still Lady Beauport spoke no word; but her -keen unsympathetic eyes followed the girl's graceful figure and drooping head as -she left the library.</p> -<p>Arrived at her own room, Annie opened the packet, which she felt was a sacred -thing. Her departed friend had written to her, then, words which he intended her -to read only when he should be no more; solemn counsel, very precious affection, -a priceless legacy from the dead would no doubt be in the letter, whose folds -felt so thick and heavy in her hand. She removed the outer cover, placing it -carefully by her side, and found an enclosure directed to Geoffrey Ludlow, and -merely a few lines to herself, in which the writer simply directed her to place -the accompanying letter in Geoffrey's hands <i>herself</i>, and privately, as -soon after it came into hers as possible.</p> -<p>Surprise and disappointment were Annie's first feelings. She looked forlornly -enough at the meagre scrap of writing that was her share, and with some wonder -at the letter--no doubt voluminous--which was Geoffrey's. What could it be -about? Arthur and Ludlow had been good friends, it is true, and had entertained -strong mutual respect; but she could not account for this solemn communication, -implying so strange and absolute a confidence. She turned the letter over in her -hands, she scrutinised the address, the paper, the seal; then she rose and -locked it carefully away, together with the note to herself in which it had -been: enclosed. "Give this letter <i>privately</i> to Ludlow," were Arthur's -words; then, if he did not wish its delivery to be known, it was plain he wished -to conceal its existence. If Lady Beauport should question her as to the -contents of the packet? Well, she must either give an evasive answer, or refuse -to answer at all; the alternative should be decided by the terms of the -question. She could venture to refuse an answer to a question of Lady Beauport's -now; her heiress-ship had secured her many immunities, that one among the rest.</p> -<p>Lord Beauport was right; Annie was weary, and looking so. The sickness and -dreariness of a great grief were upon her, and she was worn out. The stillness -of the great house was oppressive to her; and yet she shrank from the knowledge -that that stillness was soon to pass away, that life would resume its accustomed -course, and the dead be forgotten. By all but her; to her his memory should be -ever precious, and his least wish sacred. Then she debated within herself how -she should fulfil his last request. There were difficulties in the way. She -could not tell Geoffrey to call on her yet, nor could she go to his house. Then -she remembered that he had not written to her. She had forgotten, until then, -that there had been no answer to the letter in which she told Geoffrey Ludlow of -Caterham's death. Could a letter have come, and been overlooked? She rang for -her maid and questioned her, but she was positive no letter had been mislaid or -forgotten. Several papers lay on her writing-table; she turned them over, to -satisfy herself, though nothing could be more improbable than that she should -have overlooked a letter from her dear old friend. There was no such thing. -Puzzled and vaguely distressed, Annie stood looking at the heap of notes, with -her hands pressed on her throbbing temples; and her maid entreated her to lie -down and rest, commenting, as Lord Beauport had done, upon her appearance. Annie -complied; and the girl carefully darkened the room and left her. For a while she -lay still, thinking how she was to convey the letter to Geoffrey, without delay, -"as soon as possible," Arthur had said; but she soon dropped into the dull heavy -sleep of grief and exhaustion.</p> -<p>It was late in the evening when she awoke, and she again eagerly inquired for -letters. There were none, and Annie's surprise grew into uneasiness. She -resolved to write to Ludlow again, to tell him that she had something of -importance to communicate, without indicating its character. "He may tell -Margaret, or not, as he pleases," she thought "that is for him to decide. I -daresay, if she sees my note, she will not feel any curiosity or interest about -it. Poor Geoffrey!" And then the girl recalled all that Arthur had said of his -suspicion and distrust of Ludlow's beautiful wife, and thought sorrowfully how -large was his share in the loss they had sustained of such a friend. Something -must be wrong, she thought, or Geoffrey would surely have written. In her sore -grief she yearned for the true and ready sympathy which she should have from -him, and him alone. Stay; she would not only write, she would send her maid to -inquire for Geoffrey, and Margaret, and the child. She could go early next -morning in a cab, and be back before breakfast-hour. So Annie made this -arrangement, wrote her note, got through a short hour or two in the great dreary -drawing-room as best she could, and once more cried herself to the merciful -sleep which in some degree strengthened her for the intelligence which awaited -her in the morning.</p> -<p>She was aroused by her maid, who came hurriedly to her bedside, holding in -her hand Annie's note to Ludlow. She started up, confused, yet sufficiently -awake to be startled at the look in the girl's face.</p> -<p>"What is it?" she said faintly.</p> -<p>"O Miss Annie, dreadful, dreadful news Mrs. Ludlow has gone away, nobody -knows where, and Mr. Ludlow is raving mad, in brain-fever!"</p> -<br> - <p>Lord Caterham's letter lay for many days undisturbed in the receptacle -in which Annie Maurice had placed it. Not yet was the confidence of the dead to -be imparted to the living. He was to read that letter in time, and to learn from -it much that the writer had never dreamed it could convey. Little had the two, -who had lived in so near and pleasant an intimacy, dreamed of the fatal link -which really, though unseen, connected them. This was the letter which, in due -time, Annie Maurice deposited in Geoffrey's hands:</p> -<br> - <p>"MY DEAR LUDLOW,--I have felt for some time that for me 'the long -disease called life' is wearing toward its cure. Under this conviction I am -'setting my house in order;' and to do so thoroughly, and enjoy peace of mind -for the brief space which will remain to me when that is done, I must have -recourse to your honest and trusty friendship. I have to bequeath to you two -services to be done for me, and one confidence to be kept, until your discretion -shall judge it expedient that it should be divulged. These two services are -distinct, but cognate; and they concern one who is the dearest of all living -creatures to me, and for whom I know you entertain a sincere and warm -affection--I allude to Annie Maurice. The confidence concerns my unworthy -brother, Lionel Brakespere.</p> -<p>"In the fortune left her by Mr. Ampthill, Annie has security against material -ills, and is safe from the position of dependence, in which I never could bear -to feel she must remain. This is an immense relief to my mind; but it has -substituted a source of uneasiness, though of considerably less dimensions, for -that which it has removed. When I wrote to you lately, asking you to come to me, -it was with the intention of speaking to you on this subject; but as our -interview has been accidentally prevented, I made up my mind to act in the -matter myself, as long as I live, and to bequeath action after my death to you, -as I am now doing. My brother is as worthless a man as there is on the face of -the earth--heartless, depraved, unprincipled to an almost incredible degree, -considering his early association with men and women of character. You have, I -daresay, heard vaguely of certain disgraceful circumstances which forced him to -leave the country, and which brought immeasurable distress upon us all.</p> -<p>"I need not enter into these matters: they have little to do with the thing -that is pressing on my mind. If Lionel's vices had been hidden from society ever -so discreetly, I was sufficiently aware of their existence to have shrunk with -as much horror as I feel now from the idea of his becoming Annie's husband. Let -me preface what I am about to say by assuring you that I do not entertain any -such fear. I know Annie; and I am perfectly assured that for her pure, upright, -intelligent, and remarkably clear-sighted nature such a man as Lionel,--whose -profound and cynical selfishness is not to be hidden by external polish, and -whose many vices have left upon him the <i>cachet</i> which every pure woman -feels instinctively, even though she does not understand theoretically,--will -never have any attraction. She knows the nature of the transaction which drove -him from England; and such a knowledge would be sufficient protection for her, -without the repulsion which I am satisfied will be the result of association -with him. I would protect her from such association if I could, and while I live -I do not doubt my power to do so. It will be painful to me to use it; but I do -not mind pain for Annie's benefit. A sad estrangement always existed between -Lionel and me; an estrangement increased on his side by contempt and -dislike--which he expressed in no measured terms--but on my part merely passive. -The power which I possess to hinder his return to this house was put into my -hands by himself--more, I believe, to wound me, and in the wanton malice and -daring of his evil nature, than for the reason he assigned; but it is effectual, -and I shall use it, as I can, without explanation. When I am gone, it needs be, -some one must be enabled to use this power in my stead; and that person, my dear -Ludlow, is you. I choose you for Annie's sake, for yours, and for my own. My -mother designs to marry Lionel to Annie, and thus secure to him by marriage the -fortune which his misconduct lost him by inheritance. With this purpose in view, -she has summoned Lionel to England, and she proposes that he should return to -this house. She and I have had a painful explanation, and I have positively -declared that it cannot and shall not be. In order to convince her of the -necessity of yielding the point, I have told her that I am in possession of -particulars of Lionel's conduct, unknown to her and my father, which perfectly -justify me in my declaration; and I have entreated her, for the sake of her own -peace of mind, not to force me, by an attempt which can have no issue but -failure, to communicate the disgraceful particulars. Lady Beauport has been -forced to appear satisfied for the present; and matters are in a state of -suspense.</p> -<p>"But this cannot last, and with my life it will come to an end. Lionel will -return here, in my place, and bearing my name--the heir to an earldom; and the -follies and crimes of the younger son will be forgotten. Still Annie Maurice -will be no less a brilliant match, and my mother will be no less anxious to -bring about a marriage. I foresee misery to Annie--genteel persecution and utter -friendlessness--unless you, Ludlow, come to her aid. With all its drawbacks, -this is her fitting home; and you must not propose that she should leave it -without very grave cause. But you must be in a position to preserve her from -Lionel; you must hold the secret in your hand, as I hold it, which makes all -schemes for such an accursed marriage vain--the secret which will keep the house -she will adorn free from the pollution of his presence. When you hear that -Lionel Brakespere is paying attention to Annie under his father's roof, go to -Lord Beauport, and tell him that Lionel Brakespere is a married man.</p> -<p>"And now, my dear Ludlow, you know one of the services you are to do me when -I am gone; and you are in possession of the confidence I desire to repose in -you. To explain the other, I must give you particulars. When my brother left -England, he sent me, by the hands of a common friend, a letter which he had -written at Liverpool, and which, when I have made you acquainted with its -contents, I shall destroy. I do not desire to leave its low ribaldry, its coarse -contempt, its cynical wickedness, to shock my poor father's eyes, or to testify -against my brother when I am gone.</p> -<p>"I enable you to expose him, in order to prevent unhappiness to one dear to -us both; but I have no vindictive feeling towards him, and no eyes but mine must -see the words in which he taunts me with the physical afflictions to which he -chooses to assign my 'notions of morality' and 'superiority to temptation.' -Enough--the facts which the letter contains are these: As nearly as I can make -out, four years ago he met and tried to seduce a young lady, only eighteen years -old, at Tenby. Her virtue, I hope--he says her ambition--foiled him, and he ran -away with the girl and married her. He called himself Leonard Brookfield; and -she never knew his name or real position. He took her abroad for a time; then -brought her to London, where she passed for his mistress among the men to whom -he introduced her, and who were aware that she had no knowledge of his identity. -He had left the army then, or of course she would have discovered it. When the -crash came, he had left her, and he coolly told me, as he had next to nothing -for himself, he had nothing for her. His purpose in writing to me was to inform -me, as especially interested in the preservation of the family, that not only -was there a wife in the case, but, to the best of his belief, child also, to be -born very soon; and as no one could say what would become of him, it might be as -well to ascertain where the heir of the Beauports might be found, if necessary. -He supposed I would keep the matter a secret, until it should become advisable, -if ever, to reveal it. Mrs. Brakespere had no knowledge of her rights, and could -not, therefore, make herself obnoxious by claiming them. If I chose to give her -some help, I should probably be rewarded by the consciousness of charity; but he -advised me to keep the secret of our relationship for my own sake: she was -perfectly well known as his mistress; and as they were both under a cloud at -present, the whole thing had better be kept as dark as possible. I read this -letter with the deepest disgust; the personal impertinence to myself I could -afford to disregard, and was accustomed to; but the utter baseness and villany -of it sickened me. This was the man who was to bear my father's name and fill my -father's place. I determined at once to afford assistance to the wretched -forsaken wife, and to wait and consider when and how it would be advisable to -bring about the acknowledgment of the truth and her recognition. I thought of -course only of simple justice. The circumstances of the marriage were too much -against the girl to enable me to form any favourable opinion of her. I turned to -the letter to find her name and address; they were not given: of course this was -only an oversight; he must have intended to subjoin them. My perplexity was -extreme. How was I to discover this unhappy woman? I knew too well the code of -honour, as it is called, among men, to hope for help from any of his dissolute -friends; they would keep his evil secret--as they believed it--faithfully.</p> -<p>"Algy Barford had brought me the letter, and on that occasion had referred to -his being 'no end chums' with Lionel. But he had also declared that he knew -nothing whatever of the contents of the letter. Still he might know something of -her. I put a question or two to him, and found he did not. He had known a woman -who lived with Lionel for a short time, he believed, but she was dead. Clearly -this was another person. Then I determined to have recourse to the professional -finders-out of secrets, and I sent for Blackett. You have often seen him leaving -me as you came in, or waiting for me as you went out. The day Mrs. Ludlow -fainted, you remember, he was in the hall as you took her to the carriage, and -he asked me so many questions about her, that I was quite amused at the idea of -a detective being so enthusiastic. The materials he had to work on were sparing -indeed, and the absence of all clue by name was very embarrassing. He went to -work skilfully, I am sure, though he failed. He went to Tenby, and there he -ascertained the name of the girl who had deserted her widowed mother for Leonard -Brookfield. The mother had been many months dead. This was little help, for she -had doubtless discarded the Christian name; and the personal description was -probably coloured by the indignation her conduct had excited. Blackett learned -that she was handsome, with red hair and blue eyes,--some said black. He could -get no certain information on that point.</p> -<p>"But I need not linger over these details. No efforts were spared, yet our -search proved vain. When some time had elapsed, their direction changed, and a -woman and child were sought for: in every part of London where destitution -hides, in all the abodes of flaunting sin, in hospitals, in refuges, in -charitable institutions,--in vain. Sometimes Blackett suggested that she might -have taken another protector and gone abroad; he made all possible inquiry. She -had never communicated with her home, or with any one who had formerly known -her. I began to despair of finding her; and I had almost made up my mind to -relinquish the search, when Blackett came to me one day, in great excitement for -him, and told me he was confident of finding her in a day or two at the -farthest. 'And the child?' I asked. No, he knew nothing of the child; the woman -he had traced, and whom he believed to be my brother's deserted wife, had no -child, had never had one, within the knowledge of the people from whom he had -got his information; nevertheless he felt sure he was right this time, and the -child might have died before she came across them. She must have suffered -terribly. Then he told me his information came through a pawnbroker, of whom he -had frequent occasion to make inquiries. This man had shown him a gold locket, -which had evidently held a miniature, on the inside of which was engraved 'From -Leonard to Clara,' and which had been pawned by a very poor but respectable -person, whose address, in a miserable lane at Islington, he now gave to -Blackett. He went to the place at once and questioned the woman, who was only -too anxious to give all the information in her power in order to clear herself. -She had received the locket in the presence of two persons, from a young woman -who had lodged with her, and who had no other means of paying her. The young -woman had gone away a week before, she did not know where; she had no money, and -only a little bundle of clothes--a handkerchief full. She had no child, and had -never said any thing about one. The woman did not know her name. She had taken a -picture out of the locket She had red hair and dark eyes. This was all. I shall -never forget the wretched feeling which came over me as I thought of the -suffering this brief story implied, and of what the wretched woman might since -have undergone. I remember so well, it was in January,--a dirty, wet, horrible -day,--when Blackett told me all this; and I was haunted with the idea of the -woman dying of cold and want in the dreadful streets. Blackett had no doubt of -finding her now; she had evidently fallen to the veriest pauperism, and out of -the lowest depths she would be drawn up, no doubt. So he set to work at once, -but all in vain. Dead or living, no trace of her has ever been found; and the -continuous search has been abandoned. Blackett only 'bears it in mind' now. Once -he suggested to me, that as she was no doubt handsome, and not over particular, -she might have got a living by sitting to the painters, and 'I'll try that lay,' -he said; but nothing came of that either. I thought of it the day Annie and I -met you f, at the Private View, and if I had had the opportunity, would have -asked you if you knew such a face as the one we were only guessing at, after -all; but you were hurried, and the occasion passed; and when we met again, -Blackett had exhausted all sources of information in that direction, and there -was nothing to be learned.</p> -<p>"This is the story I had to tell you, Ludlow, and to leave to your discretion -to use when the time comes. Within the last week Blackett has made further -attempts, and has again failed. Lionel is in London; but while I live he does -not enter this house. I shall, after a while, when I am able, which I am not -now, let him know that search has been unsuccessfully made for his wife, and -demand that he shall furnish me with any clue in his possession, under the -threat of immediate exposure. This, and every other plan, may be at any moment -rendered impossible by my death; therefore I write this, and entreat you to -continue the search until this woman be found, dead or living. So only can -Annie's home be made happy and reputable for her when I shall have left it for -ever. You will receive this from Annie's hands; a packet addressed to her will -not be neglected or thrown aside; and if it becomes necessary for you to act for -her, she will have the knowledge 05 your interference and obedience to your -advice. I confide her to you, my dear Ludlow--as I said before--as the dearest -living thing in all the world to me.--Yours ever,</p> -<p style="text-indent:50%">"CATERHAM."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> - <h4><a name="div3_05" href="#div3Ref_05">CHAPTER V.</a></h4> -<h5>DISMAY.</h5> -<br> - <p>Mrs. Ludlow and Til had concluded the meal which is so generally -advanced to a position of unnatural importance in a household devoid of the -masculine element <i>en permanence</i>; and, the tea-things having been removed, -the old lady, according to the established order, was provided with a book, over -which she was expected to fall comfortably asleep. But she did not adhere to the -rule of her harmless and placid life on this particular occasion. The "cross" -was there--no doubt about it; and it was no longer indefinite in its nature, but -very real, and beginning to be very heavy. Under the pressure of its weight -Geoffrey's mother was growing indifferent to, even unobservant of, the small -worries which had formerly occupied her mind, and furnished the subject-matter -of her pardonable little querulousness and complaints--a grievance in no way -connected with the tradespeople, and uninfluenced by the "greatest plagues in -life"--which no reduction of duties involving cheap groceries, and no sumptuary -laws restraining servant-gal-ism within limits of propriety in respect of curls -and crinoline, had any power to assuage,--had taken possession of her now, and -she fidgeted and fumed no longer, but was haunted by apprehension and sorely -troubled.</p> -<p>A somewhat forced liveliness on Til's part, and a marked avoidance of the -subject of Geoffrey, of whom, as he had just left them, it would have been -natural that the mother and daughter should talk, bore witness to the -embarrassment she felt, and increased Mrs. Ludlow's depression. She sat in her -accustomed arm-chair, but her head drooped forward and her fingers tapped the -arms in an absent manner, which showed her pre-occupation of mind. Til at length -took her needle-work, and sat down opposite her mother, in a silence which was -interrupted after a considerable interval by the arrival of Charley Potts, who -had not altogether ceased to offer clumsy and violently-improbable explanations -of his visits, though such were rapidly coming to be unnecessary.</p> -<p>On the present occasion Charley floundered through the preliminaries with -more than his usual impulsive awkwardness, and there was that in his manner -which caused Til (a quick observer, and especially so in his case) to divine -that he had something particular to say to her. If she were right in her -conjecture, it was clear that the opportunity must be waited for,--until the -nap, in which Mrs. Ludlow invariably indulged in the evening, should have set -in. The sooner the conversation settled into sequence, the sooner this desirable -event might be expected to take place; so Til talked vigorously, and Charley -seconded her efforts. Mrs. Ludlow said little, until, just as Charley began to -think the nap was certainly coming, she asked him abruptly if he had seen -Geoffrey lately. Miss Til happened to be looking at Charley as the question was -put to him, and saw in a moment that the matter he had come to speak to her -about concerned her brother.</p> -<p>"No, ma'am," said Chancy; "none of us have seen Geoff lately. Bowker and I -have planned a state visit to him; he's as hard to get at as a swell in the -Government--with things to give away--what do you call it?--patronage; but we're -not going to stand it. We can't do without Geoff. By the bye, how's the -youngster, ma'am?"</p> -<p>"The child is very well, I believe," said Mrs. Ludlow, with a shake of the -head, which Charley Potts had learned to recognise in connection with the -"cross," but which he saw with regret on the present occasion. "I'm afraid -theyve heard something," he thought. "But," continued the old lady querulously, -"I see little of him, or of Geoffrey either. Things are changed; I suppose it's -all right, but it's not easy for a mother to see it; and I don't think any -mother would like to be a mere visitor at her own son's house,--not that I am -even much of that now, Mr. Potts; for I am sure it's a month 'or more since ever -I have darkened the doors of Elm Lodge,--and I shouldn't so much mind it, I -hope, if it was for Geoffrey's good; but I can't think it's that--" Here the old -lady's voice gave way, and she left off with a kind of sob, which went to -Charley's soft heart and filled him with inexpressible confusion. Til was also -much taken aback, though she saw at once that her mother had been glad of the -opportunity of saying her little say, under the influence of the mortification -she had felt at Geoffrey's silence on the subject of her future visits to Elm -Lodge. He had, as we have seen, made himself as delightful as possible in every -other respect; but he had been strictly reticent about Margaret, and he had not -invited his mother and sister to his house. She had been longing to say all this -to Til; and now she had got it out, in the presence of a third party, who would -"see fair" between her justifiable annoyance and Til's unreasonable defence of -her brother. Til covered Charley's embarrassment by saying promptly, in a tone -of extreme satisfaction,</p> -<p>"Geoffrey was here to-day; he paid us quite a long visit."</p> -<p>"Did he?" said Charley; "and is he all right?"</p> -<p>"O yes," said Til, "he is very well; and he told us all about his pictures; -and, do you know, he's going to put baby and the nurse into a corner group, -among the people on the Esplanade,--only he must wait till baby's back is -stronger, and his neck leaves off waggling, so as to paint him properly, sitting -up nice and straight in nurse's arms." And then Miss Til ran on with a great -deal of desultory talk, concerning Geoffrey, and his description of the -presents, and what he had said about Lord Caterham and Annie Maurice. Charley -listened to her with more seriousness than he usually displayed; and Mrs. Ludlow -sighed and shook her head at intervals, until, as the conversation settled into -a dialogue, she gradually dropped asleep. Then Til's manner changed, and she -lowered her voice, and asked Charley anxiously if he had come to tell her any -bad news.</p> -<p>"If you have," she said, "aid that it can be kept from mamma, tell it at -once, and let me keep it from her."</p> -<p>With much true delicacy and deep sympathy, Charley then related to Til the -scene which had taken place between himself, Bowker, and Stompff,--and told her -that Bowker had talked the matter over with him and they had agreed that it was -not acting fairly by Geoffrey to allow him to remain in ignorance of the -floating rumours, injurious to his wife's character, which were rife among their -friends. How Stompff had heard of Margaret's having fainted in Lord Caterham's -room, Charley could not tell; that he had heard it, and had heard a mysterious -cause assigned to it, he knew. That he could have known any thing about an -incident apparently so trivial proved that the talk had become tolerably -general, and was tending to the injury of Geoffrey, not only in his -self...respect and in his feelings, but in his prospects. Charley was much more -alarmed and uneasy, and much more grieved for Geoffrey, than even Bowker; for he -had reason to fear that no supposition derogatory to Margaret's antecedents -could surpass the reality. He alone knew where and how the acquaintance between -Geoffrey and Margaret had begun, and he was therefore prepared to estimate the -calamity of such a marriage correctly. He did not exactly know what he had -intended to say to Matilda Ludlow; he had come to the house with a vague idea -that something ought to be done;--that Til ought to speak to her -sister-in-law,--a notion which in itself proved Charley Potts to be any thing -but a wise man,--ought to point out to her that her indifference to her husband -was at once ungrateful to him and shortsighted to her own interest; and that -people, notably his employer, were talking about it. Charley Potts was not -exactly an adept in reading character, and the real Margaret was a being such as -he could neither have understood nor believed in; therefore the crudity, -wildness, and inapplicability of this scheme were to be excused.</p> -<p>A very few words on his part served to open the susceptible heart of Miss -Til, especially as they had spoken on the subject, though generally, before; and -they were soon deep in the exchange of mutual confidences. Til cried quietly, so -as not to wake her mother; and it distressed Charley very keenly to see her -tears and to hear her declare that her sister-in-law had not the slightest -regard for her opinion; that though perfectly civil to her, Margaret had met all -her attempts at sisterly intimacy with most forbidding coldness; and that she -felt sure any attempt to put their relation on a more familiar footing would be -useless.</p> -<p>"She must have been very badly brought up, I am sure," said Til. "We don't -know anything about her family; but I am sure she never learned what the duties -of a wife and mother are."</p> -<p>Charley looked admirably at Til as she sadly uttered this remark, and his -mind was divided between a vision of Til realising in the most perfect manner -the highest ideal of conjugal and maternal duty, and speculating upon what might -have been the polite fiction presented by Geoffrey to his mother and sister as -an authentic history of Margaret's parentage and antecedents.</p> -<p>"Did Geoffrey seem cheerful and happy to-day?" he asked, escaping off the -dangerous ground of questions which he could have answered only too completely.</p> -<p>"Well," replied Til, "I can't say he did. He talked and laughed, and all -that; but I could see that he was uneasy and unhappy. How much happier he was -when we were all together, in the days which seem so far off now!"</p> -<p>At this point the conversation became decidedly sentimental; for Charley, -while carefully maintaining that true happiness was only to be found in the -married state, was equally careful to state his opinion that separation from Til -must involve a perfectly incomparable condition of misery; and altogether -matters were evidently reaching a climax. Matilda Ludlow was an unaffected -honest girl: she knew perfectly well that Charley loved her, and she had no -particular objection to his selecting this particular occasion on which to tell -her so. But Til and Charley were not to part that evening in the character of -affianced lovers; for in one of those significant pauses which precede important -words, cab-wheels rolled rapidly up to the little gate, hurried footsteps ran -along the flagged path, and a loud knock and ring at the door impatiently -demanded attention.</p> -<p>Mrs. Ludlow awoke with a violent start: Charley and Til looked at each other. -The door was opened, and a moment later the cook from Elm Lodge was in the room, -and had replied to Charley's hurried question by the statement that her master -was very ill, and she had been sent to fetch Miss Ludlow.</p> -<p>"Very ill! has any accident happened?" they all questioned the woman, who -showed much feeling--all his dependents loved Geoffrey--and the confusion was so -great, that it was some minutes before they succeeded in learning what actually -had happened. That Geoffrey had returned home as usual; had gone to the nursery, -and played with the child and talked to the nurse as usual; had gone to his -painting-room; and had not again been seen by the servants, until the housemaid -had found him lying on the hearth-rug an hour before, when they had sent for Dr. -Brandram, and that gentleman had despatched the cook to bring Miss Ludlow.</p> -<p>"Did Mrs. Ludlow tell you to come?" asked Til.</p> -<p>To this question the woman replied that her mistress was not at home. She had -been out the greater part of the day, had returned home some time later than Mr. -Ludlow, and had kept the cab waiting for an hour; then she had gone away again, -and had not returned when the cook had been sent on her errand. Charley Potts -exchanged looks of undisguised alarm with Til at this portion of the woman's -narrative, and, seeing that reserve would now be wholly misplaced, he questioned -her closely concerning Mrs. Ludlow. She had nothing to tell, however, beyond -that the housemaid had said her master and mistress had been together in the -dining-room, and, surprised that dinner had not been ordered up, she had gone -thither; but hearing her mistress speaking "rather strangely," she had not -knocked at the door. The servants had wondered at the delay, she said, not -understanding why their master should go without his dinner because Mrs. Ludlow -was not at home, and had at length found him as she described.</p> -<p>"Did Mrs. Ludlow often go out in this way?" asked Mr. Potts.</p> -<p>"No, sir, never," said the woman. "I never knew my mistress leave my master -alone before, sir; and I am afraid something has took place between them."</p> -<p>The distress and bewilderment of the little party were extreme. Manifestly -there was but one thing to be done; Til must obey the doctor's summons, and -repair immediately to her brother's house. He was very ill indeed, the cook -said, and quite "off his head;" he did not talk much, but what he did say was -all nonsense; and Dr. Brandram had said it was the beginning of brain-fever. -Charley and Til were both surprised at the firmness and collectedness manifested -by Mrs. Ludlow under this unexpected trial. She was very pale and she trembled -very much, but she was quite calm and quiet when she told Til that she must put -up such articles of clothing as she would require for a few days, as it was her -intention to go to her son and to remain with him.</p> -<p>"I am the fittest person, my dear," said the old lady. "If it be only illness -that ails him, I know more about it than you do; if it is sorrow also, and -sorrow of the kind I suspect, I am fitter to hear it and act in it than you."</p> -<p>It was finally agreed that they should both go to Geoffrey's house and that -Til should return home in the morning; for even in this crisis Mrs. Ludlow could -not quite forget her household gods, and to contemplate them bereft at once of -her own care and that of Til would have been too grievous; so they started--the -three women in the cab, and Charley Potts on the box, very silent, very gloomy, -and not even in his inmost thoughts approaching the subject of a pipe.</p> -<p>It was past ten when Geoffrey Ludlow's mother and sister reached the house -which had seen such terrible events since they had visited it last. Already the -dreary neglected air which settles over every room in a dwelling invaded by -serious illness, except the one which is the scene of suffering, had come upon -it. Four hours earlier all was bright and cheerful, well cared for and orderly; -now, though the disarray was not material, it was most expressive. Mrs. Geoffrey -Ludlow had not returned; the doctor had gone away, but was coming back as soon -as possible, having left one of the servants by Geoffrey's bedside, with orders -to apply wet linen to his temples without intermission. Geoffrey was quiet -now--almost insensible, they thought. Mrs. Ludlow and Til went to the sick-room -at once, and Charley Potts turned disconsolately into the dining-room, where the -cloth was still laid, and the chairs stood about in disorder--one, which -Geoffrey had knocked down, lay unheeded on the ground. Charley picked it up, sat -down upon it, and leaned his elbows disconsolately on the table.</p> -<p>"It's all up, I'm afraid," said he to himself; "and she's off with the other -fellow, whoever he is. Well, well, it will either kill Geoff outright or break -his heart for the rest of his life. At all events, there couldn't have been much -good in her if she didn't like Til."</p> -<p>After some time Dr. Brandram arrived, and Charley heard him ask the servant -whether Mrs. Ludlow had returned, and heard her reply that her mistress was -still absent, but Mrs. Ludlow and her daughter had come, and were in her -master's room. The doctor went upstairs immediately, and Charley still waited in -the parlour, determined to waylay him has he came down.</p> -<p>Geoffrey was dangerously ill, there was no doubt of that, though his mother's -terror magnified danger into hopelessness, and refused to be comforted by Dr. -Brandram's assurance that no living man for certain could tell how things would -be. She met the doctor's inquiry about Margaret with quiet reserve: she did not -expect her daughter-in-law's return that evening, she said; but she and Miss -Ludlow were prepared to remain. It was very essential that they should do so, -Dr. Brandram assured her; and on the following day he would procure a -professional nurse. Then he made a final examination of his patient, gave the -ladies their instructions, observed with satisfaction the absence of fuss, and -the quiet self-subduing alacrity of Til, and went downstairs, shaking his head -and wondering, to be pounced upon in the little hall by the impulsive Charley, -who drew him into the dining-room, and poured out a torrent of questions. Dr. -Brandram was disposed to be a little reserved at first, but unbent when Charley -assured him that he and Geoffrey were the most intimate friends--"Brothers -almost," said Mr. Potts in a conscious tone, which did not strike the doctor. -Then he told his anxious interlocutor that Geoffrey was suffering from -brain-fever, which he supposed to be the result of a violent shock, but of what -kind he could form no idea; and then he said something, in a hesitating sort of -way, about "domestic affairs."</p> -<p>"It is altogether on the mind, then," said Charley. "In that case, no one can -explain any thing but himself."</p> -<p>"Precisely so," said Dr. Brandram; "and it may, it most probably will, be a -considerable time before he will be able to give us any explanation of any -thing, and before it would be safe to ask him for any. In the mean time,--but no -doubt Mrs. Ludlow will return, and--"</p> -<p>"I don't think she will do any thing of the kind," said Charley Potts in a -decisive tone; "and, in fact, doctor, I think it would be well to say as little -as possible about her."</p> -<p>Dr. Brandram looked at Mr. Potts with an expression intended to be knowing, -but which was in reality only puzzled, and assuring him of his inviolable -discretion, departed. Charley remained at Elm Lodge until after midnight, and -then, finding that he could be of no service to the watchers, sorrowfully wended -his way back to town on foot.</p> -<p>Wearily dragged on the days in the sick man's room, where he lay racked and -tormented by fever, and vaguely oppressed in mind. His mother and sister tended -him with unwearied assiduity, and Dr. Brandram called in further medical advice. -Geoffrey's life hung in the balance for many days--days during which the terror -his mother and Til experienced are not to be told. The desolate air of he house -deepened; the sitting-rooms were quite deserted now. All the bright pretty -furniture which Geoff had bought for the delectation of his bride, all the -little articles of use and ornament peculiarly associated with Margaret, were -dust-covered, and had a ghostly seeming. Charley Potts--who passed a great deal -of his time moping about Elm Lodge, too thankful to be permitted on the -premises, and occasionally to catch a glimpse of Til's figure, as she glided -noiselessly from the sick-room to the lower regions in search of some of the -innumerable things which are always being wanted in illness and are never near -at hand--occasionally strolled into the painting-room, and lifting the cover -which had been thrown over it, looked sadly at "The Esplanade at Brighton," and -wondered whether dear old Geoff would ever paint baby's portrait among that -group in the left-hand corner.</p> -<p>The only member of the household who pursued his usual course of existence -was this same baby. Unconscious alike of the flight of his mother and the -illness, nigh unto death, of his father, the child throve apace, and sometimes -the sound of his cooing, crowing voice, coming through the open doors into the -room where his grandmother sat and looked into the wan haunted face of her son, -caused her unspeakable pangs of sorrow and compassion. The child "took to" Til -wonderfully, and it is impossible to tell the admiration with which the soul of -Charley Potts was filled, as he saw the motherly ways of the young lady towards -the little fellow, happily unconscious that he did not possess a mother's love.</p> -<p>Of Margaret nothing was heard. Mrs. Ludlow and Til were utterly confounded by -the mystery which surrounded them. She made no sign from the time she left the -house. Their ignorance of the circumstances of her departure was so complete, -that they could not tell whether to expect her to do so or not. Her dresses and -ornaments were all undisturbed in the drawers in the room where poor Geoffrey -lay, and they did not know whether to remove them or not. She had said to -Geoffrey, "Whatever I actually require I will send for;" but they did not know -this, and she never had sent. The centre of the little system--the chief person -in the household--the idolised wife--she had disappeared as utterly as if her -existence had been only a dream. The only person who could throw any light on -the mystery was, perhaps, dying--at all events, incapable of recollection, -thought, or speech. It "got about" in the neighbourhood that Mr. Ludlow was -dangerously ill, and that his mother and sister were with him, but his beautiful -wife was not; whereat the neighbourhood, feeling profoundly puzzled, merely -looked unutterably wise, and had always thought there was something odd in that -quarter. Then the neighbourhood called to enquire and to condole, and was very -pointed in its hopes that Mrs. Geoffrey Ludlow was "bearing up well," and very -much astonished to receive for answer, "Thank you ma'am; but missis is not at -home." Mrs. Ludlow knew nothing of all this, and Til, who did know, cared -nothing; but it annoyed Charley Potts, who beard and saw a good deal from his -post of vantage in the dining-room window, and who relieved his feelings by -swearing under his breath, and making depreciatory comments upon the personal -appearance of the ladies as they approached the house, with their faces duly -arranged to the sympathetic pattern.</p> -<p>It chanced that, on one occasion, when Geoffrey had been about ten days ill, -Til came down to the dining-room to speak to the faithful Charley, carrying the -baby on one arm, and in her other hand a bundle of letters. Charley took the -child from her as a matter of course; and the youthful autocrat graciously -sanctioning the arrangement, the two began to talk eagerly of Geoffrey. Til was -looking very pale and weary, and Charley was much moved by her appearance.</p> -<p>"I tell you what it is," he said, "you'll kill yourself, whether Geoffrey -lives or dies." He spoke in a tone suggestive of feeling himself personally -injured, and Til was not too far gone to blush and smile faintly as she -perceived it.</p> -<p>"O no, I sha'n't," she said. "I'm going to lie down all this afternoon in the -night-nursery. Mamma is asleep now, and Geoffrey is quite quiet, though the -nurse says she sees no change for the better, no real change of any kind indeed. -And so I came down to ask you what you think I had better do about these -letters." She laid them on the table as she spoke. "I don't think they are -business letters, because you have taken care to let all Geoffrey's professional -friends know, haven't you, Charley?"</p> -<p>Charley thrilled; she had dropped unconsciously, in the intimacy of a common -sorrow, into calling him by his Christian name, but the pleasure it gave him had -by no means worn off yet.</p> -<p>"Yes," he said; "and you have no notion what a state they are all in about -dear old Geoff. I assure you they all envy me immensely, because I can be of -some little use to you. They don't come here, you know, because that would be no -use--only making a row with the door-bell, and taking up the servants' time; but -every day they come down to my place, or write me notes, or scribble their names -on the door, with fat notes of interrogation after them, if I'm not at home. -That means, 'How's dear old Geoff? send word at once.' Why, there's Stompff--I -told you he was a beast, didn't I? Well, he's not half a beast, I assure you; he -is in such a way about Geoff; and, upon my word, I don't think it's all because -he is worth no end of money to him,--I don't indeed. He is mercenary, of course, -but not always and not altogether; and he really quite got over me yesterday by -the way he talked of Geoffrey, and wanted to know if there was any thing in the -world he could do. Any thing in the world, according to Stompff, meant any thing -in the way of money, I suppose; an advance upon the 'Esplanade,' or something of -that sort."</p> -<p>"Yes, I suppose it did," said Til; "but we don't want money. Mamma has plenty -to go on with until--" here her lipquivered,--"until Geoffrey can understand and -explain things. It's very kind of Mr. Stompff, however, and I'm glad he's not -quite a beast," said the young lady simply. "But, Charley, about these letters; -what should I do?"</p> -<p>At this point the baby objected to be any longer unnoticed, and was -transferred to Til, who walked up and down the room with the injured innocent, -while Charley turned over the letters, and looked at their superscriptions.</p> -<p>"You are sure there is no letter from his wife among these?" said Charley.</p> -<p>"O no!" replied Til; "I know Margaret's hand well; and I have examined all -the letters carefully every day. There has never been one from her."</p> -<p>"Here are two with the same monogram, and the West-end district mark; I think -they must be from Miss Maurice. If these letters can be made out to mean any -thing, they are A.M. And see, one is plain, and one has a deep black edge."</p> -<p>Til hurried up to the table. "I hope Lord Caterham is not dead," she said! "I -have heard Geoffrey speak of him with great regard; and only the day he was -taken ill, he said he feared the poor fellow was going fast."</p> -<p>"I think we had better break the seal and see," said Charley; "Geoff would -not like any neglect in that quarter."</p> -<p>He broke the seal as he spoke, and read the melancholy note which Annie had -written to Geoffrey when Arthur died, and which had never received an answer.</p> -<p>Charley Potts and Til were much shocked and affected at the intelligence -which the note contained.</p> -<p>"I haven't cared about the papers since Geoff has been ill, or I suppose I -should have seen the announcement of Lord Caterham's death, though I don't -particularly care for reading about the swells at any time," said Charley. "But -how nicely she writes to Geoffrey, poor girl! I am sure she will be shocked to -hear of his illness, and you must write to her,--h'm,--Til. What do you say to -writing, and letting me take your letter to-morrow myself? Then she can ask me -any questions she likes, and you need not enter into any painful explanations."</p> -<p>Til was eminently grateful for this suggestion which she knew was dictated by -the sincerest and most disinterested wish to spare her; for to Charley the idea -of approaching the grandeur of St. Barnabas Square, and the powdered pomposity -of the lordly flunkeys, was, as she well knew, wholly detestable. So it was -arranged that Charley should fulfil this mission early on the following day, -before he presented himself at Elm Lodge. The baby was sent upstairs, Til wrote -her note, and Charley departed very reluctantly, stipulating that Til should at -once fulfil her promise of lying down in the nursery.</p> -<p>When, on the ensuing morning, Miss Maurice's maid reached Elm Lodge, the -servants communicated to her the startling intelligence, which she roused Annie -from her sleep to impart to her, without any reference to Mrs. Ludlow and Til, -who were not aware for some time that Miss Maurice had sent to make inquiries. -On his arrival at St. Barnabas Square, Charley Potts was immediately admitted to -Annie's presence, and the result of the interview was that she arrived at Elm -Lodge escorted by that gentleman, whose embarrassment under the distinguished -circumstances was extreme, before noon. She knew from Charley's report that it -would be quite in vain to take Caterham's letter with her; that it must be long -ere it should meet the eyes for which it was written, if ever it were to do so, -and it remained still undisturbed in her charge. So Annie Maurice shared the -sorrow and the fear of Geoffrey's mother and sister, and discussed the mystery -that surrounded the calamities which had befallen them, perfectly unconscious -that within reach of her own hand lay the key to the enigma.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> - <h4><a name="div3_06" href="#div3Ref_06">CHAPTER VI.</a></h4> -<h5>A CLUE.</h5> -<br> - <p>Written by a dying hand, the letter addressed by Lord Caterham to -Geoffrey Ludlow was read when the doctors would scarcely have pronounced its -recipient out of the jaws of death. Gaunt, wan, hectic; with great bistre-rings -round his big eyes, now more prominent than ever; with his shapely white hands -now almost transparent in their thinness; with his bushy beard dashed here and -there with gray patches; and with O such a sense of weariness and weakness,--old -Geoff, stretched supine on his bed, demanded news of Margaret. They had none to -give him: told him so--at first gently, then reiterated it plainly; but he would -not believe it. They must know something of her movements; some one must have -been there to tell him where she was; something must have been heard of her. To -all these questions negative answers. Then, as his brain cleared and his -strength increased--for, except under both of these conditions, such a question -would not have occurred to him--he asked whether, during his illness, there had -been any communication from Lord Beauport's house. A mystery then--a desire to -leave it over, until Miss Maurice's next call, which happened the next day, when -Caterham's letter, intact, was handed to him.</p> -<p>That letter lay on a chair by Geoffrey's bedside the whole of that afternoon. -To clutch it, to look at it, to hold it, with its seal yet unbroken, before his -eyes, he had employed such relics of strength as remained to him; but he dared -not open it. He felt that he could give no explanation of his feelings; but he -felt that if he broke that seal, and read what was contained in that letter, all -his recent tortures would return with tenfold virulence: the mocking demons that -had sat on his bed and sneered at him; the fiery serpents that had uncoiled -themselves between him and the easel on which stood the picture which urgent -necessity compelled him to work at; the pale fair form, misty and uncertain -generally, yet sometimes with Margaret's hair and eyes, that so constantly -floated across his vision, and as constantly eluded his outstretched arms,--all -these phantasms of his fevered brain would return again. And yet, in it, in that -sheet of paper lying so temptingly near to his pillow, there was news of her! He -had but to stretch out his hand, and he should learn how far, at least, her -story was known to the relatives of him who---- The thought in itself was too -much; and Geoffrey swooned off. When he recovered, his first thought was of the -letter; his first look to assure himself that it had not been removed. No, there -it lay I He could resist the temptation no longer; and, raising himself on his -elbow, he opened and read it.</p> -<p>The effect of the perusal of that letter on Geoffrey Ludlow none knew but -himself. The doctors found him "not quite so well" for the succeeding day or -two, and thought that his "tone" was scarcely so good as they had been led to -anticipate; certain it was that he made no effort to rouse himself, and that, -save occasionally, when spoken to by Til, he remained silent and preoccupied. On -the third day he asked Til to write to Bowker, and beg him to come to him at -once. Within twenty-four hours that worthy presented himself at Elm Lodge.</p> -<p>After a few words with Til downstairs, Mr. Bowker was shown up to Geoffrey's -room, the door of which Til opened, and, when Mr. Bowker had entered, shut it -behind him. The noise of the closing door roused Geoffrey, and he turned in his -bed, and, looking up, revealed such a worn and haggard face, that old Bowker -stopped involuntarily, and drew a long breath, as he gazed on the miserable -appearance of his friend. There must have been something comical in the rueful -expression of Bowker's face, for old Geoff smiled feebly, as he said,</p> -<p>"Come in, William; come in, old friend! Ive had a hard bout of it, old -fellow, since you saw me; but there's no danger now--no infection, I mean, or -any thing of that kind."</p> -<p>Geoff spoke haphazard; but what he had said was the best thing to restore Mr. -Bowker to himself.</p> -<p>"Your William's fever-proof;" he growled out in reply, "and don't fear any -nonsense of that kind; and if he did, it's not that would keep him away from a -friend's bedside. I should have been here--that is, if you'd have let me; and, -oddly enough, though I'm such a rough old brute in general, I'm handy and quiet -in times of sickness,--at least so Ive been told;" and here Bowker stifled a -great sigh. "But the first I heard of your illness was from your sister's -letter, which I only got this morning."</p> -<p>"Give me your hand, William; I know that fast enough. But I didn't need any -additional nursing. Til and the old lady--God bless them!--have pulled me -through splendidly, and--But I'm beyond nursing now, William; what I want is--" -and Geoff's voice failed him, and he stopped.</p> -<p>Old Bowker eyed him with tear-blurred vision for a moment, and then said, -"What you want is--"</p> -<p>"Don't mind me just now, William; I'm horribly weak, and girlish, and -trembling, but I shall get to it in time. What I want is, some man, some friend, -to whom I can talk openly and unreservedly,--whose advice and aid I can seek, in -such wretchedness as, I trust, but few have experienced."</p> -<p>It was a good thing that Geoffrey's strength had in some degree returned, for -Bowker clutched his hand in an iron grip, as in a dull low voice, he said, "Do -you remember my telling you the story of my life? Why did I tell you that? Not -for sympathy, but for example. I saw the rock on to which you were drifting, and -hoped to keep you clear. I exposed the sadness of my life to you when the game -was played out and there was no possibility of redemption. I can't tell what -strait you may be in; but if I can help you out of it, there is no mortal thing -I will not do to aid you."</p> -<p>As well as he could Geoff returned the pressure; then, after a moment's -pause, said, "You know, of course, that my wife has left me?"</p> -<p>Bowker bowed in acquiescence.</p> -<p>"You know the circumstances?"</p> -<p>"I know nothing, Geoff, beyond the mere fact. Whatever talk there may be -among such of the boys as I drop in upon now and then, if it turned upon you and -your affairs, save in the matter of praising your art, it would be certain to be -hushed as soon as I stepped in amongst them. They knew our intimacy, and they -are by far too good fellows to say any thing that would pain me. So that beyond -the mere fact which you have just stated, I know nothing."</p> -<p>Then in a low weak voice, occasionally growing full and powerful under -excitement, and subsiding again into its faint tone, Geoffrey Ludlow told to -William Bowker the whole history of his married life, beginning with his finding -Margaret on the doorstep, and ending by placing in his friend's hands the -posthumous letter of Lord Caterham. Throughout old Bowker listened with rapt -attention to the story, and when he came back from the window, to which he had -stepped for the perusal of the letter, Geoffrey noticed that there were big -tears rolling down his cheeks. He was silent for a minute or two after he had -laid the letter on Geoffrey's bed; when he spoke, he said, "We're a dull lot, -the whole race of us; and that's the truth. We pore over our own twopenny -sorrows, and think that the whole army of martyrs could not show such a specimen -as ourselves. Why, Geoff, dear old man, what was my punishment to yours! What -was,--but, however, I need not talk of that. You want my services--say how."</p> -<p>"I want your advice first, William. I want to know how to--how to find my -wife--for, O, to me she is my wife; how to find Margaret. You'll blame me -probably, and tell me that I am mad--that I ought to cast her off altogether, -and to--But I cannot do that, William; I cannot do that; for I love her--O my -God, how I love her still!" And Geoffrey Ludlow hid his face in his arms, and -wept like a child.</p> -<p>"I shan't blame you, Geoff, nor tell you any thing of the kind," said old -Bowker, in a deep low voice. "I should have been very much surprised -if--However, that's neither here nor there. What we want is to find her now. You -say there's not been the slightest clue to her since she left this house?"</p> -<p>"Not the slightest."</p> -<p>"She has not sent for any thing--clothes, or any thing?"</p> -<p>"For nothing, as I understand."</p> -<p>"She has not sent,--you see, one must understand these things, Geoff; all our -actions will be guided by them,--she has not sent to ask about the child?"</p> -<p>Geoff shuddered for an instant, then said, "She has not."</p> -<p>"That simplifies our plans," said Bowker. "It is plain now that we have only -one chance of discovering her whereabouts."</p> -<p>"And that is--"</p> -<p>"Through Blackett the detective, the man mentioned in Lord Caterham's letter. -He must be a sharp fellow; for through the sheer pursuance of his trade, and -without the smallest help, he must have been close upon her trail, even up to -the night when you met her and withdrew her from the range of his search. If he -could learn so much unaided, he will doubtless be able to strike again upon her -track with the information we can give him."</p> -<p>"There's no chance of this man--this Captain Brakespere, having--I mean--now -he's back, you know--having taken means to hide her somewhere--where--one -couldn't find her, you know?" said Geoffrey, hesitatingly.</p> -<p>"If your William knows any thing of the world," replied Bowker, "there's no -chance of Captain Thingummy having taken the least trouble about her. However, -I'll go down to Scotland Yard and see what is to be made of our friend Inspector -Blackett. God bless you, old boy! You know if she is to be found, I'll do it."</p> -<p>They are accustomed to odd visitors in Scotland Yard; but the -police-constables congregated in the little stone hall stared the next day when -Mr. Bowker pushed open the swing-door, and calmly planting himself among them, -ejaculated "Blackett." Looking at his beard, his singular garb, and listening to -his deep voice, the sergeant to whom he was referred at first thought he was a -member of some foreign branch of the force; then glancing at the general -wildness of his demeanour, had a notion that he was one of the self-accused -criminals who are so constantly forcing themselves into the grasp of justice, -and who are so impatient of release; and finally, comprehending what he wanted, -sent him, under convoy of a constable, through various long corridors, into a -cocoa-nut-matted room furnished with a long green-baize-covered table, on which -were spread a few sheets of blotting-paper, and a leaden inkstand, and the walls -of which were adorned with a printed tablet detailing the disposition of the -various divisions of the police-force, and the situation of the fire-escapes in -the metropolis, and a fly-blown Stationers' Almanac. Left to himself, Mr. Bowker -had scarcely taken stock of these various articles, when the door opened, and -Mr. Inspector Blackett, edging his portly person through the very small aperture -which he had allowed himself for ingress, entered the room, and closed the door -stealthily behind him.</p> -<p>"Servant, sir," said he, with a respectful bow, and a glance at Bowker, which -took in the baldness of his head, the thickness of his beard, the slovenliness -of his apparel, and the very shape of his boots,--"servant, sir. You asked for -me?"</p> -<p>"I did, Mr. Blackett. Ive come to ask your advice and assistance in a rather -delicate manner, in which you've already been engaged--Lord Caterham's inquiry."</p> -<p>"O, beg pardon, sir. Quite right. Friend of his lordship's, may I ask, sir?"</p> -<p>"Lord Caterham is dead, Mr.--"</p> -<p>"Quite right, sir; all right, sir. Right to be cautious in these matters; -don't know who you are, sir. If you had not known that fact, must have ordered -you out, sir. Imposter, of course. All on the square, Mr.--beg pardon; didn't -mention your name, sir."</p> -<p>"My name is Bowker. To a friend of mine, too ill now to follow the matter -himself; Lord Caterham on his deathbed wrote a letter, detailing the -circumstances under which he had employed you in tracing a young woman. That -friend has himself been very ill, or he would have pursued this matter sooner. -He now sends me to ask whether you have any news?"</p> -<p>"Beg pardon, sir; can't be too cautious in this matter. What may be the name -of that friend?"</p> -<p>"Ludlow--Mr. Geoffrey Ludlow."</p> -<p>"Right you are, sir! Know the name well; have seen Mr. Ludlow at his -lordship's; a pleasant gentleman too, sir, though not given me the idea of one -to take much interest in such a business as this. However, I see we're all -square on that point, sir; and I'll report to you as exactly as I would to my -lord, if he'd been alive--feeling, of course, that a gentleman's a gentleman, -and that an officer's trouble will be remunerated--"</p> -<p>"You need not doubt that, Mr. Blackett."</p> -<p>"I don't doubt it, sir; more especially when you hear what I have got to -tell. It's been a wearing business, Mr. Bowker, and that I don't deny; there -have been many cases which I have tumbled-to quicker, and have been able to lay -my finger upon parties quicker but this has been a long chase; and though other -members of the force has chaffed me, as it were, wanting to know when I shall be -free for any thing else, and that sort of thing, there's been that excitement in -it that Ive never regretted the time bestowed, and felt sure I should hit at it -last. My ideas has not been wrong in that partic'ler, Mr. Bowker; I <i>have</i> -hit it at last!"</p> -<p>"The devil you have!"</p> -<p>"I have indeed, sir; and hit it, as has cur'ously happened in my best cases, -by a fluke. It was by the merest fluke that I was at Radley's Hotel in -Southampton and nobbled Mr. Sampson Hepworth, the absconding banker of Lombard -Street, after Daniel Forester and all the city-men had been after him for six -weeks. It was all a fluke that I was eatin' a Bath-bun at Swindon when the clerk -that did them Post-office robberies tried to pass one of the notes to the -refreshment gal. It was all a fluke that I was turning out of Grafton Street, -after a chat with the porter of the Westminster Club,--which is an old officer -of the G's and a pal of mine,--into Bond Street, when I saw a lady that I'd -swear to, if description's any use, though I never see her before, comin' out of -Long's Hotel."</p> -<p>"A lady!--Long's Hotel!"</p> -<p>"A lady a-comin' out of Long's Hotel. A lady with--not to put too fine a -point upon it--red hair and fine eyes and a good figure; the very moral of the -description I got at Tenby and them other places. I twigged all this before she -got her veil down and I said to myself, Blackett, that's your bird, for a -hundred pound."</p> -<p>"And were you right? Was it--"</p> -<p>"Wait a minute, sir: let's take the things in the order in which they -naturally present themselves. She hailed a cab and jumped in, all of a tremble -like, as I could see. I hailed another--hansom mine was; and I give the driver -the office, which he tumbled-to at once--most of the West-enders knows me; and -we follows the other until he turned up a little street in Nottin' 'Ill, and I, -marking where she got out, stopped at the end of it. When she'd got inside, I -walked up and took stock of the house, which was a litle milliner's and -stay-shop. It was cur'ous, wasn't, it, sir," said Mr. Blackett, with a grave -professional smile, "that my good lady should want a little job in the millinery -line done for her just then, and that she should look round into that very shop -that evening, and get friendly with the missis, which was a communicative kind -of woman, and should pay her a trifle in advance, and should get altogether so -thick as to be asked in to take a cup of tea in the back-parlour, and get -a-talking about the lodger? Once in, I'll back my old lady against any ferret -that was ever showed at Jemmy Welsh's. She hadn't had one cup of tea before she -know'd all about the lodger; how she was the real lady, but dull and lonesome -like; how she'd sit cryin' and mopin' all day; how she'd no visitors and no -letters; and how her name was Lambert, and her linen all marked M. L. She'd only -been there a day ortwo then, and as she'd scarcely any luggage, the milliner was -doubtful about her money. My good lady came back that night, and told me all -this, and I was certain our bird was caged. So I put one of our men regular to -sweep a crossin' during the daytime, and I communicated with the sergeant of the -division to keep the house looked after at night. But, Lor' bless you, she's no -intention of goin' away. Couldn't manage it, I think, if she had; for my missis, -who's been up several times since, says the milliner says her lodger's in a -queer way, she thinks."</p> -<p>"How do you mean in a queer way?" interrupted Bowker; "ill?"</p> -<p>"Well, not exactly ill, I think, sir. I can't say exactly how, for the -milliner's rather a stupid woman; and it wouldn't do for my missis--though she'd -find it out in a minute--to see the lady. As far as I can make out, it's a kind -of fits, and she seems to have had 'em pretty bad--off her head for hours at a -time, you know. It's rather cornered me, that has, as I don't exactly know how -to act in the case; and I went round to the Square to tell his lordship, and -then found out what had happened. I was thinking of asking to see the Hearl--"</p> -<p>"The what, Mr. Blackett?"</p> -<p>"The Hearl--Hearl Beauport, his lordship's father. But now you've come, sir, -you'll know what to do, and what orders to give me."</p> -<p>"Yes, quite right," said Bowker, after a moment's consideration. "You must -not see Lord Beauport; he's in a sad state of mind still, and any further worry -might be dangerous. You've done admirably, Mr. Blackett,--admirably indeed; and -your reward shall be proportionate, you may take my word for that; but I think -it will be best to leave matters as they are until--at all events, until I have -spoken to my friend. The name was Lambert, I think you said; and what was the -address?"</p> -<p>"No. 102, Thompson Street, just beyond Nottin'-'Ill Gate; milliner's shop, -name of Chapman. Beg your pardon, sir, but this is a pretty case, and one as has -been neatly worked up; you won't let it be spoilt by any amatoors?"</p> -<p>"Eh?--by what? I don't think I understand you."</p> -<p>"You won't let any one go makin' inquiries on their own hook? So many of our -best cases is spoilt by amatoors shovin' their oars in."</p> -<p>"You may depend on that, Mr. Blackett; the whole credit of the discovery is -justly due to you, and you shall have it. Now good day to you; I shall find you -here, I suppose, when next I want you?"</p> -<p>Mr. Blackett bowed, and conducted his visitor through the hollow-sounding -corridors, and bade him a respectful farewell at the door. Then, when William -Bowker was alone, he stopped, and shook his head sorrowfully, muttering, "A bad -job, a bad job! God help you, Geoff, my poor fellow! there's more trouble in -store for you--more trouble in store!"</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> - <h4><a name="div3_07" href="#div3Ref_07">CHAPTER VII.</a></h4> -<h5>TRACKED.</h5> -<br> - <p>The news which Mr. William Bowker had heard from Inspector Blackett -troubled its recipient considerably, and it was not until he had thought it over -deeply and consumed a large quantity of tobacco in the process, that he arrived -at any settled determination as to what was the right course to be pursued by -him. His first idea was to make Geoffrey Ludlow acquainted with the whole story, -and let him act as he thought best; but a little subsequent reflection changed -his opinion on this point. Geoff was very weak in health, certainly in no fit -state to leave his bed; and yet if he heard that Margaret was found, that her -address was known, above all that she was ill, Bowker knew him well enough to be -aware that nothing would prevent him at once setting out to see her, and -probably to use every effort to induce her to return with him. Such a course -would be bad in every way, but in the last respect it would be fatal. For one -certain reason Bowker had almost hoped that nothing more might ever be heard of -the wretched woman who had fallen like a curse upon his friend's life. He knew -Geoffrey Ludlow root and branch, knew how thoroughly weak he was, and felt -certain that, no matter how grievous the injury which Margaret had done him, he -had but to see her again--to see her more especially in sickness and -misfortune--to take her back to his heart and to his hearth, and defy the -counsel of his friends and the opinion of the world. That would never do. Geoff -had been sufficiently dragged down by this unfortunate infatuation; but he had a -future which should be independent of her, undimmed by any tarnish accruing to -him from those wondrous misspent days. So old Bowker firmly believed; and to -accomplish that end he determined that none of Inspector Blackett's news should -find its way to Geoffrey's ears, at all events until he, Bowker, had personally -made himself acquainted with the state of affairs.</p> -<p>It must have been an impulse of the strongest friendship and love for Geoff -that induced William Bowker to undertake this duty; for it was one which -inspired him with aversion, not to say horror. At first he had some thoughts of -asking Charley Potts to do it; but then he bethought him that Charley, -headstrong, earnest, and impulsive as he was, was scarcely the man to be -intrusted with such a delicate mission. And he remembered, moreover, that -Charley was now to a great extent <i>lié</i> with Geoff's family, that he had -been present at Geoff's first meeting with Margaret, that he had always spoken -against her, and that now, imbued as he was likely to be with some of the strong -feelings of old Mrs. Ludlow, he would be certain to make a mess of the mission, -and, without the least intention of being offensive, would hurt some one's -feelings in an unmistakable and unpardonable manner. No; he must go himself, -horribly painful as it would be to him. His had been a set gray life for who -should say how many years; he had not been mixed up with any woman's follies or -griefs in ever so slight a degree, he had heard no woman's voice in plaintive -appeal or earnest confession, he had seen no woman's tears or hung upon no -woman's smile, since--since when? Since the days spent with <i>her</i>. Ah, how -the remembrance shut out the present and opened up the long, long vistas of the -past! He was no longer the bald-headed, grizzle-bearded, stout elderly man; he -was young Bowker, from whom so much was expected; and the common tavern-parlour -in which he was seated, with its beer-stained tables and its tobacco-reek faded -away, and the long dusty roads of Andalusia, the tinkling bells of the mules, -the cheery shouts of the sunburnt <i>arrieros</i>, the hard-earned pull at the -<i>bota</i>, and the loved presence, now vanished for ever, rose in his memory.</p> -<p>When his musings were put to flight by the entrance of the waiter, he paid -his score, and summoning up his resolution he went out into the noisy street, -and mounting the first omnibus was borne away to his destination. He found the -place indicated to him by Blackett--a small but clean and decent street--and -soon arrived at Mrs. Chapman's house. There, at the door, he stopped, undecided -what to do. He had not thought of any excuse for demanding an interview with -Mrs. Chapman's lodger, and, on turning the subject over in his mind, he could -not imagine any at all likely to be readily received. See Margaret he must; and -to do that, he thought he must take her unprepared and on a sudden: if he sent -up his name, he would certainly be refused admittance. His personal appearance -was far too Bohemian in its character to enable him to pass himself off as her -lawyer, or any friend of her family; his only hope was to put a bold front on -it, to mention her name, and to walk straight on to her room, leaving it to -chance to favour his efforts.</p> -<p>He entered the shop--a dull dismal little place, with a pair of stays lying -helplessly in the window, and a staring black-eyed torso of a female doll, for -cap-making purposes, insanely smiling on the counter. Such a heavy footfall as -Mr. Bowker's was seldom heard in those vestal halls; such a grizzly-bearded face -as Mr. Bowker's was seldom seen in such close proximity to the cap-making dummy; -and little Mrs. Chapman the milliner came out "all in a tremble," as she -afterwards expressed it, from her inner sanctum, which was about as big and as -tepid as a warm-bath, and in a quavering voice demanded the intruder's business. -She was a mild-eyed, flaxen-haired, quiet, frightened little woman, and old -Bowker's heart softened towards her, as he said, "You have a friend of mine -lodging with you, ma'am, I think--Mrs. Lambert?"</p> -<p>"O, dear; then, if you're a friend of Mrs. Lambert's, you're welcome here, I -can assure you, sir!" and the little woman looked more frightened than ever, and -held up her hands half in fear, half in relief.</p> -<p>"Ah, she's been ill, I hear," said Bowker, wishing to have it understood that -he was thoroughly <i>en rapport</i> with the lodger.</p> -<p>"Ill!--I'm thankful you've come, sir!--no one, unless they saw her, would -credit how ill she is--I mean to be up and about, and all that. She's better -to-day, and clearer; but what she have been these few days past, mortal tongue -cannot tell--all delirium-like, and full of fancies, and talking of things which -set Hannah--the girl who does for me--and me nearly out of our wits with fright. -So much so, that six-and-sixpence a-week is--well, never mind, poor thing; it's -worse for her than for us; but I'm glad, at any rate, some friend has come to -see her."</p> -<p>"I'll go and do so at once, Mrs. Chapman," said Bowker. "I know my way; the -door straight opposite to the front of the stairs, isn't it? Thank you; I'll -find it;" and with the last words yet on his tongue, Mr. Bowker had passed round -the little counter, by the little milliner, and was making the narrow staircase -creak again with his weight.</p> -<p>He opened the door opposite to him, after having knocked and received no -answer, and peered cautiously in. The daylight was fading, and the blind of the -window was half down, and Bowker's eyesight was none of the best now, so that he -took some little time before he perceived the outline of a figure stretched in -the white dimity-covered easy-chair by the little Pembroke table in the middle -of the room. Although some noise had been made by the opening of the door, the -figure had not moved; it never stirred when Bowker gave a little premonitory -cough to notify his advent; it remained in exactly The same position, without -stirring hand or foot, when Bowker said, "A friend has come to see you, -Mrs.--Lambert." Then a dim undefined sense of terror came upon William Bowker, -and he closed the door silently behind him, and advanced into the room. -Immediately he became aware of a faint sickly smell, a cloying, percolating -odour, which seemed to fill the place; but he had little time to think of this, -for immediately before him lay the form of Margaret, her eyes closed, her -features rigid, her long red hair falling in all its wild luxuriance over her -shoulders. At first William thought she was dead; but, stooping close over her, -he marked her slow laboured breathing, and noticed that from time to time her -hands were unclenched, and then closed again as tightly as ever. He took a -little water from a tumbler on the table and sprinkled it on her face, and laid -his finger on her pulse; after a minute or two she opened her eyes, closing them -again immediately, but after a time opening them again, and fixing them on -Bowker's face with a long wistful gaze.</p> -<p>"Are you one of them also?" she asked, in a deep hushed voice. "How many more -to come and gibber and point at me; or, worse than all, to sit mutely staring at -me with pitiless unforgiving eyes! How many more? You are the latest. I have -never seen you before."</p> -<p>"O yes you have," said Bowker quietly, with her hand in his, and his eyes -steadfastly fixed on hers--"O yes you have: you recollect me, my dear Mrs. -Ludlow."</p> -<p>He laid special stress on the name, and as he uttered the words, Margaret -started, a new light flashed into her beautiful eyes, and she regarded him -attentively.</p> -<p>"What was that you said?" she asked; "what name did you call me?"</p> -<p>"What name? Why, your own, of course; what else should I call you, my dear -Mrs. Ludlow?"</p> -<p>She started again at the repetition, then her eyes fell, and she said -dreamily,</p> -<p>"But that is not my name--that is not my name." Bowker waited for a moment, -and then said,</p> -<p>"You might as well pretend to have forgotten me and our talk at Elm Lodge -that day that I came up to see Geoffrey."</p> -<p>"Elm Lodge! Geoffrey!--ah, good God, now I remember all!" said Margaret, in a -kind of scream, raising herself in the chair, and wringing Bowker's hand.</p> -<p>"Hush, my dear Madam; don't excite yourself; I thought you would remember -all; you--"</p> -<p>"You are Mr. Bowker!" said Margaret, pressing her hand to her head; "Mr. -Bowker, whose story Geoff told me: Geoff! ah, poor, good Geoff! ah, dear, good -Geoff! But why are you here? he hasn't sent you? Geoffrey has not sent you?"</p> -<p>"Geoffrey does not know I am here. He has been very ill; too ill to be told -of all that has been going on; too ill to understand it, if he had been told. I -heard by accident that you were living here, and that you had been ill; and I -came to see if I could be of any service to you."</p> -<p>While he had been speaking, Margaret had sat with her head tightly clasped -between her hands. When he finished, she looked up with a slightly dazed -expression, and said, with an evident attempt at controlling her voice, "I see -all now; you must pardon me, Mr. Bowker, for any incoherence or strangeness you -may have noticed in my manner; but I have been very ill, and I feel sure that at -times my mind wanders a little. I am better now. I was quite myself when you -mentioned about your having heard of my illness, and offering me service; and I -thank you very sincerely for your kindness."</p> -<p>Old William looked at her for a minute, and then said,</p> -<p>"I am a plain-spoken man, Mrs. Ludlow--for you are Mrs. Ludlow to me--as I -daresay you may have heard, if you have not noticed it yourself; and I tell you -plainly that it is out of no kindness to you that I am here now, but only out of -love for my dear old friend."</p> -<p>"I can understand that," said Margaret; "and only respect you the more for -it; and now you are here, Mr. Bowker, I shall be very glad to say a few words to -you,--the last I shall ever say regarding that portion of my life which was -passed in--at--You know what I would say; you have heard the story of the -commencement of my acquaintance with Geoffrey Ludlow?"</p> -<p>Bowker bowed in acquiescence.</p> -<p>"You know how I left him--why I am here?"</p> -<p>Then William Bowker--the memory of all his friend's trouble and misery and -crushed hopes and wasted life rising up strongly within him--set his face hard, -and said, between his clenched teeth, "I know your history from two sources. -Yesterday, Geoffrey Ludlow, scarce able to raise himself in his bed, so weak was -he from the illness which your conduct brought upon him, told me, as well as he -could, of his first meeting with you, his strange courtship, his marriage,--at -which I was present,--of his hopes and fears, and all the intricacies of his -married life; of the manner in which, finally, you revealed the history of your -previous life, and parted from him. Supplementing this story, he gave me to read -a letter from Lord Caterham, the brother of the man you call your husband. This -man, Captain Brakespere, flying from the country, had written to his brother, -informing him that he had left behind him a woman who was called his mistress, -but who was in reality his wife. To find this woman Lord Caterham made his care. -He set the detectives to work, and had her tracked from place to place; -continually getting news of, but never finding her. While he lived, Lord -Caterham never slackened from the pursuit; finding his end approaching--"</p> -<p>"His end approaching!--the end of his life do you mean?"</p> -<p>"He is dead. But before he died, he delegated the duty of pursuit, of all men -in the world, to Geoffrey Ludlow,--to Geoffrey Ludlow, who, in his blind -ignorance, had stumbled upon the very woman a year before, had saved her from a -miserable death, and, all unknowingly, had fondly imagined he had made her his -loving wife."</p> -<p>"Ah, my God, this is too much! And Geoffrey Ludlow knows all this?"</p> -<p>"From Geoffrey Ludlow's lips I heard it not twenty-four hours since."</p> -<p>Margaret uttered a deep groan and buried her face in her hands. When she -raised her head her eyes were tear-blurred, and her voice faltered as she said, -"I acknowledge my sin, and--so far as Geoffrey Ludlow is concerned--I deeply, -earnestly repent my conduct. It was prompted by despair; it ended in -desperation. Have those who condemned me--and I know naturally enough I am -condemned by all his friends--have those who condemned me ever known the pangs -of starvation, the grim tortures of houselessness in the streets? Have they ever -known what it is to have the iron of want and penury eating into their souls, -and then to be offered a comfortable home and an honest man's love? If they -have, I doubt very much whether they would have refused it. I do not say this to -excuse myself. I have done Geoffrey Ludlow deadly wrong; but when I listened to -his proffered protestations, I gave him time for reflection; when I said 'Yes' -to his repeated vows, I thought that the dead past had buried its dead, and that -no ghost from it would arise to trouble the future. I vowed to myself that I -would be true to that man who had so befriended me; and I was true to him. The -life I led was inexpressibly irksome and painful to me; the dead solemn monotony -of it goaded me almost to madness at times; but I bore it--bore it all out of -gratitude to him--would have borne it till now if <i>he</i> had not come back to -lure me to destruction. I do not say I did my duty; I am naturally undomestic -and unfitted for household management; but I brought no slur on Geoffrey -Ludlow's name in thought or deed until that man returned. I have seen him, Mr. -Bowker; I have spoken to him, and he spurned me from him; and yet I love him as -I loved him years ago. He need only raise his finger, and I would fly to him and -fawn upon him, and be grateful if he but smiled upon me in return. They cannot -understand this--they cannot understand my disregard of the respectabilities by -flinging away the position and the name and the repute, and all that which they -had fitted to me, and which clung to me, ah, so irritatingly; but if all I have -heard be true you can understand it, Mr. Bowker,--you can.--Is Geoffrey out of -danger?"</p> -<p>The sudden change in the tone of her voice, as she uttered the last sentence, -struck on Bowker's ear, and looking up, he noticed a strange light in her eyes.</p> -<p>"Geoffrey is out of danger," he replied; "but he is still very weak, and -requires the greatest care."</p> -<p>"And requires the greatest care!" she repeated. "Well, he'll get it, I -suppose; but not from me. And to think that I shall never see him again! Poor -Geoffrey! poor, good Geoffrey! How good he was, and how grave!--with those large -earnest eyes of his, and his great head, and rough curling brown hair, and--the -cruel cold, the pitiless rain, the cruel, cruel cold!" As she said these words, -she crept back shivering into her chair, and wrapped her dress round her. -William Bowker bent down and gazed at her steadily; but after an instant she -averted her face, and hid it in the chair. Bowker took her hand, and it fell -passively into his own; he noticed that it was burning.</p> -<p>"This will not do, Mrs. Ludlow!" he exclaimed; "you have over-excited -yourself lately. You want rest and looking after--you must--" he stopped; for -she had turned her head to him again and was rocking herself backwards and -forwards in her chair, weeping meanwhile as though her heart would break. The -sight was too much for William to bear unaided, and he opened the door and -called Mrs. Chapman.</p> -<p>"Ah, sir," said the good little woman when she entered the room, "she's off -again, I see. I knew she was, for I heard that awful sobbing as I was coming up -the stairs. O, that awful sobbing that Ive laid awake night after night -listening to, and that never seemed to stop till daylight, when she was fairly -wore out. But that's nothing, sir, compared to the talk when she's beside -herself. Then she'd go on and say--"</p> -<p>"Yes, yes, no doubt, Mrs. Chapman," interrupted Bowker, who did not -particularly wish to be further distressed by the narration of Margaret's -sadness; "but this faintness, these weeping fits, are quite enough to demand the -instant attention of a medical man. If you'll kindly look to her now, I'll go -off and fetch a doctor; and if there's a nurse required--as Ive little doubt -there will be--you won't mind me intruding further upon you? No; I knew you'd -say so. Mrs. Lambert's friends will ever be grateful to you; and here's -something just to carry you on, you know, Mrs. Chapman--rent and money paid on -her account, and that sort of thing." The something was two sovereigns, which -had lain in a lucifer-match box used by Mr. Bowker as his bank, and kept by him -in his only locked drawer for six weeks past, and which had been put aside for -the purchase of a "tweed wrapper" for winter wear.</p> -<p>Deliberating within himself to what physician of eminence he should apply, -and grievously hampered by the fact that he was unable to pay any fee in -advance, Bowker suddenly bethought him of Dr. Rollit, whose great love of art -and its professors led him, "in the fallow leisure of his life," to constitute -himself a kind of honorary physician to the brotherhood of the brush. To him -Bowker hastened, and, without divulging Margaret's identity, explained the case, -and implored the doctor to see her at once. The doctor hesitated for a moment, -for he was at his easel and in a knot. He had "got something that would not come -right," and he scarcely seemed inclined to move until he had conquered his -difficulty; but after explaining the urgency of the case, old Bowker took the -palette and sheaf of brushes from the physician's hand and said, "I think we can -help each other at this moment, doctor: go you and see the patient, and leave me -to deal with this difficulty. You'll find me here when you come back, and you -shall then look at your canvas."</p> -<p>But when Dr. Rollit, after a couple of hours' absence, returned, he did not -look at his picture--at least on his first entry. He looked so grave and earnest -that William Bowker, moving towards him to ask the result of his visit, was -frightened, and stopped.</p> -<p>"What is the matter?" he asked; "you seem--"</p> -<p>"I'm a little taken aback--that's all, old friend," said the doctor; "you did -not prepare me to find in my patient an old acquaintance--you did not know it, -perhaps?"</p> -<p>"By Jove! I remember now: Charley Potts said--What an old ass I am!"</p> -<p>"I was called in by Potts and Ludlow, or rather called out of a gathering of -the Titians, to attend Mrs. Lambert, as the landlady called her, nearly two -years ago. She is not much altered--outwardly--since I left her convalescent."</p> -<p>"You lay a stress on 'outwardly'--what is the inner difference?"</p> -<p>"Simply that her health is gone, my good fellow; her whole constitution -utterly shattered; her life not worth a week's purchase."</p> -<p>"Surely you're wrong, doctor. Up to within the last few weeks her health has -been excellent."</p> -<p>"My dear William Bowker, I, as an amateur, meddle with your professional -work; but what I do is on the surface, and the mistakes I make are so glaring, -that they are recognisable instantly. You might meddle, as an amateur, with -mine, and go pottering on until you'd killed half a parish, without any body -suspecting you. The disease I attended Mrs.----- there! it's absurd our beating -about the bush any longer--Mrs. Ludlow for was rheumatic fever, caught from -exposure to cold and damp. The attack I now find left behind it, as it generally -does, a strong predisposition to heart-disease, which, from what I learn from -her, seems to have displayed itself in spasms and palpitations very shortly -afterwards."</p> -<p>"From what you learn from her? She was sensible, then, when you saw her?"</p> -<p>"She was sensible before I left her; ay, and that's the deuce of it. Partly -to deaden the pain of these attacks, partly, as she said herself just now, to -escape from thought, she has had recourse to a sedative, morphia, which she has -taken in large quantities. I smelt it the instant I entered her room, and found -the bottle by her side. Under this influence she is deadened and comatose; but -when the reaction comes--Poor creature! poor creature!" and the kind-hearted -doctor shook his head sadly.</p> -<p>"Do you consider her in absolute danger?" asked Bowker, after a pause.</p> -<p>"My dear fellow it is impossible to say how long she may last; but--though I -suppose that's out of the question now, eh?--people will talk, you know, and Ive -heard rumours;--but if her husband wished to see her, I should say fetch him at -once."</p> -<p>"If her husband wished to see her!" said old Bowker to himself, as he walked -away towards his lodgings,--"if her husband wished to see her! He don't--at -least the real one don't, I imagine; and Geoff mustn't; though, if he knew it, -nothing would keep him away. But that other--Captain Brakespere--he ought to -know the danger she's in; he ought to have the chance of saying a kind word to -her before--He must be a damned villain!" said old William, stopping for an -instant, and pondering over the heads of the story; "but he deserves that -chance, and he shall have it."</p> -<p>Pursuant to his determination, Mr. Bowker presented himself the next day at -Long's Hotel, where he recollected Mr. Blackett had informed him that Captain -Brakespere was stopping. The porter, immediately divining from Mr. Bowker's -outward appearance that he meditated a raid upon coats, hats, or any thing that -might be lying about the coffee-room, barricaded the entrance with his -waistcoat, and parleyed with the visitor in the hall. Inquiring for Captain -Brakespere, Mr. Bowker was corrected by the porter, who opined "he meant Lord -Catrum." The correction allowed and the inquiry repeated, the porter replied -that his "lordship had leff," and referred the inquirer to St. Barnabas Square.</p> -<p>To St. Barnabas Square Mr. Bowker adjourned, but there learned that Lord -Caterham had left town with Mr. Barford, and would not be back for some days.</p> -<p>And meanwhile the time was wearing by, and Margaret's hold on life was -loosening day by day. Would it fail altogether before she saw the man who had -deceived her so cruelly? would it fail altogether before she saw the man whom -she had so cruelly deceived?</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> - <h4><a name="div3_08" href="#div3Ref_08">CHAPTER VIII.</a></h4> -<h5>IN THE DEEP SHADOW.</h5> -<br> - <p>In the presence of the double sorrow which had fallen upon her, Annie -Maurice's girlhood died out. Arthur was gone, and Geoffrey in so suffering a -condition of body and mind that it would have been easier to the tender-hearted -girl to know that he was at rest, even though she had to face all the loneliness -which would then have been her lot. Her position was very trying in all its -aspects at this time; for there was little sympathy with her new sorrow at the -great house which she still called home, and where she was regarded as decidedly -"odd." Lady Beauport considered that Caterham had infected her with some of his -strange notions, and that her fancy for associating with "queer" people, removed -from her own sphere not more by her heiress-ship than by her residence in an -earl's house and her recognition as a member of a noble family, was chargeable -to the eccentric notions of her son. Annie came and went as she pleased, free -from comment, though not from observation; but she was of a sensitive nature; -she could not assert herself; and she suffered from the consciousness that her -grief, her anxiety, and her constant visits to Lowbar were regarded with mingled -censure and contempt. Her pre-occupation of mind prevented her noticing many -things which otherwise could not have escaped her attention; but when Geoffrey's -illness ceased to be actively dangerous, and the bulletin brought her each -morning from Til by the hands of the faithful Charley contained more -tranquillising but still sad accounts of the patient, she began to observe an -air of mystery and preparation in the household. The few hours which she forced -herself to pass daily in the society of Lady Beauport had been very irksome to -her since Arthur died, and she had been glad when they were curtailed by Lady -Beauport's frequent plea of "business" in the evenings, and her leaving the -drawing-room for her own apartments. Every afternoon she went to Elm Lodge, and -her presence was eagerly hailed by Mrs. Ludlow and Til. She had seen Geoffrey -frequently during the height of the fever; but since the letter she had kept in -such faithful custody had reached his hands she had not seen him. Though far -from even the vaguest conjecture of the nature of its contents, she had dreaded -the effect of receiving a communication from his dead friend on Geoffrey Ludlow, -and had been much relieved when his mother told her, on the following day, that -he was very calm and quiet, but did not wish to see any one for a few days. -Bowker and he had fully felt the embarrassment of the position in which Lord -Caterham's revelation had placed Geoffrey with regard to Annie Maurice, and the -difficulties which the complications produced by Margaret's identity with Lionel -Brakespere's wife added to Ludlow's fulfilment of Caterham's trust. They had -agreed--or rather Bowker had suggested, and Geoffrey had acquiesced, with the -languid assent of a mind too much enfeebled by illness and sorrow to be capable -of facing any difficulty but the inevitable, immediate, and pressing--that Annie -need know nothing for the present.</p> -<p>"She could hardly come here from the Beauports, Geoff," Bowker had said; -"it's all nonsense, of course, to men like you and me, who look at the real, and -know how its bitterness takes all the meaning out of the rubbish they call rules -of society; but the strongest woman is no freer than Gulliver in his fetters of -packthread, in the conventional world she lives in. We need not fret her sooner -than it must be done, and you had better not see her for the present."</p> -<p>So Annie came and went for two or three days and did not see Geoffrey. Mrs. -Ludlow, having recovered from the sudden shock of her son's illness and the -protracted terror of his danger, had leisure to feel a little affronted at his -desire for seclusion, and to wonder audibly why <i>she</i> should be supposed to -do him more harm than Mr. Bowker.</p> -<p>"A big blundering fellow like that, Til," she said; "and I do assure you, -Miss Maurice, he quite forgot the time for the draught when he was shut up there -with him the other day--and talk of <i>he's</i> doing Geoffrey no harm! All I -can say is, if Geoffrey had not been crying when I went into his room, and -wasn't trembling all over in his bed, I never was so mistaken before."</p> -<p>Then Til and Annie looked blankly at each other, in mute wonder at this -incomprehensible sorrow--for the women knew nothing but that Margaret had fled -with a former lover--so much had been necessarily told them, under Bowker's -instructions, by Charley Potts; and Annie, after a little, went sorrowfully -away.</p> -<p>That day at dinner Lord Beauport was more than usually kind in his manner to -her; and Annie considered it due to him, and a fitting return for some inquiries -he had made for "her friend," which had more of warmth and less of condescension -than usual in their tone, to rouse herself into greater cheerfulness than she -had yet been able to assume. Lady Beauport rose sooner than usual; and the two -ladies had hardly seated themselves in the dreary drawing-room when the Earl -joined them. There was an air of preparation in Lord Beauport's manner, and -Annie felt that something had happened.</p> -<p>The thing which had happened was this--Lady Beauport had not miscalculated -her experienced power of managing her husband. She had skilfully availed herself -of an admission made by him that Lionel's absence, at so great a distance just -then was an unfortunate complication; that the necessary communications were -rendered difficult and tedious; and that he wished his "rustication" had been -nearer home. The Countess caught at the word 'rustication:' then not expulsion, -not banishment, was in her husband's mind. Here was a commutation of her -darling's sentence; a free pardon would follow, if she only set about procuring -it in the right way. So she resorted to several little expedients by which the -inconvenience of the heir's absence was made more and more apparent: having once -mentioned his name, Lord Beauport continued to do so;--perhaps he was in his -secret heart as much relieved by the breaking of the ban as the mother -herself;--and at length, on the same day which witnessed William Bowker's visit -to Lionel Brakespere's deserted wife, Lady Beauport acknowledged to her husband -that their son was then in London, and that she had seen him. The Earl received -her communication in frowning silence; but she affected not to observe his -manner, and expatiated, with volubility very unusual to her, upon the fortunate -concurrence of circumstances which had brought Lionel to England just as his -improved position made it more than ever probable he would be perfectly well -received.</p> -<p>"That dear Mr. Barford," she said--and her face never changed at the name of -the man in whose arms her son had died so short a time before--"assures me that -every one is delighted to see him. And really, George, he mustn't stay at -Long's, you know--it looks so bad--for every one knows he's in town; and if we -don't receive him properly, that will be just the way to rake up old stories. -I'm sure they're old enough to be forgotten; and many a young man has done worse -than Lionel, and--"</p> -<p>"Stop, Gertrude," said Lord Beauport sternly; "stick to the truth, if you -please. I hope very few young men in our son's position have disgraced it and -themselves as he has done. The truth is, that we have to make the best of a -misfortune. He has returned; and by so doing has added to the rest a fresh -rascality by breaking his pledged word. Circumstances oblige me to -acquiesce,--luck is on his side,--his brother's death--" Lord Beauport paused -for a moment, and an expression, hitherto unfamiliar, but which his wife -frequently saw in the future, flitted over his face--"his brother's death leaves -me no choice. Let us say as little as possible on this subject. He had better -come here, for every reason. For appearances' sake it is well; and he will -probably be under some restraint in this house." Here the Earl turned to leave -the room, and said slowly as he walked towards the door, "Something tells me, -Gertrude, that in Arthur's death, which we dreaded too little and mourn too -lightly, we have seen only the beginning of evils."</p> -<p>Lady Beauport sat very still and felt very cold after he left her. Conscience -smote her dumbly,--in days to come it would find a voice in which to speak,--and -fear fell upon her. "I will never say any thing to him about Annie Maurice," she -said to herself, as the first effect of her husband's words began to pass away; -"I do believe he would be as hard on Lionel as poor Arthur himself, and warn the -girl against him."</p> -<p>How relieved she felt as she despatched a note to Lionel Brakespere, telling -him she had fulfilled her task, and inviting him to return to his father's house -when he pleased!</p> -<p>Assuredly the star of the new heir was in the ascendant; his brother was -dead, his place restored to him, and society ready to condone all his -"follies,"--which is the fashionable synonym for the crimes of the rich and the -great. If Lionel Brakespere could have seen "that cursed woman"--as in his -brutal anger he called his wife a hundred times over, as he fretted and fumed -over the remembrance of their interview--as William Bowker saw her that day,--he -would have esteemed himself a luckier fellow still than he did when he lighted -his cigar with his mother's note, and thought how soon he would change that -"infernal dull old hole" from what it was in Caterham's time, and how he would -have every thing his own way now.</p> -<p>Such, as far as his knowledge of them extended, and without any comment or -expression of opinion of his own, were the circumstances which Lord Beauport -narrated to Annie. She received his information with an indescribable pang, -compounded of a thousand loving remembrances of Arthur and a keen resuscitation -by her memory of the scene of Lionel's disgrace, to which she and her lost -friend had been witnesses. She could hardly believe, hardly understand it all; -and the clearest thought which arose above the surging troubled sea within her -breast was, that the place which knew Arthur no more would be doubly empty and -desolate when Lionel should fill it.</p> -<p>The tone in which Lord Beauport had spoken was grave and sad, and he had -confined himself to the barest announcement. Annie had listened in respectful -silence; but though she had not looked directly at her, she was conscious of -Lady Beauport's reproachful glances, addressed to her husband, as he concluded -by saying coldly,</p> -<p>"You were present, Annie, by my desire, when I declared that that which is -now about to happen should never be, and I have thought it necessary to explain -to you a course of conduct on my part which without explanation would have -appeared very weak and inconsistent. As a member of <i>my</i> family you are -entitled to such an explanation; and indeed, as an inmate of this house, you are -entitled to an apology."</p> -<p>"Thank you, my lord," said Annie, in a voice which, though lower than usual, -was very firm.</p> -<p>This was more than Lady Beauport's pride could bear. She began, fiercely -enough,</p> -<p>"Really, Lord Beauport, I cannot see--"</p> -<p>But at that moment a servant opened the door and announced</p> -<p>"Lord Caterham."</p> -<p>The group by the fireside stood motionless for a moment, as Lionel, dressed -in deep mourning, advanced towards them with well-bred ease and perfect -unconcern. Then Lady Beauport threw herself into his arms; and Annie, hardly -noticing that Lord Beauport had by an almost involuntary movement stretched out -his hand to the handsome prodigal, glided past the three, hurried to her own -room, and, having locked the door, sank down on her knees beside her bed in an -agony of grief.</p> -<p>Three days elapsed, during which events marched with a steady pace at Elm -Lodge and at the lodging were the woman who had brought such wreck and ruin -within that tranquil-looking abode was lying contending with grief and disease, -dying the death of despair and exhaustion. When Bowker returned from his -unsuccessful quest for Lionel Brakespere, he found that she had passed into -another phase of her malady,--was quiet, dreamy, and apparently forgetful of the -excitement she had undergone. She was lying quite still on her bed, her eyes -half closed, and a faint unmeaning smile was on her lips.</p> -<p>"I have seen her so for hours and hours, sir," said the gentle little -landlady; "and it's my belief it's what she takes as does it."</p> -<p>So Bowker concluded that Margaret had found means to avail herself of the -fatal drug from which she had sought relief so often and so long, in the -interval of depression which had succeeded the delirium he had witnessed. He was -much embarrassed now to know how to proceed. She required better accommodation -and careful nursing, and he was determined she should have both,--but how that -was to be managed was the question; and Bowker, the most helpless man in the -world in such matters, was powerless to answer it. He had never imagined, as he -had turned the probabilities over and over in his mind, that such a complication -as severe physical illness would arise; and it routed all his plans, besides -engaging all his most active sympathies. William Bowker had an extreme dread, -indeed a positive terror, of witnessing bodily suffering in women and children; -and had his anger and repulsion towards Margaret been far greater than they -were, they would have yielded to pain and pity as he gazed upon the rigid lines -of the pale weary face, from which the beauty was beginning to fade and drop -away in some mysterious manner of vanishing, terrible to see and feel, but -impossible to describe. He made the best provisional arrangements within his -power, and went away, promising Mrs. Chapman that he would return on the -following day to meet the doctor, and turned his steps in much mental -bewilderment towards the abode of Charley Potts, purposing to consult him in the -emergency, previous to their proceeding together to Lowbar.</p> -<p>"I can't help it now," he thought; "the women cannot possibly be kept out of -the business any longer. If she were let to want any thing, and had not every -care taken of her, dear old Geoff would never forgive any of us; and it could -not be hidden from him. I am sure she's dying; and--I'm glad of it: glad for her -sake, poor wretched creature; and O so glad for his! He will recover her -death--he <i>must</i>; but I doubt whether he would recover her life. He would -be for ever hankering after her, for ever remembering the past, and throwing -away the remainder of his life, as he has thrown away too much of it already. -No, no, dear old Geoff, this shall not be, if your William can save you. I know -what a wasted life means; and you shall put yours out at good interest, Geoff, -please God."</p> -<p>Charley was at home; and he received Mr. Bowker's communication with uncommon -gravity, and immediately bestowed his best attention upon considering what was -to be done. He was not in the least offended by discovering that it had not been -his William's intention to tell him any thing about it. "Quite right too," he -observed. "I should have been of no use, if every thing had not been capsized by -her illness; and I don't like to know any thing I'm not to tell to Til. Not that -she's in the least inquisitive, you know,--don't make any mistake about -that,--but things are in such an infernally mysterious mess; and then they only -know enough to make them want to know more; and I shouldn't like, under these -circumstances--it would seem hypocritical, don't you see--and every thing must -come out sometime, eh?"</p> -<p>"O yes, I see," said Bowker drily; "but I have to tell you <i>now</i>, -Charley; for what the devil's to be done? You can't bring her here and nurse -her; and I can't bring her to my place and nurse her,--yet she must be taken -somewhere and nursed; and we must be prepared with a satisfactory account of -every thing we have done, when Geoff gets well; and what are we to do?"</p> -<p>Mr. Potts did not answer for a few moments, but handed over the beer in an -absent manner to Mr. Bowker; then, starting up from the table on which he had -been sitting, he exclaimed,</p> -<p>"I have it, William. Let's tell the women--Til, I mean, and Miss Maurice. -They'll know all about it, bless you," said Charley, whose confidence in female -resources was unbounded. "It's all nonsense trying to keep things dark, when -theyve got to such a pass as this. If Mrs. Ludlow's in the state you say, she -will not live long; and then Geoff's difficulty, if not his trouble, will be -over. Her illness alters every thing. Come on, Bowker; let's get on to Elm -Lodge; tell Til, and Miss Maurice, if she's there; and let them make proper -arrangements."</p> -<p>"But, Charley," said Bowker, much relieved, in spite of his misgivings, by -the suggestion, "you forget one important point. Miss Maurice is Brakespere's -cousin, and she lives in his father's house. It won't do to bring her in."</p> -<p>"Never you mind that, William," replied the impetuous Charley. "Til can't act -alone; and old Mrs. Ludlow is nervous, and would not know what to do, and must -not be told; and I am sure Miss Maurice doesn't care a rap about her cousin--the -ruffian--why should she? And I know she would do any thing in the world, no -matter how painful to herself, and no matter whether he ever came to know it or -not, that would serve or please Geoff."</p> -<p>"Indeed!" said Bowker, in a tone half of inquiry, half of surprise, and -looking very hard at Charley; "and how do you know that, eh, Charley?"</p> -<p>"O, bother," answered that gentleman, "I don't know how I know it; but I do -know it; and I am sure the sooner we act on my knowledge the better. So come -along."</p> -<p>So saying, Mr. Potts made his simple outdoor toilet; and the two gentlemen -went out, and took their way towards the resort of omnibuses, eagerly discussing -the matter in hand as they went, and Mr. Bowker finding himself unexpectedly -transformed from the active into the passive party.</p> -<p>It was agreed between them that Geoffrey should not be informed of Bowker's -presence in the house, as he would naturally be impatient to learn the result of -the mission with which he had intrusted him; and that result it was their -present object to conceal.</p> -<p>Fortune favoured the wishes of Bowker and Charley. Mrs. Ludlow was with her -son; and in the drawing-room, which was resuming somewhat of its former orderly -and pleasant appearance, they found Miss Maurice and Til. The two girls were -looking sad and weary, and Til was hardly brightened up by Charley's entrance, -for he looked so much more grave than usual, that she guessed at once he had -heard something new and important. The little party were too vitally interested -in Geoffrey and his fortunes, and the occasion was too solemn for any thing of -ceremony; and when Charley Potts had briefly introduced Bowker to Annie Maurice, -he took Til's hand in his, and said,</p> -<p>"Til, Geoffrey's wife has been found--alone, and very ill--dying, as we -believe!"</p> -<p>"You are quite sure, William?"</p> -<p>"I am quite sure, Geoffrey. Do you think I would deceive you, or take any -thing for granted myself, without seeing and hearing what is so important to -you? She is well cared for in every respect. Your own care, when she needed it -before, was not more tender or more effective. Be satisfied, dear old Geoff; be -content."</p> -<p>"You saw her--you really saw her; and she spoke kindly of me?" asked Geoffrey -with a pitiable eagerness which pained Bowker to witness.</p> -<p>"I did. Yes, have I not told you again and again--" Then there was a moment's -silence and Bowker thought, if she were not dying, how terrible this tenderness -towards her would be, how inexplicable to all the world but him, how ruinous to -Geoffrey; but as it was, it did not matter: it would soon be only the tenderness -of memory, the pardon of the grave.</p> -<p>Geoffrey was sitting in an arm-chair by the bedroom window which overlooked -the pretty flower-garden and the lawn. He was very weak still, but health was -returning, and with it the power of acute mental suffering, which severe bodily -illness mercifully deadens. This had been a dreadful day to him. When he was -able to sit up and look around the room from which all the graceful suggestive -traces of a woman's presence had been carefully removed; when he saw the old -home look upon every thing before his eyes (for whom the idea of home was for -ever desecrated and destroyed), the truth presented itself to him as it had -never before done, in equal horror and intensity, since the day the woman he -loved had struck him a blow by her words which had nearly proved mortal. Would -it had been so! he thought, as his large brown eyes gazed wearily out upon the -lawn and the flower-beds, and then were turned upon the familiar objects in the -chamber, and closed with a shudder. His large frame look gaunt and worn, and his -hands rested listlessly upon the sides of his chair. He had requested them to -leave him alone for a little, that he might rest previous to seeing Bowker.</p> -<p>From the window at which Geoffrey sat he could see the nurse walking -monotonously up and down the gravel-walk which bounded his little demesne with -the child in her arms. Sometimes she stopped to pluck a flower and give it to -the baby, who would laugh with delight and then throw it from him. Geoffrey -watched the pair for a little, and then turned his head wearily away and put his -question to Bowker, who was seated beside him, and who looked at him furtively -with glances of the deepest concern.</p> -<p>"You shall hear how she is, Geoff,--how circumstanced, how cared for, and by -whom, from one who can tell you the story better than I can. Your confidence has -not been misplaced." Geoffrey turned upon him the nervous anxious gaze which is -so touching to see in the eyes of one who has lately neared the grave, and still -seems to hover about its brink. William Bowker proceeded: "You have not asked -for Miss Maurice lately. I daresay you felt too much oppressed by the -information in Lord Caterham's letter, too uncertain of the future, too -completely unable to make up your mind what was to be done about her, to care or -wish to see her. She has been here as usual, making herself as useful as -possible, and helping your mother and sister in every conceivable way. But she -has done more for you than that, Geoff; and if you are able to see her now, I -think you had better hear it all from herself."</p> -<p>With these words Bowker hurried out of the room; and in a few minutes Annie -Maurice, pale, quiet, and self-possessed, came in, and took her seat beside -Geoffrey.</p> -<p>What had she come to tell him? What had she been doing for the help and -service of her early friend,--she, this young girl so unskilled in the world's -ways, so lonely, so dependent hitherto,--who now looked so womanly and -sedate,--in whose brown eyes he saw such serious thought, such infinite -sweetness and pity,--whose deep mourning dress clothed her slender figure with a -sombre dignity new to it, and on whom a nameless change had passed, which -Geoffrey had eyes to see now, and recognised even in that moment of painful -emotion with wonder.</p> -<p>Calmly, carefully subduing every trace of embarrassment for his sake, and in -a business-like tone which precluded the necessity for any preliminary -explanation, Annie told Geoffrey Ludlow that she had been made aware of the -circumstances which had preceded and caused his illness. She touched lightly -upon her sorrow and her sympathy, but passed on to the subject of Caterham's -letter. Geoffrey listened to her in silence, his head turned away and his eyes -covered with his hand. Annie went on:</p> -<p>"I little thought, Geoffrey, when I was so glad to find that you were well -enough to read Arthur's letter, and when I only thought of fulfilling so urgent -a request as soon as I could, and perhaps diverting your mind into thoughts of -our dear dead friend, that I was to be the means of making all this misery plain -and intelligible. But it was so, Geoffrey; and I now see that it was well. Why -Arthur should have selected you to take up the search after his death I cannot -tell,--I suppose he knew instinctively your fidelity and trueheartedness; but -the accident was very fortunate, for it identified your interests and mine, it -made the fulfilment of his trust a sacred duty to me, and enabled me to do with -propriety what no one else could have done, and what she--what Margaret--would -not have accepted from another."</p> -<p>Geoffrey started, let his hand fall from his face, and caught hers. "Is it -you, then, Annie?"</p> -<p>"Yes, yes," she said, "it is I, Geoffrey; do not agitate yourself, but listen -to me. When Mr. Bowker found Margaret, as you know he did, she was very ill, -and--she had no protector and no money. What could he do? He did the best thing; -he told me, to whom Arthur's wishes were sacred, who would have done the same -had you never existed--you know I am rich and free; and I made all the needful -arrangements for her at once. When all was ready for her reception--it is a -pretty house at Sydenham, Geoffrey, and she is as well cared for as any one can -be--I went to her, and told her I was come to take her home."</p> -<p>"And she--Margaret--did she consent? Did she think it was I who--"</p> -<p>"Who sent me?" interrupted Annie. "No,--she would not have consented; for her -feeling is that she has so wronged you that she must owe nothing to you any -more. In this I know she is quite wrong; for to know that she was in any want or -suffering would be still worse grief to you,--but that can never be,--and I did -not need to contradict her. I told her I came to her in a double character that -of her own friend--though she had not had much friendship for me, Geoffrey; but -that is beside the question--and--and--" here she hesitated for a moment, but -then took courage and went on, "that of her husband's cousin." Geoffrey ground -his teeth, but said never a word. She continued, with deepening light in her -eyes and growing tenderness in her voice, "I told her how Arthur, whom I loved, -had sought for her,--how a strange fatality had brought them in contact, neither -knowing how near an interest each had in the other. She knew it the day she -fainted in his room, but he died without knowing it, and so dying left her, as I -told her I felt she was, a legacy to me. She softened then, Geoffrey, and she -came with me."</p> -<p>Here Annie paused, as if expecting he would speak, but he did not. She -glanced at him, but his face was set and rigid, and his eyes were fixed upon the -walk, where the nurse and child still were.</p> -<p>"She is very ill, Geoffrey," Annie went on; "very weak and worn, and weary of -life. I am constantly with her, but sometimes she is unable or unwilling to -speak to me. She is gloomy and reserved, and suffers as much in mind as in body, -I am sure."</p> -<p>Geoffrey said slowly, "Does she ever speak to you of me?"</p> -<p>Annie replied, "Not often. When she does, it is always with the greatest -sorrow for your sorrow, and the deepest sense of the injury she has done you. I -am going to her to-day, Geoffrey, and I should like to take to her an assurance -of your forgiveness. May I tell Margaret that you forgive her?"</p> -<p>He turned hastily, and said with a great gasp, "O Annie, tell her that I love -her!"</p> -<p>"I will tell her that," the girl said gently and sadly, and an expression of -pain crossed her face. She thought of the love that had been wasted, and the -life that had been blighted.</p> -<p>"What is she going to do?" asked Geoffrey; "how is it to be in the future?" -This was a difficult question for Annie to answer: she knew well what lay in the -future; but she dreaded to tell Geoffrey, even while she felt that the wisest, -the easiest, the best, and the most merciful solution of the terrible dilemma in -which a woman's ungoverned passion had placed so many innocent persons was -surely and not slowly approaching.</p> -<p>"I don't know, Geoffrey," she said; "I cannot tell you. Nothing can be -decided upon until she is better, and you are well enough to advise and direct -us. Try and rest satisfied for the present. She is safe, no harm can come to -her; and I am able and willing to befriend her now as you did before. Take -comfort, Geoffrey; it is all dreadful; but if we had not found her, how much -worse it would have been!"</p> -<p>At this moment the nurse carried her charge out of their sight, as she came -towards the house, and Annie, thinking of the more than motherless child, -wondered at the no-meaning of her own words, and how any thing could have been -worse than what had occurred.</p> -<p>She and Geoffrey had spoken very calmly to each other, and there had been no -demonstration of gratitude to her on his part; but it would be impossible to -tell the thankfulness which filled his heart. It was a feeling of respite which -possessed him. The dreadful misfortune which had fallen upon him was as real and -as great as ever; but he could rest from the thought of it, from its constant -torture, now that he knew that she was safe from actual physical harm; now that -no awful vision of a repetition of the destitution and misery from which he had -once rescued her, could come to appal him. Like a man who, knowing that the -morrow will bring him a laborious task to do, straining his powers to the -utmost, inexorable and inevitable in its claims, covets the deep rest of the -hours which intervene between the present and the hour which must summon him to -his toil, Geoffrey, in the lassitude of recent illness, in the weakness of early -convalescence, rested from the contemplation of his misery. He had taken Annie's -communication very quietly; he had a sort of feeling that it ought to surprise -him very much, that the circumstances were extraordinary, that the chain of -events was a strangely-wrought one--but he felt little surprise; it was lurking -somewhere in his mind, he would feel it all by and by, no doubt; but nothing -beyond relief was very evident to him in his present state. He wondered, indeed, -how it was with Annie herself; how the brave, devoted, and unselfish girl had -been able, trammelled as she was by the rules and restrictions of a great house, -to carry out her benevolent designs, and dispose of her own time after her own -fashion. There was another part of the subject which Geoffrey did not approach -even in his thoughts. Bowker had not told him of Margaret's entreaties that she -might see Lionel Brakespere; he had not told him that the young man had returned -to his father's house; and he made no reference to him in his consideration of -Annie's position. He had no notion that the circumstances in which Lord Caterham -had entreated his protection for Annie had already arisen.</p> -<p>"How is it that you can do all this unquestioned, Annie?" he asked; "how can -you be so much away from home?"</p> -<p>She answered him with some embarrassment. "It was difficult--a little--but I -knew I was right, and I did not suffer interference. When you are quite well, -Geoffrey, I want your advice for myself. I have none else, you know, since -Arthur died."</p> -<p>"He knew that, Annie; and the purport of the letter which told me such a -terrible story was to ask me in all things to protect and guide you. He little -knew that he had the most effectual safeguard in his own hands; for, Annie, the -danger he most dreaded for you was association with his brother."</p> -<p>"That can never be," she said vehemently. "No matter what your future course -of action may be, Geoffrey, whether you expose him or not--in which, of course, -you will consider Margaret only--I will never live under the same roof with him. -I must find another home, Geoffrey, let what will come of it, and let them say -what they will."</p> -<p>"Caterham would have been much easier in his mind, Annie," said Geoffrey, -with a sad smile, "if he had known how baseless were his fears that his brother -would one day win your heart."</p> -<p>"There never could have been any danger of that, Geoffrey," said Annie, with -a crimson blush, which had not subsided when she took her leave of him.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> - <h4><a name="div3_09" href="#div3Ref_09">CHAPTER IX.</a></h4> -<h5>CLOSING IN.</h5> -<br> - <p>The porter at Lord Beauport's mansion in St. Barnabas Square became so -familiarised with Mr. Bowker's frequent visits as at length to express no -surprise at the sight of the "hold cove," who daily arrived to inquire whether -any tidings of Lord Caterham had been received. Although the porter's experience -of life had been confined to London, his knowledge of the ways of men was great; -and he was perfectly certain that this pertinacious inquirer was no dun, no -tradesman with an overdue account, no begging letter-writer or imposter of any -kind. What he was the porter could not tell; mentioned, in casual chat with the -footman waiting for the carriage to come round, that he could not "put a name" -to him, but thought from his "rum get-up" that he was either in the -picture-selling or the money-lending line.</p> -<p>Undeterred by, because ignorant of, the curiosity which his presence -excited--and indeed it may be assumed that, had he been aware of it, his actions -would have been very little influenced thereby--old William Bowker attended -regularly every day at the St. Barnabas-Square mansion, and having asked his -question and received his answer, adjourned to the nearest tavern for his lunch -of bread-and-cheese and beer, and then puffing a big meerschaum pipe, scaled the -omnibus which conveyed him to London Bridge, whence he took the train for the -little house at Sydenham. They were always glad to see him there, even though he -brought no news; and old Mrs. Ludlow especially found the greatest comfort in -pouring into his open ears the details of the latest experience of her "cross." -William Bowker to such recitals was a splendid listener; that is to say, he -could nod his head and throw in an "Indeed!" or a "Really!" exactly at the -proper moment, while all the time his thoughts were far away, occupied with some -important matter. He saw Til occasionally, and sometimes had flying snatches of -talk with Annie Maurice in the intervals of her attendance on the invalid. -Bowker did not meet Charley Potts very frequently, although that gentleman was a -regular visitor at Sydenham whenever Mrs. Ludlow and Til were there; but it was -not until the evening that Mr. Potts came, for he was diligently working away at -his commissions and growing into great favour with Mr. Caniche; and besides, he -had no particular interest in Miss Maurice; and so long as he arrived in time to -escort Miss Til and her mother back to London Bridge and to put them into the -Lowbar omnibus, he was content, and was especially grateful for the refreshing -sleep which always came upon old Mrs. Ludlow in the train.</p> -<p>At length, when many weary days had worn themselves away, and Geoffrey was -beginning to feel his old strength returning to him, and with it the aching void -which he had experienced on regaining consciousness daily increasing in -intensity, and when Margaret's hold on life had grown very weak indeed, old -William Bowker, making his daily inquiry of Lord Beauport's porter, was informed -that Lord Caterham had returned the previous afternoon, and was at that moment -at breakfast. Then, with great deliberation, Mr. Bowker unbuttoned his coat and -from an inner breast-pocket produced an old leather pocket-book, from which, -among bits of sketches and old envelopes, he took a card, and pencilling his -name thereon, requested the porter to give it to Lord Caterham.</p> -<p>The porter looked at the card, and then said jocosely, "You ain't wrote your -business on it, then? 'Spose you couldn't do that, eh? Well, you are a plucked -'un, you are, and I like you for it, never givin' in and comin' so reg'lar; and -I'll let him have your card just for that reason." He disappeared as he said -these words, but came back speedily, remarking, "He'll see you, he says, though -he don't know the name. Do you know the way? Same rooms which his brother used -to have,--straight afore you. Here, I'll show you."</p> -<p>The friendly porter, preceding Mr. Bowker down the passage, opened the door -of what had been poor Arthur's sitting-room, and ushered in the visitor. The -bookcases, the desk, the pictures and nicnacks, were all as they had been in the -old days; but there was a table in the middle of the room, at which was seated -the new Lord Caterham finishing late breakfast. Bowker had never seen the Lionel -Brakespere of former days; if he had, he would have noticed the change in the -man before him,--the boldness of bearing, the calm unflinching regard, the -steadiness of voice, the assurance of manner,--all of which, though -characteristic of Lionel Brakespere in his earliest days, had deserted him, only -to reappear with his title.</p> -<p>"You wished to see me, Mr. ----. I don't know your name," said Lionel, -stiffly returning the stiff bow which Bowker gave him on entering.</p> -<p>"You have my card, my lord," said old Bowker quietly.</p> -<p>"Ah, yes, by the way, I have your card," said Lionel, taking it up. "Mr. -Bowker--Mr.--Bowker! Now that does not convey to me any idea whatever?"</p> -<p>"I daresay not. You never heard it before--you never saw me before; and you -would not see me now, if I did not come on business of the greatest importance."</p> -<p>"Business of the greatest importance! Dear me, that's what they all come on. -Of the greatest importance to yourself, of course?"</p> -<p>"Of the greatest importance to you. Except in a very minor degree, Ive -nothing to do in the matter."</p> -<p>"Of the greatest importance to me! O, of course--else it would not have been -worth while your coming, would it? Now, as my time is valuable, be good enough -to let me know what this business is."</p> -<p>"You shall know in as few words as I can tell you. I come to you from a -woman--"</p> -<p>Lionel interrupted him with a cynical laugh.</p> -<p>"The deuce you do!" he said. "From a woman? Well, I thought it was cigars, or -a blue diamond, or a portrait of some old swell whom you had made out to be an -ancestor of mine, or--"</p> -<p>"I would advise you not to be funny on the subject until you've heard it -explained, Lord Caterham," said Mr. Bowker grimly. "I scarcely imagine you'll -find it so humorous before I'm done."</p> -<p>"Sha'n't I? Well, at all events, give me the chance of hearing," said Lionel. -He was in a splendid temper. He had come back, after a pleasant run with Algy -Barford, to enjoy all the advantages of his new position. On the previous night -he and his mother had had a long talk about Miss Maurice--this heiress whom he -was to captivate so easily. The world lay straight and bright before him, and he -could spare a few minutes to this old fellow--who was either a lunatic or a -swindler--for his own amusement.</p> -<p>"I come to you Lord Caterham, from a woman who claims to be your wife."</p> -<p>In an instant the colour died out of Lionel's face; his brows were knit, and -his mouth set and rigid. "O, ho!" said he through his clenched teeth, after a -moment's pause; "you do, do you? You come to me from <i>that</i> woman? That's -your line of country, is it? O yes--I guessed wrong about you, certainly--you -don't look a bit like a bully!"</p> -<p>"A bully!" echoed William Bowker, looking very white.</p> -<p>"A bully!" repeated Lionel--"the woman's father, brother, former husband--any -thing that will give you a claim to put in an appearance for her. And now look -here. This game won't do with me--I'm up to it; so you had better drop it at -once, and get out."</p> -<p>Old Bowker waited for a minute with set teeth and clenched fists, all the -gray hair round his mouth bristling with fury. Only for a minute. Then he -resumed the seat which he had quitted, and said,</p> -<p>"I'm not quite so certain of myself nowadays, as Ive been a long time out of -practice; but it strikes me that during your long career of gentlemanly vice, my -Lord Caterham, you never were nearer getting a sound drubbing than you have been -within the last five minutes. However, let that pass. You have been good enough -to accuse me of being a bully, by which term I imagine you mean a man sent here -by the unfortunate lady of whom we have spoken to assert her rights. I may as -well start by telling you that she is utterly ignorant of my intention to call -on you."</p> -<p>"Of course--O yes, of course. Didn't give you my address, did she?"</p> -<p>"She did not."</p> -<p>"She didn't? O, then you've come on your own hook, being some relation or -friend of hers, to see what you could bounce me out of."</p> -<p>"I am no relation of hers. I have not seen her half a dozen times in the -course of my life."</p> -<p>"Then what the deuce brings you here?"</p> -<p>"I'll tell you as shortly as I can. When you deserted this woman--not caring -what became of her; leaving her to sink or swim as best she might--she slipped -from one point of wretchedness to another, until, at the bottom of her descent, -she was discovered by a very old friend of mime perishing of cold and -hunger--dying in the streets!"</p> -<p>Lionel, whose face when Bowker commenced speaking had been averted, turned -here, and gave a short sharp shudder, fixing his eyes on Bowker as he proceeded.</p> -<p>"Dying in the streets! My friend rescued her from this fate, had her nursed -and attended, and finally--ignorant of the chief fact of her life, though she -had confided to him a certain portion of her story--fell so desperately in love -with her as to ask her to become his wife."</p> -<p>"To become his wife!" cried Lionel; "and she consented?"</p> -<p>"She did."</p> -<p>"And they were married?"</p> -<p>"They were. I was present."</p> -<p>"<i>Bravissimo!</i>" said Lionel in a low voice. "you've done me a greater -service than you think for, Mr.--what's-your-name. She'll never trouble me -again."</p> -<p>"Only once more, my lord," said old Bowker solemnly.</p> -<p>"What the devil do you mean, sir?"</p> -<p>"Simply this, my lord. I understand your exclamation of delight at seeing -your way legally to rid yourself of this woman, who is now nothing to you but an -incumbrance. But you need not fear; you will not even have the trouble of -consulting your lawyer in the matter. There is one who breaks up marriage-ties -more effectually even than the Divorce Court, and that one is--Death!"</p> -<p>"Death!"</p> -<p>"Death. The woman of whom we have been speaking lies in the jaws of death. -Her recovery, according to all human experience, is impossible. Dying,--and -knowing herself to be dying,--she wishes to see you."</p> -<p>"To see me!" said Lionel scornfully; "O no, thank you; I won't interfere in -the family party. The gentleman who has married her might object to my coming."</p> -<p>"The gentleman who married her in all noble trust and honour, she deserted -directly she heard of your return. Overwhelmed by her cruelty, and by the full -details of her story, which he heard from your brother, the then Lord Caterham, -at the same time, he fell, smitten with an illness from which he is barely -recovering. She is in another house far away from his, and on her deathbed she -calls for you."</p> -<p>"She may call," said Lionel, after a moment's pause, frowning, thrusting his -hands into his pockets, and settling himself back into his chair; "she may call; -I shall not go."</p> -<p>"You will not?"</p> -<p>"I will not--why should I?"</p> -<p>"If you can't answer that question for yourself, Lord Caterham, upon my soul -I can't for you," said Bowker gruffly. "If you think you owe no reparation to -the woman, your wife, whom you left to be rescued by strangers' charity from -starvation, I cannot convince you of it: if you decline to accede to her dying -request, I cannot enforce it."</p> -<p>"Why does not the--the gentleman who was so desperately in love with her, and -whom she--she accepted--why does not he go to her?" said Lionel. He did not care -for Margaret himself, but the thought that she had been something to any one -else grated upon his pride.</p> -<p>"Ah, my God," said old Bowker, "how willingly would he; but it is not for him -she asks--it is for you. You boast of your experience of women, and yet you know -so little of them as to expect gratitude of them. Gratitude from a -woman--gratitude--and yet, God knows, I ought not to say that--I ought not to -say that."</p> -<p>"You seem to have had a singular experience, Mr. Bowker," said Lionel, "and -one on which you can scarcely make up your mind. Where is this lady whom you -wish me to see?"</p> -<p>"At Sydenham--within an hour's drive."</p> -<p>Lionel rang the bell. "Tell them to get the brougham round," said he to the -servant who answered it. "Now, look here, Mr. Bowker; I am going with you -thoroughly depending on your having told me the exact truth."</p> -<p>"You may depend on it," said old Bowker simply. And they started together.</p> -<p>That was a strange ride. At starting Lionel lit a cigar, and puffed fiercely -out of the window; idly looking at the Parliament-houses and other familiar -objects which met his gaze as they drove over Westminster Bridge, the passing -populace, the hoardings blazing with placards, the ordinary bustle and turmoil -of every-day life. He was angry and savage; savage with Margaret for the -annoyance she had brought upon him, savage with Bowker for having found him out, -savage with himself for having allowed himself, in the impulse of a moment, to -be betrayed into this expedition. Then, as the houses became fewer, and the open -spaces more frequent; as they left behind them the solid blocks of streets and -rows and terraces, dull wretched habitations for ninth-rate clerks, solemn old -two-storied edifices where the shipping agents and Baltic merchants of a past -generation yet lingered in their retirement, frowsy dirty little shops with a -plentiful sprinkling of dirtier and frowsier taverns, imbued as was the whole -neighbourhood with a not-to-be explained maritime flavour,--as they slipped by -these and came into the broad road fringed by pretty gardens, in which stood -trim villas stuccoed and plate-glassed, with the "coach-house of gentility" and -every other sign of ease and wealth; then leaving these behind, emerged into -country lanes with wide-spreading meadows on either side, green uplands, -swelling valleys, brown shorn fields whence the harvest had been carried,--as -they passed through all these the cruel thoughts in Lionel's mind softened, and -he began to think of the scene to which he was being hastened, and of his own -share in bringing about that scene. As he flung away the butt-end of his cigar, -there rose in his mind a vision of Margaret as he had first seen her, walking on -the Castle Hill at Tenby with some of her young companions, and looking over the -low parapet at the boiling sea raging round Catherine's Rock. How lovely she -looked, glowing with youth and health! What a perfectly aristocratic air and -<i>tournure</i> she had, visible in the careless grace of her hat, the sweeping -elegance of her shawl, the fit of her boots and gloves! How completely he had -been taken aback by the apparition! how he had raved about her! had never rested -until he had obtained an introduction, and--ah, he remembered at that moment -distinctly the quivering of her eyelids, the fluttering of her young bosom under -its simple gauze, her half hesitating timid speech. That was comparatively a -short time ago--and now in what condition was he to find her? He was not all -bad, this man--who is?--and the best part of him was awakened now. He crossed -his arms, leaned back in the carriage, and was nearer repentance than he had -been since his childhood.</p> -<p>And old William Bowker, what was he thinking of? Indeed, he had fallen into -his usual day-dream. The comparison between Margaret and his own lost love, made -when he first saw her, had always haunted him; and he was then turning in his -mind how, if such a complication as they were experiencing at that moment had -been possible, it would have affected her and him. From this his thoughts glided -to the impending interview, and he wondered whether he had done right in -bringing it about. He doubted whether Margaret would have the physical strength -to endure it; and even if she had, whether any good--even so far as the arousing -even a transient good in his companion--would result from it. As he was -pondering upon these things, Lionel turned quietly upon him and said in a hoarse -voice,</p> -<p>"You said she was very ill?"</p> -<p>"Very ill; could hardly be worse--to be alive."</p> -<p>"It's--" and here he seemed to pull himself together, and nerve himself to -hear the worst--"it's consumption, I suppose, caught from--damn it all, how my -lip trembles!--brought on by--want, and that."</p> -<p>"It originated in rheumatic fever, produced by cold and exposure, resulting -in heart-disease and a complication of disorders."</p> -<p>"Has she had proper advice?--the best, I mean, that can be procured?"</p> -<p>"Yes; she has been seen twice by ---- and ----" said Bowker, naming two -celebrated physicians, "and her own doctor sees her every day."</p> -<p>"And their opinions agree?"</p> -<p>"They all agree in saying that--"</p> -<p>"Hush," said Lionel, seizing him by the arm; "your face is quite enough. I'd -rather not hear it again, please." And he plunged his hands into his pockets, -and sunk back shuddering into the corner of the brougham.</p> -<p>Bowker was silent; and they drove on without interchanging a word until -William stopped the coachman at a small gate in a high garden-wall. Then Lionel -looked up with a strange frightened glance, and asked, "Is this the place?"</p> -<p>"It is," said Bowker; "she has been here for some little time now. You had -better let me go in first, I think, and prepare for your coming."</p> -<p>And all Lionel answered was, "As you please," as he shrunk back into his -corner again. He was under a totally new experience. For the first time in his -life he found himself suffering under a conscience-pang; felt disposed to allow -that he had acted badly towards this woman now lying so stricken and so -helpless; had a kind of dim hope that she would recover, in order that he -might--vaguely, he knew not how--make her atonement. He felt uncomfortable and -fidgetty. Bowker had gone, and the sun-blistered damp-stained garden-door had -been closed behind him, and Lionel sat gazing at the door, and wondering what -was on the other side of it, and what kind of a house it was, and where she was, -and who was with her. He never thought he should have felt like this. He had -thought of her--half a dozen times--when he was out there; but he knew she was a -clever girl, and he always had a notion that she would fall upon her legs, and -outgrow that first girlish smite, and settle down comfortably, and all that kind -of thing. And so she would now. They were probably a pack of nervous old women -about her--like this fellow who had brought him here--and they exaggerated -danger, and made mountains of mole-hills. She was ill--he had little doubt of -that; but she would get better, and then he'd see what could be done. Gad! it -was a wonderful thing to find any woman caring for a fellow so; he might go -through life without meeting another; and after all, what the deuce did it -matter? He was his own master, wasn't he? and as for money--well, he should be -sure to have plenty some day: things were all altered now, since poor old -Arthur's death; and-- And at that moment the door opened; and behind William -Bowker, who was pale and very grave, Lionel saw the house with all its blinds -drawn down. And then he knew that his better resolutions had come too late, and -that Margaret was dead.</p> -<br> - <p>Yes, she was dead; had died early that morning. On the previous day she -had been more than usually restless and uncomfortable, and towards evening had -alarmed the nurse who thought she was asleep, and who herself was dozing--by -breaking out into a shrill cry, followed by a deep long-drawn lamentation. Annie -Maurice at the sound rushed hastily into the room, and never left it again until -all was over. She found Margaret dreadfully excited. She had had a horrible -dream, she said--a dream in which she went through all the miseries of her days -of penury and starvation, with the added horror of feeling that they were a just -punishment on her for her ingratitude to Geoffrey Ludlow. When she was a little -quieted, she motioned Annie to sit by her; and holding her hand, asked her news -of Geoffrey. Annie started, for this was the first time that, in her calm -senses, Margaret had mentioned him. In her long ravings of delirium his name was -constantly on her lips, always coupled with some terms of pity and self-scornful -compassion; but hitherto, during her brief intervals of reason, she had talked -only of Lionel, and of her earnest desire to see and speak to him once again. So -Annie, pleased and astonished, said,</p> -<p>"He is getting better, Margaret; much better, we trust."</p> -<p>"Getting better! Has he been ill, then?"</p> -<p>"He has been very ill--so ill that we at one time feared for his life. But he -is out of danger now, thank God."</p> -<p>"Thank God!" repeated Margaret. "I am grateful indeed that his death is not -to be charged to my account; that would have been but a bad return for his -preservation of my life; and if he had died, I know his death would have been -occasioned by my wickedness. Tell me, Miss Maurice--Annie--tell me, has he ever -mentioned my name?"</p> -<p>"Ah, Margaret," said Annie, her eyes filling with tears, "his talk is only of -you."</p> -<p>"Is it?" said Margaret, with flushing cheeks and brightening eyes; "is it? -That's good to hear---O how good! And tell me, Annie--he knows I shall not -trouble him long--has he, has he forgiven me?"</p> -<p>"Not that alone," said Annie quietly. "Only yesterday he said, with tears in -his eyes, how he loved you still."</p> -<p>There was silence for a moment, as Margaret covered her eyes with her hands. -Then, raising her head, in a voice choked with sobs she said, with a blinding -rush of tears, "O Annie, Annie, I can't be <i>all</i> bad, or I should never -have won the love of that brave, true-hearted man."</p> -<p>She spoke but little after this; and Lionel's name never passed her lips--she -seemed to have forgotten all about him and her desire to see him. From time to -time she mentioned Geoffrey--no longer, as in her delirium, with pity, but with -a kind of reverential fondness, as one speaks of the dead. As the night -deepened, she became restless again, tossing to and fro, and muttering to -herself; and bending down, Annie heard her, as she had often heard her before, -engaged in deep and fervent prayer. Then she slept; and, worn out with watching, -Annie slept also.</p> -<p>It was about four o'clock in the morning when Annie felt her arm touched; and -at once unclosing her eyes, saw Margaret striving to raise herself on her elbow. -There was a bright weird look in her face that was unmistakable.</p> -<p>"It's coming, Annie," she said, in short thick gasps; "it's coming, dear--the -rest, the peace, the home! I don't fear it, Annie. Ive--Ive had that one line -running in my brain, 'What though my lamp was lighted late, there's One will let -me in.' I trust in His mercy, Annie, who pardoned Magdalen; and--God bless you, -dear; God in His goodness reward you for all your love and care of me; and say -to Geoffrey that I blessed him too, and that I thanked him for all his--your -hand, Annie--so bless you both!--lighted late, there's One will--"</p> -<p>And the wanderer was at rest.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> - <h4><a name="div3_10" href="#div3Ref_10">CHAPTER X.</a></h4> -<h5>AFTER THE WRECK.</h5> -<br> - <p>They looked to Bowker to break the news to Geoffrey; at least so -Charley Potts said, after a hurried conference with Til and her mother, at which -Annie Maurice, overwhelmed by the reaction from excessive excitement, had not -been present. They looked to Bowker to perform this sad duty--to tell Geoffrey -Ludlow that the prize which had been so long in coming, and which he had held in -his arms for so short a time, was snatched from him for ever. "For ever," said -old William: "that's it. He bore up wonderfully, so long as he thought there was -any chance of seeing her again. He hoped against hope, and strove against what -he knew to be right and just, and would have made any sacrifice--ay, to the -extent of bowing his head to his own shame, and taking her back to his home and -his heart. If she had recovered; and even if she would have shown herself -willing to come back--which she never would--I could have faced Geoff, and told -him what his duty was, and fought it out with him to the last. It would have -rather done me good, such a turn as that; but I can't bear this job;--I can't -bear to see my old friend, to have to tell him that it's all over, that the -light of his life has died out, that-- Upon my soul," said old William -energetically, "I think they might have got some one else to do this. And yet I -don't know," said he, after a moment's pause: "the women couldn't be expected to -do it. As for Charley, he'd have bungled it, safe. No, I'll go and do it myself; -but I'll wait till to-morrow, I think: there's no good adding another day's -anguish to the dear fellow's life."</p> -<p>This was on the second day after Margaret's death, and Bowker yet postponed -the execution of his task. On the third day, however, he set out for Elm Lodge -and found Geoffrey in the dining-room. The servant who admitted Mr. Bowker said, -in reply to his inquiry, that "master was better certainly, but poor and peaky; -did not take much notice of what went on, and were quite off his food." -Geoffrey's looks certainly bore out the handmaiden's account. His cheeks were -thin and hollow; there were great circles round his eyes; his flesh was tight -and yellow; his hands so fallen away that they looked like mere anatomical -preparations. He looked up as Bowker entered, and the ghost of his old smile -hovered round his lips.</p> -<p>"So you've come at last, William, after failing in your troth these three -days, eh?" said he. "What kept you, old friend?"</p> -<p>Bowker was not prepared for any questions. He had gone through all this scene -in his mind more than once; but in his rehearsal it was always he who commenced -the subject; and this order not being followed, he was rather taken aback.</p> -<p>"I have been particularly engaged," he said. "You know, Geoff, that I should -not have missed coming to you otherwise; but--it was impossible."</p> -<p>"Was it?" said Geoffrey, raising his head quietly, and stedfastly regarding -him with his bright eyes; "was it on my business that you were engaged?"</p> -<p>"It was," said Bowker. He knew at that moment that his friend had guessed the -truth.</p> -<p>"Then," said Geoffrey, "Margaret is dead!" He said it without altering the -inflection of his voice, without removing his eyes from his friend's face. -Scarcely inquiringly he said it, apparently convinced of the fact; and he took -Bowker's silence for an affirmative, and rose and walked towards the window, -supporting himself by the wall as he went. Bowker left him there by himself for -a few minutes, and then, going up to him and laying his hand affectionately on -his shoulder, said, "Geoff!"</p> -<p>Geoff's head was averted, but his hand sought Bowker's, and pressed it -warmly.</p> -<p>"Geoff, dear old Geoff,--my old friend of many happy years,--you must bear up -in this hour of trial. Think of it, dear old fellow. God knows, I'm one of the -worst in the world to preach content and submission, and all that; but think of -it: it is the--you know I wouldn't hurt your feelings Geoff--the best thing -that, under all the circumstances, could have occurred."</p> -<p>"Ive lost her, William--lost her whom I loved better than my heart's blood, -whom I so prized and cherished and worshipped--lost her for ever--ah, my God, -for ever!" And the strong man writhed in his agony, and burying his head in his -arms, burst into tears.</p> -<p>"But, Geoff," said old Bowker, with a great gulp, "you could never have been -any thing to her again you have nothing to reproach yourself with in your -conduct to her. It was her misfortune, poor soul, that she did not value you as -she should have done; and yet before she died she spoke very, very -affectionately of you, and your name was the last on her lips."</p> -<p>"Tell me about that, William," said Geoffrey, raising his head; "tell me what -she said about me." He was comparatively calm even then, and sat quite quietly -to listen to the details which Bowker had heard from Annie Maurice, and which he -now poured into Geoff's eager ears. When he had finished, Geoff thanked him, and -said he felt much easier and more relieved than he had been for some days past, -but that he was tired out, and would ask Bowker to excuse him then, and by all -means to come the next day. Honest William, glad to have accomplished his -mission under such apparently favourable circumstances, and with so little of a -"scene," took his leave.</p> -<p>But the next day, when he arrived at Elm Lodge, he found Dr. Brandram's gig -at the gate, and on entering the house was met by Dr. Brandram himself in the -hall. "And a very fortunate man I esteem myself in meeting you, my dear Mr. -Boucher--beg pardon, Bowker! Boucher--name of old friend of mine in -Norfolk--very fortunate indeed. Let's step into the dining-room, eh?--no need to -stand in the draught, eh? You see I speak without the least professional -feeling--ha, ha." And the little doctor laughed, but very softly. "Now look -here, my dear sir," he continued; "our friend upstairs--I advised his remaining -upstairs to-day--this <i>won't do</i>, my dear sir--this <i>won't</i> do."</p> -<p>"I know it, doctor, almost as well as you," said old William gruffly; "but -what I don't know, and what I suppose you do, is--what will?"</p> -<p>"Change, my dear sir--thorough and entire change; not merely of air and -scene, but of thought, life, habits, surroundings. He has a splendid -constitution, our friend; but if he remains much longer in this cage, from which -all the--all the joys have flown--he'll beat himself to death against the bars." -This was a favourite simile with Dr. Brandram; and after he had uttered it he -leant back, as was his wont, and balanced himself on his heels, and looked up -into the eyes of his interlocutor to see its effect. On this occasion he was not -much gratified, for old Bowker had not troubled himself about the poetical -setting, but was thinking over the sense of the doctor's remark.</p> -<p>"Change," he repeated, "thorough change; have you told him that yourself, -doctor?"</p> -<p>"Fifty times, my dear sir; repeated it with all the weight of medical -authority."</p> -<p>"And what does he say?"</p> -<p>"Always the same thing--that his duty keeps him here. He's an extraordinary -man, our friend, a most estimable man; but it would be an excellent thing for -him,--in fact, make all the difference in the length of his life,--if his duty -would take him abroad for six months."</p> -<p>"It shall," said old Bowker, putting on his hat, and driving it down hard -down on his head. "Leave that to me. I'll take care of that." And with these -words he nodded at the doctor and departed, leaving the little medico more -astonished at the "odd ways" of artists than ever.</p> -<p>When Mr. Bowker had once made up his mind to carry any thing out, he never -rested until it was achieved; so that on quitting Elm Lodge he at once made his -way to Mr. Stompff's "gallery of modern masters," which he entered, greatly to -the surprise of the proprietor, who was hovering about the room like a great -spider on the watch for flies. There had never been any thing like cordiality -between the great <i>entrepreneur</i> and the rough old artist; and the former -opened his eyes to their widest extent, and pulled his whisker through his -teeth, as he bowed somewhat sarcastically and said, "This is an honour and no -flies?" But before his visitor left, Mr. Stompff had occasion to rub his eyes -very hard with a bright silk pocket-handkerchief, and to resort to a cupboard -under the desk on which the catalogues stood, whence he produced a tapering -flask, from which he and Mr. Bowker refreshed themselves--his last words being, -as Mr. Bowker took his departure, "You leave it to me, old fellow--you leave it -to me."</p> -<p>Carrying out apparently the arrangement herein entered upon, the next day the -great Mr. Stompff's brougham stopped at Elm Lodge, and the great Mr. Stompff -himself descended therefrom, exhibiting far less than his usual -self-sufficiency, swagger, and noise. To the servant who opened the door in -answer to his modest ring he gave a note which he had prepared; and Geoffrey -coming down into the dining-room found him waiting there, apparently deep in a -photographic album. He rose, as the door opened, and caught Geoffrey warmly by -the hand.</p> -<p>"How are you, Ludlow? How are you, my dear fellow? It must have been pressing -business that brought me here just now, worrying you when you're only just -recovered from your illness, my boy; pressing business, you may take your oath -of that." And all the time Mr. Stompff held Geoffrey's hand between his own, and -looked into his eyes with a wavering unsettled glance.</p> -<p>"I'm better, thank you, Mr. Stompff, much better; so much better that I hope -soon to be at work again," said Geoff nervously.</p> -<p>"That's right; that's the best hearing possible. Nothing like getting back to -work to set a man straight and bring him to his bearings."</p> -<p>"You were getting nervous about the 'Esplanade,'" said Geoff with a sickly -smile--"as well indeed you might, for it's been a long time about. But you need -not be frightened about that; Ive managed to finish it."</p> -<p>"Have you?" said Stompff, very dry and husky in the throat.</p> -<p>"Yes; if you'll step into the studio, I'll show it you." They went down the -little steps which Margaret had traversed so oft; and Geoffrey, as he pulled the -big easel round into the light, said, "It's not quite what I wished. -I--circumstances, you know, were against me--and but--it can be altered, you -know; altered in any manner you wish."</p> -<p>"Altered be--hanged!" cried Stompff, very nearly relapsing into the -vernacular; "altered!" he repeated, gazing at it with delight; now approaching -closely to the canvas, now stepping away and looking at it under the shade of -his hand; "why, that's first chop, that is. You've done it up brown! you've made -reg'ler ten-strike, as the Yankees say. Altered! I wouldn't have a brush laid -upon that for a fifty-pun' note By George, Ludlow, well or ill, you lick the lot -in your own line. There's none of 'em can touch you, d'ye hear? Altered!--damme -it's splendid."</p> -<p>"I'm very glad you like it," said Geoff wearily, "ye glad; more especially as -it may be a long time before paint again."</p> -<p>"What's that you say?" said Mr. Stompff, turning upon him sharply. "What's -that you say?" he repeated in a gentler tone, laying his hand softly upon -Geoffrey Ludlow's shoulder--"a long time before you paint again? Why, nonsense -my good fellow; you don't know what nonsense you're talking."</p> -<p>"No nonsense, Mr. Stompff, but plain, honest, simple fact. I seem to have -lost all zest for my art; my spirit is broken, and--"</p> -<p>"Of course, my good fellow; I understand all that well enough; too much -England,--that's what it is. Home of the free, and ruling the waves and all -that. Pickles! Capital place to sell pictures; deuced bad place to paint 'em. -Now look here. You've been good enough to say more than once that Ive been your -friend, eh? Not that Ive ever done more than give a good price for good work, -though that's more than some people do--some people, eh? we know who--never -mind. Now, I want you to do <i>me</i> a turn, and I am sure you will."</p> -<p>Geoffrey bowed his head and said, "So long as you don't require a picture -from me--"</p> -<p>"Picture! O no; of course not. A steam engine, or a hansom cab, or a stilton -cheese--that's what I look for from you naturally, isn't it? Ludlow, my dear -fellow, how can you talk such stuff? Now listen. The British public, sir, has -had a sickener of British subjects. Little Dab and his crew have pretty nearly -used up all the sentimental domesticity; and we've had such a lot of fancy -fairs, and Hyde Parks, and noble volunteers, and archery fêtes, and gals playing -at croky, that the B.P. won't stand it any longer. There'll be a reaction, -you'll see; and the 'Cademy will be choke full of Charles the Seconds, and Nell -Gwynns, and coves in wigs, and women in powder and patches, and all that -business, just because the modern every-day gaff has been done to death. I shall -have to give in to this; and I shall give in of course. There's lots of coves -can do that trick for me well enough to sell. But I look for more from you;--and -this is what I propose. You go straight away out of this; where, I don't -care--so long as you remain away a year or so, and keep your eyes about you. -You'll work hard enough,--I don't fear that; and whatever you do, send it home -to me and I'll take it. Lor' bless you, there's rigs that the B.P. knows nothing -about, and that would make stunnin' objects for you--a <i>table-d'hôte</i> on -the Rhine, a students' <i>kneipe</i> at Heidelberg, a <i>schützenfest</i> in -Switzerland; and then you've never been to Italy yet, and though that game's -been worked pretty often, yet any thing Italian from you would sell like mad." -He paused for a moment and looked up at Geoffrey, whose eyes were fixed intently -on him, and who seemed eager and excited.</p> -<p>"It's all one to me," said he; "I scarcely know what to say; it's very kind -of you. I know you mean it well; but do you think I can do it? Do you really -think so?"</p> -<p>"Think so! I know so," said Mr. Stompff. "See here! I never take up a thing -of this sort without carrying it through. We said five hundred for the -'Esplanade,' didn't we? you've had three on account--that's right! Now here's -the other two; and if you're as well pleased with the bargain as me, no knife -shall cut our love in two, as the song says. Now you must leave this money -behind for the old lady and the little 'un, and that nice sister of yours---O -yes, by the way, what makes Charley Potts paint her head in all his pictures, -and why don't he sell to me instead of Caniche?--and here's a hundred in -circular notes. I went round to my bank and got 'em this morning on purpose for -you to go abroad with. When they're done, you know where to send for some more."</p> -<p>"You are very kind, Mr. Stompff, but--"</p> -<p>"No, I ain't. I'm a man of business, I am; and there ain't many as is very -fond of me. But I know what the B.P. wants, and I know a good fellow when I see -one; and when I do see one, I don't often laacklet him slide. I ain't a polished -sort of cove," said Mr. Stompff reflectively; "I leave that to Caniche, with his -paw-paw bowins and scrapins; but I ain't quite so black as some of the artists -paint me. However, this is a matter of business that I'm rather eager about; and -I should be glad to know if I may look upon it as settled."</p> -<p>"Look here, Mr. Stompff," said Geoffrey Ludlow, turning to his companion, and -speaking in an earnest voice; "you have behaved generously to me, and you -deserve that I should speak frankly with you. I should immensely like to get -away from this place for a while, to shake off the memory of all that has passed -within the last few months--so far as it is possible for me to shake it off--to -get into new scenes, and to receive fresh impressions. But I very much doubt -whether I shall be able to undertake what you wish. I feel as if all the little -power I ever had were gone; as if my brain were as barren to conceive as I know -my hand is impotent to execute; I feel--"</p> -<p>"I know," interrupted Mr. Stompff; "regularly sewed up; feel as if you'd like -somebody to unscrew your head, take your brains out and clean 'em, and then put -'em back; feel as if you didn't care for the world, and would like to try the -hermit dodge and eat roots and drink water, and cut society, eh? Ah, Ive felt -like that sometimes; and then Ive heard of some pictures that was comin' to the -hammer, and Ive just looked in at Christie's, and, Lord, as soon as I heard the -lots a-goin' up, and felt myself reg'ler in the swing of competition, Ive given -up all them foolish notions, and gone home and enjoyed a roast fowl and a glass -of sham and Mrs. S.'s comp'ny, like a Christian! And so will you, Ludlow, my -boy; you'll pull through, I'll pound it. You work just when you feel inclined, -and draw upon me when you want the ready; I'll stand the racket, never fear."</p> -<p>The conspiracy between Mr. Stompff and old William Bowker had been carried -out minutely in detail; one of the points insisted on being that, the position -once carried, Geoff should have no time for retreat. Accordingly, while Mr. -Stompff was proceeding to Elm Lodge, Mr. Bowker was indoctrinating the ladies -(whom he knew he should find at Sydenham) as to the tenour of their advice; and -scarcely had Mr. Stompff quitted Geoffrey when Mr. Bowker was announced. To his -old friend, Geoffrey, now in a very excited state, told the whole story of -Stompff's visit and of the proposition which he had made; and old William--whom -no one would have given credit for possessing such control over his face--sat -looking on with the greatest apparent interest. When Geoffrey came to an end of -his narration, and asked his friend whether he had done right in partially -acceding to what had been offered him, or whether--it was not too late--he -should retract, Mr. Bowker was extremely vehement--more so than he had ever -known himself to be--in insisting that it was the very best thing that could -possibly have happened. When Mrs. Ludlow and Til returned, they unhesitatingly -pronounced the same opinion; and so Geoff's departure was decided on.</p> -<p>He had a great deal to attend to before he could leave; and the mere bustle -and activity of business seemed to do him good at once. Mrs. Ludlow was -thoroughly happy in preparing his clothes for his journey; Mr. Bowker and -Charley Potts were constantly at Elm Lodge, the latter gentleman finding his -assistance usually required by Miss Til; and on the day before that fixed for -Geoffrey's departure, Annie Maurice called to take farewell. It was an interview -which had been dreaded by both of them, and was as brief as possible. Annie -expressed her satisfaction at his having been persuaded to seek change, by which -she was sure he would benefit, and extended her hand in "goodbye."</p> -<p>Geoff took her hand, and holding it tenderly in his, said:</p> -<p>"Annie, some day I may be able--I am very far from being able now--to tell -you how the knowledge of your kindness to--to one whom I have lost--has -sustained me under my bitter sorrow. God bless you, my more than sister! God -bless you, my good angel!" And Geoffrey touched her forehead with his lips, and -hurried from the room.</p> -<br> - <p>The authorities at the South-Eastern terminus at London Bridge thought -that some distinguished exile must be about returning to France that night, -there were so many curiously-hatted and bearded gentlemen gathered round the -mail-train. But they were only some of our old friends of the Titians come to -say "God speed" to Geoffrey Ludlow, whose departure had been made known to them -by Mr. Stompff. That worthy was there in great force, and old Bowker, and -Charley Potts, and little Dabb, and old Tom Wrigley, and many others; and as the -train wound out of the station, bearing Geoff along with it, there were rising -tears and swelling knots in eyes and throats that were very unused to such -manifestations of weakness.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> - <h4><a name="div3_11" href="#div3Ref_11">CHAPTER XI.</a></h4> -<h5>LAND AT LAST.</h5> -<br> - <p>The calm had come after the storm; the great, hurrying, thundering -waves had stilled into silence, and lay quiet over the shattered wreck of home, -and happiness, and hope. The winter rain had beaten upon the pretty house, and -the light snow had fallen and lain a while, and had then melted away upon the -garden ground and the smooth green turf, within the walls which had made a -prison to the restless spirit of Margaret, even as the rain had beaten and the -snow had fallen upon her grave in Norwood Cemetery. Now the spring odours were -abroad in the air, and the trees were breaking into leaf, and Elm Lodge was -looking the very perfection of tranquillity, of well-ordered, tasteful comfort -and domesticity; an appearance in which there was all the sadness of a great -contrast, a terrible retrospect, and an irremediable loss. Yet this appearance -was not altogether deceptive; for within the house which had witnessed so much -misery, peace and resignation now reigned. Mrs. Ludlow's unacknowledged desire -was now realised; she was the mistress of her son's house, of all the modest -splendour which had come with poor Geoff's improved fortunes; she ruled now -where she had been subordinate before, and in the nursery, where at best she had -only enjoyed toleration, she found herself supreme. To be sure, the great -element of enjoyment, her son's presence, was wanting; but she knew that -Geoffrey was doing the best thing in his power to do, was taking the most -effectual means for the establishment of his health and the alleviation of his -sorrow; and the old lady--on whom the supineness which comes with years, and -which takes the edge off the sword of grief and the bitterness out of its cup, -was beginning to steal--was satisfied. Much that had occurred was only -imperfectly known to her; and indeed she would have been unfitted, by the safe -routine and happy inexperience of evil passions which had marked her own life, -to understand the storm and conflict which had raged around her. That her son's -beautiful wife had been utterly unworthy of him, and that she had deceived and -left him, Mrs. Ludlow knew; but Margaret's death had come so soon to terminate -the terrible and mysterious dilemma in which her conduct had placed them all, -that it had imposed upon them the silence of compassion, and filled them with -the sense of merciful relief; so that by mutual consent her name had snot been -mentioned in the house where she had been mistress for so long. Her son's -illness, and the danger of losing him, had impressed Mrs. Ludlow much more -vividly than his domestic calamity; and she had settled down with surprising -ease and readiness to the routine of life at Elm Lodge.</p> -<p>That routine included a good deal of the society of Mr. Charley Potts; and as -Mrs. Ludlow was almost as much attached to that warm-hearted and hot-headed -gentleman as Miss Til herself, she acquiesced with perfect willingness in the -state of affairs which brought him to Elm Lodge with regularity equalled only by -that of the postman. The household was a quiet one; and the simple and -unpretending women who walked along the shady paths at Lowbar in their -deep-mourning dresses, or played with the little child upon the lawn, furnished -but scanty food for the curiosity of the neighbourhood. Popular feeling was -indeed somewhat excited on the subject of Charley Potts; but Dr. Brandram--a -gallant gentleman in his way--set that matter at rest very quickly by announcing -that Charley and Miss Ludlow were engaged, and were shortly to be -married--information which was graciously received; as indeed the most distant -tidings of a prospective wedding always are received by small communities in -which the female element predominates. Dr. Brandram had done Geoffrey good -service too, by his half-made, half-withheld communications respecting the -beautiful mistress of Elm Lodge, whose disappearance had been so sudden. She had -not recovered her confinement so well as he had hoped: the nervous system had -been greatly shaken. He had ordered change: a temporary removal from home was -frequently of great benefit. Yes, there had been a terrible scene with Mr. -Ludlow--that was quite true: the non-medical mind was hard to convince in these -matters sometimes; and Mr. Ludlow had been hard to manage. But a quarrel between -<i>them!</i>--O dear no: quite a mistake. Mrs. Ludlow left home by herself?--O -dear no: by her own consent, certainly. She perfectly comprehended the necessity -of the change, and was ready to submit; while Ludlow could not be brought to see -it--that was all. "I assure you, my dear madam," the doctor would say to each of -his female catechists, "I never had a more interesting patient; and I never -pitied a man more than Ludlow when she sank so rapidly and unexpectedly. I -really feared for <i>his</i> reason then, and of course I sent <i>him</i> away -immediately. A little change, my dear madam,--a littlechange in these cases -produces a wonderful effect--quite wonderful!"</p> -<p>"But, doctor," the anxious inquirer would probably say, "Mr. Ludlow never saw -her again after she was removed, did he?"</p> -<p>"Well, indeed, my dear madam,--you see I am telling professional secrets; but -you are not like other women: you are so far above any vulgar curiosity, and I -know I may rely so entirely on your discretion, that I make an exception in your -case,--they never did meet. You see these cases are so uncertain; and cerebral -disease developes itself so rapidly, that before any favourable change took -place, the patient sunk."</p> -<p>"Dear me, how very sad! It was at an asylum, I suppose?"</p> -<p>"Well, my dear madam, it was under private care--under the very best -circumstances, I assure you; but--you'll excuse me; this is entirely -confidential. And now to return to your dear little boy."</p> -<p>So did kind-hearted Dr. Brandram lend his aid to the laying of the ghost of -scandal at Elm Lodge; and gradually it became accepted that Mrs. Ludlow had died -under the circumstances hinted at by Dr. Brandram.</p> -<p>"It is rather a disadvantage to the dear child, Charley, I fear," sapiently -remarked Miss Til to the docile Mr. Potts as he was attending her on a gardening -expedition, holding a basket while she snipped and weeded, and looking as if -pipes and beer had never crossed the path of his knowledge or the disc of his -imagination; "people will talk about his mother having died in a -lunatic-asylum."</p> -<p>"Suppose they do?" asked Charley in reply. "That sort of thing does not harm -a man; and"--here the honest fellow's face darkened and his voice fell--"it is -better they should say that than the truth. I think that can always be hidden, -Til. The poor woman's death has saved us all much; but it has been the greatest -boon to her child; for now no one need ever know, and least of all the child -himself, that he has no right to bear his father's name."</p> -<p>"It is well Geoff is not a rich man, with a great estate to leave to an -eldest son," said Til, pulling at an obstinate tuft of groundsel, and very -anxious to prevent any suspicion that her lover's words had brought tears to her -eyes.</p> -<p>"Well," said Charley, with rather a gloomy smile, "I'm not so certain of -that, Til: it's a matter of opinion; but I'm clear that it's a good thing he's -not a great man--in the 'nob' sense of the word I mean--and that the world can -afford to let him alone. Here comes the young shaver--let's go and talk to him." -And Charley, secretly pining to get rid of the basket, laid down that obnoxious -burden, and went across the grass-plat towards the nurse, just then making her -appearance from the house.</p> -<p>"Charley is always right," said Til to herself as she eradicated the last -obstinate weed in the flower-bed under inspection and rejoined Mr. Potts; from -which observation it is to be hoped that the fitness of Miss Til for undertaking -that most solemn of human engagements--matrimony--will be fully recognised. -There are women who practically apply to their husbands the injunctions of the -Church Catechism, in which duty to God is defined; who "believe in, fear, trust, -and love" them "with all their hearts, with all their minds, with all their -souls, and with all their strength;" and Matilda Ludlow, though a remarkably -sensible girl, and likely enough to estimate other people at their precise -value, was rapidly being reduced to this state of mind about Charley, who was at -all events much less unworthy than most male objects of female devoteeism.</p> -<p>Mrs. Ludlow and her daughter heard pretty regularly from Geoff. Of course his -letters were unsatisfactory; men's letters always are, except they be -love-letters when their meaning is tempered by their exclusiveness. He was eager -for news of the child; but he never referred to the past in any other respect, -and he said little in anticipation of the future. He described his travels, -reported the state of his health, and expressed his anxiety for his mother's -comfort; and that was about the sum-total of these literary productions, which -no doubt were highly penitential performances to poor Geoffrey.</p> -<p>Spring was well advanced when Charley and Til began to discuss the propriety -of naming a time for their marriage. The house at Brompton was still "on their -hands," as Mrs. Ludlow was fond of saying, while in her secret heart she would -have deeply regretted the turning-up of an eligible tenant; for who could answer -for the habits and manners of strangers, or tell what damage her sacred -furniture might receive? Charley proposed to Til that they should become her -mother's tenants, and urged that young lady to consent to a speedy marriage, -from the most laudable economic principles, on the ground that under present -circumstances he was idling dreadfully, but that he confidently expected that -marriage would "settle his mind." The recent date of the family calamity Charley -could not be brought to regard as a reasonable obstacle to his wishes.</p> -<p>"Look here, Til," he said; "it isn't as if we were swells, you know, with our -names, ages, and weights in the <i>Morning Post</i>, and our addresses in the <i> -Red Book</i>. What need we care, if Geoff don't mind?--and he won't, God bless -him!--the happier we are, the sooner he'll cease to be miserable; and who's to -know or to care whether it's so many months sooner or later after that poor -woman's death? Besides, consider this, Til; if we wait until Geoff comes home, a -wedding and all that won't be pleasant for him: will it, now? Painful -associations you know, and all that. I really think, for Geoff's sake, we had -better get it over."</p> -<p>"Do you indeed, Master Charley?" said Til, with a smile full of pert -drollery, which rendered her exasperatingly pretty. "How wonderfully considerate -you are of Geoff; and how marvellously polite to describe marrying me as -'getting it over' No, no, Charley," she continued, seriously; "it cannot be. I -could not leave mamma to the responsibility of the house and the child--at least -not yet. Don't ask me; it would not be right towards Geoff, or fair to my -mother. You must wait, sir."</p> -<p>And the crestfallen Charley knew that he must wait, and acquiesced with a -very bad grace; not but that Miss Til would have been horribly vexed had it been -better.</p> -<p>An unexpected auxiliary was about this time being driven by fate towards -Charley Potts in the person of Annie Maurice. She had been constant and regular -in her visits to Elm Lodge, affectionate and respectful in her demeanour to Mrs. -Ludlow, and sisterly in her confidence towards Til. The hour that had united the -two girls in a tie of common responsibility towards Geoff and Margaret had -witnessed the formation of a strong and lasting friendship; and though Annie's -superior refinement and higher education raised her above the level of Matilda -Ludlow, she was not more than her equal in true womanly worth. They passed many -happy hours together in converse which had now become cheerful, and their -companionship was strengthened by the bond of their common interest in Til's -absent brother. Miss Ludlow, perhaps, did an unfair proportion of the talking on -these occasions; for she was of the gushing order of girls, though she did not -border even remotely on silliness. By common consent they did not speak of -Margaret, and Til had never known Arthur; so that Annie rarely talked of him, -always sacredly loved and remembered in her faithful heart, preserved as her -friend and monitor--dead, yet speaking. Annie had been more silent than usual -lately, and had looked sad and troubled; and it chanced that on the day -following that which witnessed Charley's luckless proposition, Miss Maurice -arrived at Elm Lodge at an earlier hour than usual; and having gained a private -audience of Til, made to her a somewhat startling revelation.</p> -<p>The conference between the girls lasted long, and its object took Til -completely by surprise. Annie Maurice had resolved upon leaving Lord Beauport's -house, and she had come to ask Mrs. Ludlow to receive her. She told Til her -reasons, simply, honestly, and plainly.</p> -<p>"I cannot live in the house with Lionel Brakespere," she said; "and I have no -friends but you. Geoffrey and I were always friends, and my dear Arthur trusted -him, and knew he would befriend me. I am sure if he were living now, he would -counsel me to do what I am doing. I have often thought if he had had any idea -that the end was so near, he would have told me, if any difficulty came in my -way, to apply for aid to Geoffrey, and I am clear that I am doing right now. I -have no friends, Til, though I am rich," Annie repeated, with a more bitter -smile than had ever flitted over her bright face in former days; "and I have no -'position' to keep up. I cannot go and live in a big house by myself, or in a -small one either, for that matter, and I want your mother to let me come and -live with her while Geoffrey is away."</p> -<p>Til hesitated before she replied. She saw difficulties in the way of such an -arrangement which Annie did not; difficulties arising from the difference in the -social position of the friends Annie wished to leave, and those she wished to -come to.</p> -<p>"I am sure, as far as we are concerned, every thing might be as you wish," -she said; "but--Lady Beauport might not think it quite the thing."</p> -<p>"Lady Beauport knows I will not remain in her house, Til; and she will soon -see as plainly as I do that it is well I should not. The choice is between me -and her son, and the selection is not difficult. Lionel Brakespere (I cannot -call him by Arthur's familiar name) and I are not on speaking terms. He knows -that I am acquainted with his crimes; not only those known to his family, but -those which he thought death had assisted him to hide. I might have concealed my -knowledge from him had he not dared to insult me by an odious pretence of -admiration, which I resented with all my heart and soul. A few words made him -understand that the safest course he could pursue was to abandon such a -pretence, and the revelation filled him with such wrath and hatred as only such -a nature could feel. Why he has adopted a line of behaviour which can only be -described as down-right savage rudeness--so evidently intended to drive me out -of the house, that Lord and Lady Beauport themselves see it in that light--I am -unable to comprehend. I have sometimes fancied that he and his mother have -quarrelled on the matter; but if so, he has had the best of it. However, there -is no use in discussing it, Til; my home is broken up and gone from me; and if -your mother will not take me under her charge until Geoffrey comes home, and -advises me for the future, I must only set up somewhere with a companion and a -cat."</p> -<p>Annie smiled, but very sadly; then she continued:</p> -<p>"And now, Til, I'll tell you how we will manage. First, we will get the -mother's leave, and I will invite myself on a visit here, to act as your -bridesmaid, you see, and--"</p> -<p>"Charley has been talking to you, Annie!" exclaimed Miss Til, starting up in -mingled indignation and amusement: "I see it all now--you have been playing into -each other's hands."</p> -<p>"No, indeed, Charley never said a word to me about it," replied Annie -seriously; "though I am sure if he had, I should have done any thing he asked; -but, Til, do let us be earnest,--I am serious in this. I don't want to make a -scandal and a misery of this business of my removal from Lord Beauport's; and if -I can come here to be your bridesmaid, in a quiet way, and remain with your -mother when you have left her, it will seem a natural sort of arrangement, and I -shall very soon, heiress though I am, drop out of the memory of the set in which -I have lately moved. I am sure Geoffrey will be pleased; and you know that dear -little Arthur is quite fond of me already."</p> -<p>It is unnecessary to report the conversation between the two girls in fuller -detail. Mrs. Maurice carried her point; the consent of Mrs. Ludlow to the -proposed arrangement was easily gained; and one day the fine carriage with the -fine coronets, which had excited the admiration of the neighbourhood when Miss -Maurice paid her first visit to Geoffrey Ludlow's bride, deposited that young -lady and her maid at Elm Lodge. A few days later a more modest equipage bore -away Mr. and Mrs. Potts on the first stage of their journey of life.</p> -<p>"And so, my dear Annie," wrote Geoffrey to his ex-pupil, "you are established -in the quiet house in which I dreamed dreams once on a time. I continue the -children's phrase, and say 'a long time ago.' I am glad to think of you there -with my mother and my poor little child. If you were any one but Annie Maurice, -I might fear that you would weary of the confined sphere to which you have gone; -but, then, it is because you <i>are</i> Annie Maurice that you are there. -Sometimes I wonder whether I shall ever see the place again which, if ever I do -see it, I must look upon with such altered eyes. God knows: it will be long -first--for I am wofully weak still. But enough of me. My picture goes on -splendidly. When it is finished and sent home to Stompff, I shall start for -Egypt. I suppose many a one before me has tried to find the waters of Lethe -between the banks of Nile."</p> -<br> - <p>Charley Potts and Til were comfortably settled in the house at -Brompton, where Til guarded the household gods with pious care, and made Charley -uncommonly comfortable and abnormally orderly. Mrs. Ludlow and her young guest -led a tranquil life at Elm Lodge. Annie devoted herself to the old lady and the -child with a skilful tenderness partly natural to her and partly acquired by the -experiences of her life in her rural home, and within the scene of Caterham's -lengthened and patient suffering. The child loved her and throve under her -charge; and the old lady seemed to find her "cross" considerably less -troublesome within the influence of Annie's tranquil cheerfulness, strong sense, -and accommodating disposition. The neighbourhood had taken to calling vigorously -and pertinaciously on Mrs. Ludlow and Miss Maurice. It approved highly of those -ladies; for the younger was very pleasant, not alarmingly beautiful, reputed to -be very rich, and acknowledged not to "give herself airs;" while the elder was -intensely respectable--after the fashion dear to the heart of Lowbar; and both -went to church with scrupulous regularity. Dr. Brandram was even more cordial in -his appreciation of Annie than he had been in his admiration of Margaret; and -the star of Elm Lodge was quite in the ascendant. A few of the members of the -great world whom she had met in the celestial sphere of St. Barnabas Square -found Annie out even at Elm Lodge, and the apparition of other coronets than -that of the Beauports was not unknown in the salubrious suburb. Lady Beauport -visited Miss Maurice but rarely, and her advent seldom gave Annie pleasure. The -girl's affectionate and generous heart was pained by the alteration which she -marked more and more distinctly each time that she saw the cold and haughty -Countess, on whose face care was fast making marks which time had failed to -impress.</p> -<p>Sometimes she would be almost silent during her short visits, on which -occasions Mrs. Ludlow was wont to disappear as soon as possible; sometimes she -would find querulous fault with Annie--with her appearance and her dress, and -her "throwing herself away." Sometimes Annie felt that she was endeavouring to -turn the conversation in the direction of Lionel; but that she invariably -resisted. It chanced one day, however, that she could not succeed in preventing -Lady Beauport from talking of him. Time had travelled on since Annie had taken -up her abode at Elm Lodge, and the summer was waning; the legislative labours of -the Houses had come to an end, and Lord and Lady Beauport were about to leave -town. This time the Countess had come to say goodbye to Annie, whom she found -engaged in preparations for a general flitting of the Elm-Lodge household to the -seaside for the autumn. Annie was in blooming health, and her usual agreeable -spirits--a strong contrast to the faded, jaded, cross-looking woman who said to -her complainingly,</p> -<p>"Really, Annie, I think you might have come with us, and left your friends -here to find their autumnal amusements for themselves; you know how much Lord -Beauport and I wished it."</p> -<p>"Yes," said Annie gently, "I know you are both very kind; but it cannot be. -You saw that yourself, dear Lady Beauport, and consented to my entering on so -different a life. You see I could not combine the two; and I have new duties -now--"</p> -<p>"Nonsense, Annie!" said Lady Beauport angrily. "You will not come because of -Lionel,--that is the truth. Well, he is not to be at home at all; he is going -away to a number of places: he likes any place better than home, I think. I -cannot understand why you and he should disagree so much; but if it must be so, -I suppose it must. However, you will not meet him now." And Lady Beauport -actually condescended to reiterate her request; but she had no success. Annie -had resolutely broken with the old life, which had never suited her fresh, -genial, simple tastes; and she was determined not to renew the tie. She knew -that she was not in any true sense necessary to Lady Beauport's happiness; she -was not ungrateful for such kindness as she had received; but she was a sensible -girl, and she made no mistake about her own value, and the true direction in -which her duty, her vocation lay. So she steadily declined; but so gently that -no offence was taken; and made inquiry for Lord Beauport. The worried expression -which had gradually marred the high-bred repose of Lady Beauport's face -increased as she replied, and there was a kind of involuntary confidence in her -manner which struck Annie with a new and painful surprise. Lord Beauport was -well, she said; but he was not in good spirits. Things seemed to be wrong with -them somehow and out of joint. Then the elder lady, seeing in the face of her -young listener such true sympathy, thawed suddenly from her habitual proud -reserve, and poured out the bitterness of her disappointment and vain regret. -There was a tone of reproach against Annie mingled with her compliant, which the -girl pityingly passed over. If Annie had but liked Lionel; if she would but have -tried to attract him, and keep him at home, all might have been well: but Annie -had imbibed poor Arthur's prejudices; and surely never were parents so -unfortunate as she and the Earl in the mutual dislike which existed between -their children. Lady Beauport did not want to justify Lionel entirely--of course -not: but she thought he might have had a better chance given him in the first -instance. Now he had greatly deteriorated--she saw that: she could not deny it; -and her "granted prayer" for his return had not brought her happiness.</p> -<p>Annie listened to all this with a swelling heart. A vision floated before her -tearful eyes of the lost son, who had been so little loved, so lightly prized; -whose place the brother preferred before him had taken and disgraced; and a -terrible sense of retribution came into her mind. Too late the father and mother -were learning how true his judgment had been, and how valuable his silent -influence. Time could only engrave that lesson more and more deeply on their -hearts; experience could only embitter it--its sting was never to be withdrawn. -They had chosen between the two, and their choice, like Esau's, was "profane." -Lady Beauport spoke more and more bitterly as she proceeded. The softening touch -of grief was not upon her--only the rankling of disappointment and -mortification; only the sting of a son's ingratitude, of discovering that in -return for the sacrifice of principle, self-respect, and dignity to which she -had consented for Lionel's sake, she had not received even the poor return of a -semblance of affection or consideration.</p> -<p>The hardness of Lionel's nature was shown in every thing his mother said of -him--the utter want of feeling, the deadness of soul. Annie felt very sad as she -listened to Lady Beauport's melancholy account of the life they had fallen into -at the great house. She was oppressed by the sense of the strangeness of the -events which had befallen, and in which the Countess had, all unconsciously, so -deep an interest. It was very sad and strange to remember that she was detailing -the conduct of the man whose baseness had enabled Margaret to lay Geoffrey's -life in ruins under Geoffrey's own roof. It was terrible to Annie to feel that -in her knowledge there was a secret which might so easily have been divulged at -any moment, and which would have afflicted the vexed and mortified woman before -her more deeply than any thing that had occurred. Lady Beauport was not -tender-hearted; but she was a high-minded gentlewoman, and would have been -shamed and stricken to the soul had she discovered the baseness of her son in -this particular instance. She had fondly flattered herself into a belief that -the crime which had been so inadequately punished was only a folly; but there -was no possibility of such a reading of this one, and Annie was glad to think -that at least the pang of this knowledge was spared to Lady Beauport. She could -say nothing to comfort her. In her inmost heart she had an uneasy, unexplained -sense that it was all the just retribution for the conduct of Arthur's parents -towards him, and hopelessness for the future of a family of which Lionel formed -a member took possession of her.</p> -<p>"He is so disagreeable, so selfish, Annie," continued Lady Beauport, "and O -so slangy; and you know how his father hates that sort of thing."</p> -<p>"It is better that he should be away, then, for a little," said Annie, trying -to be soothing, and failing lamentably.</p> -<p>"Well, perhaps it is," said Lady Beauport; "and yet that seems hard too, when -I longed so much for his return, and when now he has every thing he wants. Of -course, when he was only a second son, he had excuses for discontent; but now he -has none, and yet he is never satisfied. I sometimes think he is ill at ease, -and fancies people are thinking about the past, who don't even know any thing -about it, and would not trouble themselves to resent it if they did. But his -father does not agree with me, Annie: he will not give Lionel credit for any -thing good. I cannot make out Lord Beauport: he is much more cold and stern -towards Lionel than he need be, for he is not so careless and inconsiderate -towards his father as he is towards me. He seems to have taken up poor Arthur's -notions now, and to judge Lionel as severely as he did. He does not say much; -but things are uncomfortable between them, and Lord Beauport is altered in every -way. He is silent and dispirited; and do you know, Annie, I think he grieves for -Arthur more than he did at first?"</p> -<p>Distress and perplexity were in Lady Beauport's face and voice, and they went -to Annie's gentle heart.</p> -<p>"Try not to think so much of it," she said; "circumstances may alter -considerably when Lionel gets more settled at home, and Lord Beauport has had -time to get over the irritation which his return occasioned him."</p> -<p>"He resents your having left us more bitterly than any thing, Annie. He -constantly speaks of you in the highest terms of praise, and wishes you back -with us. And so do I, my dear, so do I."</p> -<p>Annie was amazed. Tears were in Lady Beauport's eyes, and a tremble in her -voice. During all the period of Annie's residence in her house, the Countess had -never shown so much feeling towards her, had never suffered her to feel herself -of so much importance. The sterling merit of the girl, her self-denial, her -companionable qualities, had never before met with so much recognition; and a -thrill of gratification passed through her as she felt that she was missed and -valued in the home whence Lionel's conduct had driven her.</p> -<p>"I am very glad," she said, "that Lord Beauport thinks and speaks so kindly -of me--indeed, he was always kind to me, and I am very grateful to him and you."</p> -<p>"Then why will you not come to us, Annie? Why do you prefer these new friends -to us?"</p> -<p>"I do not," she answered; "but as things have been, as they are, it is better -I should not be in a position possibly to estrange the father and son still -more. If I were in the house, it would only furnish him with an excuse to remain -away, and cause Lord Beauport additional anxiety."</p> -<p>Annie knew that she must appear strangely obstinate to Lady Beauport; but it -could not be helped; it was impossible that she could explain. The visit of the -Countess was a long one; and Annie gathered from her further confidences that -her dissatisfaction with Lionel was not her only trouble. The future was not -bright before Lady Beauport. The charms of the world were fading in her -estimation; society was losing its allurements, not under the chastening of a -wholesome grief; but under the corroding, disenchanting influence of bitterness -and disappointment. She looked aged and wearied; and before she and Annie parted -that day, she had acknowledged to the girl that she dreaded the prospect before -her, and had no confidence in her only son, or in his line of conduct towards -her in the event of Lord Beauport's death. The Earl's words to his wife had been -prophetic,--in Caterham's death there had been but the beginning of sorrow.</p> -<p>Annie stood sadly at the house-door, and watched the carriage as it rolled -away and bore Lady Beauport out of her sight, as it bears her out of this -history.</p> -<p>"This is the man," she thought, "whom she would have remorselessly made me -marry, and been insensible to the cruel wrong she would have done to me. What a -wonderful thing is that boundless, blind egotism of mothers! In one breath she -confesses that he makes her miserable, and admits his contemptible, wretched -nature, though she knows little of its real evil; in the next she complains that -I did not tie myself to the miserable destiny of being his wife!"</p> -<p>Then Annie turned into the drawing-room, and went over to the window, through -whose panes Margaret's wistful, weary gaze had been so often and so long -directed. She leaned one round fair arm against the glass, and laid her sleek -brown head upon it, musingly:</p> -<p>"I wonder when <i>home</i> will really come for me," she thought. "I wonder -where I shall go to, and what I shall do, when I must leave this. I wonder if -little Arthur will miss me very much when I go away, after Geoffrey comes back."</p> -<p>Geoffrey Ludlow's letters to his mother and sister were neither numerous nor -voluminous, but they were explicit; and the anxious hearts at home gradually -began to feel more at rest about the absent one so dear to them all. He had -written with much kindness and sympathy on the occasion of Til's marriage, and -they had all felt what a testimony to his unselfish nature and his generous -heart his letter was. With what pangs of memory,--what keen revivals of vain -longing love and cruel grief for the beautiful woman who had gone down into her -grave with the full ardour of his passionate devotion still clinging around -her,--what desperate struggles against the weariness of spirit which made every -thing a burden to him,--Geoffrey had written the warm frank letter over which -Til had cried, and Charley had glowed with pleasure, the recipients never knew. -There was one who guessed them,--one who seemed to herself intuitively to -realise them all, to weigh and measure every movement of the strong heart which -had so much ado to keep itself from breaking, far away in the distant countries, -until time should have had sufficient space in which to work its inevitable -cure. Mrs. Potts showed her brother's letter to Annie Maurice with infinite -delight, on that memorable day when she made her first visit, as a married -woman, to Elm Lodge. The flutter and excitement of so special an occasion makes -itself felt amid all the other flutters and excitements of that period which is -the great epoch in a woman's life. The delights of "a home of one's own" are -never so truly realised as when the bride returns, as a guest, to the home she -has left for ever as an inmate. It may be much more luxurious, much more -important, much more wealthy; but it is not hers, and, above all, it is not -"his;" and the little sense of strangeness is felt to be an exquisite and a new -pleasure. Til was just the sort of girl to feel this to the fullest, though her -"own" house was actually her "old" home, and she had never been a resident at -Elm Lodge: but the house at Brompton had a thousand charms now which Til had -never found in it before, and on which she expatiated eagerly to Mrs. Ludlow, -while Annie Maurice was reading Geoffrey's letter. She was very pale when she -handed it back to Til, and there were large tears standing in her full brown -eyes.</p> -<p>"Isn't it a delightful letter, Annie?" asked Mrs. Potts; "so kind and genial; -so exactly like dear old Geoff."</p> -<p>"Yes," Annie replied, very softly; "it is indeed, Til; it is very like -Geoffrey."</p> -<p>Then Annie went to look after little Arthur, and left the mother and daughter -to their delightful confidential talk.</p> -<p>When the party from Elm Lodge were at the seaside, after Til's marriage, -Annie began to write pretty regularly to Geoffrey, who was then in Egypt. She -was always thinking of him, and of how his mind was to be roused from its grief; -and once more interested in life. She felt that he was labouring at his art for -money, and because he desired to secure the future of those dear to him, in the -sense of duty, but that for him the fame which he was rapidly winning was very -little worth, and the glory was quite gone out of life,--gone down, with the -golden hair and the violet eyes, into the dust which was lying upon them. Annie, -who had never known a similar grief; understood his in all its intricacies of -suffering, with the intuitive comprehension of the heart, which happily stands -many a woman instead of intellectual gifts and the learning of experience; and -knowing this, the girl, whose unselfish spirit read the heart of her early -friend, but never questioned her own, sought with all her simple and earnest -zeal how to "cure him of his cruel wound." His picture had been one of the gems -of the Academy, one of the great successes of the year, and Annie had written to -him enthusiastically about it, as his mother had also done; but she counted -nothing upon this. Geoffrey was wearily pleased that they were pleased and -gratified, but that was all. His hand did its work, but the soul was not there; -and as he was now working amid the ruins of a dead world, and a nation passed -away in the early youth of time, his mood was congenial to it, and he grew to -like the select lapse of the sultry desert life, and to rebel less and less -against his fate, in the distant land where every thing was strange, and there -was no fear of a touch upon the torturing nerves of association. All this Annie -Maurice divined, and turned constantly in her mind; and amidst the numerous -duties to which she devoted herself with the quiet steadiness which was one of -her strongest characteristics, she thought incessantly of Geoffrey, and of how -the cloud was to be lifted from him. Her life was a busy one, for all the real -cares of the household rested upon her. Mrs. Ludlow had been an admirable -manager of her own house, and in her own sphere, but she did not understand the -scale on which Elm Lodge had been maintained even in Margaret's time, and that -which Miss Maurice established was altogether beyond her reach. The old lady was -very happy; that was quite evident. She and Annie agreed admirably. The younger -lady studied her peculiarities with the utmost care and forbearance, and the -"cross" sat lightly now. She was growing old; and what she did not see she had -lost the faculty of grieving for; and Geoffrey was well, and winning fame and -money. It seemed a long time ago now since she had regarded her -daughter-in-law's furniture and dress with envy, and speculated upon the remote -possibility of some day driving in her son's carriage.</p> -<p>Mrs. Ludlow had a carriage always at her service now, and the most cheerful -of companions in her daily drive; for she, Annie, and the child made country -excursions every afternoon, and the only time the girl kept for her exclusive -enjoyment was that devoted to her early-morning rides. Some of the earliest -among the loungers by the sad sea-waves grew accustomed to observe, with a sense -of admiration and pleasure, the fresh fair face of Annie Maurice, as, flushed -with exercise and blooming like a rose in the morning air, she would dismount at -the door of her "marine villa," where a wee toddling child always awaited her -coming, who was immediately lifted to her saddle, and indulged with a few gentle -pacings up and down before the windows, whence an old lady would watch the group -with grave delight. Mrs. Ludlow wrote all these and many more particulars of her -happy life to her absent son; and sometimes Annie wondered whether those -cheerful garrulous letters, in which the unconscious mother showed Geoffrey so -plainly how little she realised his state of mind, increased his sense of -loneliness. Then she bethought her of writing to Geoffrey constantly about the -child. She knew how he had loved the baby in happier times, and she never -wronged the heart she knew so well by a suspicion that the disgrace and calamity -which had befallen him had changed this deep-dwelling sentiment, or included the -motherless child in its fatal gloom. She had not spoken of little Arthur in her -earlier letters more than cursorily, assuring his father that the child was well -and thriving; but now that time was going over, and the little boy's intellect -was unfolding, she caught at the legitimate source of interest for Geoffrey, and -consulted him eagerly and continuously about her little <i>protégé</i> and -pupil.</p> -<p>The autumn passed and the winter came; and Mrs. Ludlow, her grandchild, and -Annie Maurice were settled at Elm Lodge. Annie had taken anew to her painting, -and Geoffrey's deserted studio had again an inmate. Hither would come Charley -Potts--a genial gentleman still, but with much added steadiness and -scrupulously-neat attire. The wholesome subjugation of a happy marriage was -agreeing wonderfully with Charley, and his faith in Til was perfectly unbounded. -He was a model of punctuality now; and when he "did a turn" for Annie in the -painting-room, he brushed his coat before encountering the unartistic world -outside with a careful scrupulousness, at which, in the days of Caroline and the -beer-signals, he would have derisively mocked. Another visitor was not -infrequent there, though he had needed much coaxing to induce him to come, and -had winced from the sight of Geoff's ghostly easel on his first visit with keen -and perceptible pain.</p> -<p>A strong mutual liking existed between William Bowker and Annie Maurice. Each -had recognised the sterling value of the other on the memorable occasion of -their first meeting; and the rough exterior of Bowker being less perceptible -then than under ordinary circumstances, it had never jarred with Annie's taste -or offended against her sensibilities. So it came to pass that these two -incongruous persons became great friends; and William Bowker--always a gentleman -in the presence of any woman in whom he recognised the soul of a lady--passed -many hours such as he had never thought life could again give him in his dear -old friend's deserted home. Miss Maurice had no inadequate idea of the social -duties which her wealth imposed upon her, and she discharged them with the -conscientiousness which lent her character its combined firmness and sweetness. -But all her delight was in her adopted home, and in the child, for whom she -thought and planned with almost maternal foresight and quite maternal affection. -William Bowker also delighted in the boy, and would have expended an altogether -unreasonable portion of his slender substance upon indigestible eatables and -curiously-ingenious and destructible toys but for Annie's prohibition, to which -he yielded loyal obedience. Many a talk had the strangely-assorted pair of -friends as they watched the child's play; and they generally ran on Geoffrey or -if they rambled off from him for a while, returned to him through strange and -tortuous ways. Not one of Geoff's friends forgot him, or ceased to miss him, and -to wish him back among them. Not one of "the boys" but had grieved in his simple -uncultivated way over the only half-understood domestic calamity which had -fallen upon "old Geoff;" but time has passed, and they had begun to talk more of -his pictures and less of himself. It was otherwise with Bowker, whose actual -associates were few, though his spirit of <i>camaraderie</i> was unbounded. He -had always loved Geoffrey Ludlow with a peculiar affection, in which there had -been an unexplained foreboding; and its full and terrible realisation had been a -great epoch in the life of William Bowker. It had broken up the sealed fountains -of feeling; it had driven him away from the grave of the past; it had brought -his strong sympathies and strong sense into action, and had effected a moral -revolution in the lonely man, who had been soured by trouble only in appearance, -but in whom the pure sweet springs of the life of the heart still existed. Now -he began to weary for Geoffrey. He dreaded to see his friend sinking into the -listlessness and dreariness which had wasted his own life; and Geoffrey's -material prosperity, strongly as it contrasted with the poverty and neglect -which had been his own lot, did not enter into Bowker's calculations with any -reassuring effect.</p> -<p>"Does Geoffrey never fix any time for his return?" asked William Bowker of -Miss Maurice one summer evening when they were slowly pacing about the lawn at -Elm Lodge, after the important ceremonial of little Arthur's <i>coucher</i> had -been performed.</p> -<p>"No," said Annie, with a quick and painful blush.</p> -<p>"I wish he would, then," said Bowker. "He has been away quite long enough -now; and he ought to come home and face his duties like a man, and thank God -that he has a home, and duties which don't all centre in himself. If they did, -the less he observed them the better." This with a touch of the old bitterness, -rarely apparent now. Annie did not answer, and Bowker went on:</p> -<p>"His mother wants him, his child wants him, and for that matter Mrs. Potts's -child wants him too. Charley talks some nonsense about waiting to baptize the -little girl until Geoff comes home 'with water from the Jordan,' said Master -Charley, being uncertain in his geography, and having some confused notion about -some sacred river. However, if we could only get him home, he might bottle a -little of the Nile for us instead. I really wish he'd come. I want to know how -far he has really lived down his trouble; I can't bear to think that it may -conquer and spoil him."</p> -<p>"It has not done that; it won't do that--no fear of it," said Annie eagerly; -"I can tell from his letters that Geoffrey is a strong man again,--stronger than -he has ever been before."</p> -<p>"He needs to be, Miss Maurice," said William, with a short, kind, sounding -laugh, "for Geoffrey's nature is not strong. I don't think I ever knew a weaker -man but one--"</p> -<p>He paused, but Annie made no remark. Presently he fell to talking of the -child and his likeness to Geoffrey, which was very strong and very striking.</p> -<p>"There is not a trace of the poor mother in him," said Bowker; "I am glad of -it. The less there is before Geoffrey's eyes when he returns to remind him of -the past the better."</p> -<p>"And yet," said Annie in a low voice, and with something troubled in her -manner, "I have often thought if he returned, and I saw his meeting with the -child, how dreadful it would be to watch him looking for a trace of the dead in -little Arthur's face, and not finding it, to know that he felt the world doubly -empty."</p> -<p>Her face was half averted from Bowker as she spoke, and he looked at her -curiously and long. He marked the sudden flush and pallor of her cheek, and the -hurry in her words; and a bright unusual light came into William Bowker's eyes. -He only said,</p> -<p>"Ay--that would indeed be a pang the more." And a few minutes later he took -his leave.</p> -<p>"Charley," said Mr. Bowker to Mr. Potts, three or four Gays afterwards, as he -stood before that gentleman's easel, criticising the performance upon it with -his accustomed science and freedom, "why don't you get your wife to write to -Geoffrey, and make him come home? He ought to come, you know, and it's not for -you or me to remonstrate with him. Women do these things better than men; they -can handle sores without hurting them, and pull at heartstrings without making -them crack. There's his mother, growing old, you know, and wanting to see him; -and the child's a fine young shaver now, and his father ought to know something -of him, eh, Charley, what do you think?"</p> -<p>"You're about right, old fellow, that's what I think. Til often talks about -it, particularly since the baby was born, and wonders how Geoffrey can stay -away; but I suppose if his own child won't bring him home, ours can't be -expected to do it; eh, William? Til doesn't think of that, you see."</p> -<p>"I see," said Mr. Bowker, with a smile. "But, Charley, do you just get Til to -write to Geoffrey, and tell him his mother is not as strong as she used to be, -and that the care of her and the child is rather too much of a responsibility to -rest upon Miss Maurice's shoulders, and I think Geoffrey will see the matter in -the true light, and come home at once."</p> -<p>Charley promised to obey Mr. Bowker's injunction, premising that he must -first "talk it over with Til." William made no objection to this perfectly -proper arrangement, and felt no uneasiness respecting the result of the conjugal -discussion. He walked away smiling, congratulating himself on having done -"rather a deep thing," and full of visions in which Geoffrey played a part which -would have considerably astonished him, had its nature been revealed to him.</p> -<p>Six weeks after the conversation between Mr. Bowker and Mr. Potts, a foreign -letter in Geoffrey's hand reached Mrs. Ludlow. She hardly gave herself time to -read it through, before she sought to impart its tidings to Annie. The young 114 -was not in the painting-room, not in the drawing-room, not in the house. The -footman thought he had seen her on the lawn with the child, going towards the -swing. Thither Mrs. Ludlow proceeded, and there she found Annie; her hat flung -off; her brown hair falling about her shoulders, and her graceful arms extended -to their full length as she swung the delighted child, who shouted "higher, -higher!" after the fashion of children.</p> -<p>"Geoffrey's coming home, Annie!" said Mrs. Ludlow, as soon as she reached the -side of the almost breathless girl. "He's coming home immediately,--by the next -mail. Is not that good news?"</p> -<p>The rope had dropped from Annie's hand at the first sentence. Now she -stooped, picked up her hat, and put it on; and turning to lift the child from -his seat, she said,</p> -<p>"Yes, indeed, Mrs. Ludlow, it is; but very sudden. Has any thing happened?"</p> -<p>"Nothing whatever, my dear. Geoffrey only says--stay, here's his letter; read -for yourself. He merely says he feels it is time to come home; he has got all -the good out of his captivity in Egypt in every way that he is likely to -get--though why he should call it captivit when he went there of his own accord, -and could have come away at any moment he liked, is more than I can understand. -Well, well, Geoffrey always had queer sayings; but what matter, now that he is -coming home!--Papa is coming home, Arty;--we shall see him soon."</p> -<p>"Shall we?" said the child. "Let me go, Annie; you are making my hand cold -with yours;" and he slipped his little hand from her grasp, and ran on to the -house, where he imparted the news to the household with an air of vast -importance.</p> -<br> - <p>"Annie," said Geoffrey Ludlow one day when he had been about three -weeks at home, and after he had passed some time in examining Miss Maurice's -art-performances, "what has become of the drawing I once made of you, long ago, -when you were a little girl? Don't you remember you laughed at it, and said, -'Grandmamma, grandmamma, what big eyes you've got!' to it? and the dear old -Rector was so dreadfully frightened lest I should be offended."</p> -<p>"Yes, I remember," answered Annie; "and I have the picture. Why?"</p> -<p>"Because I want it, Annie. If you will let me have it, I will paint a -full-length portrait of you for the next Academy, in which every one shall -recognise a striking likeness of the beautiful and accomplished Miss Maurice."</p> -<p>"Don't, Geoffrey," said Annie gravely. "I am not in the least more beautiful -now than I was when you took my likeness long ago; but you shall have the -drawing, and you shall paint the picture, and it shall belong to Arthur, to -remind him of me when I am gone abroad."</p> -<p>"Gone abroad!" said Geoffrey, starting up from his chair and approaching her. -"You--gone abroad!"</p> -<p>"Yes," she said, with a very faint smile. "Is no one to see men and cities, -and sand and sphinxes, and mummies and Nile boatmen, except yourself? Don't you -remember how Caterham always wished me to travel and improve my mind?"</p> -<p>"I remember," said Geoff moodily; "but I don't think your mind wants -improving, Annie. How selfish I am! I really had a kind of fancy that this was -your home; different as it is from such as you might, as you may command, it was -your own choice once. You see what creatures we men are. A woman like you -sacrifices herself for one of us, to do him good in his adversity, and he takes -it as a matter of course that the sacrifice is to continue--" Geoffrey turned to -the window, and looked wearily out. From the dim corner in which she sat, Annie -looked timidly at his tall figure--a true image of manliness and vigour. She -could see the bronzed cheek, the full rich brown eye, the bushy beard with its -mingled lines of brown and gray. There was far more strength in the face than in -former days, and far more refinement, a deeper tenderness, and a loftier -meaning. She thought so as she looked at him, and her heart beat hard and fast.</p> -<p>"It was no sacrifice to me, Geoffrey," she said in a very low tone. "You know -I could not bear the life I was leading. I have been very happy here. Every one -has been very good to me, and I have been very happy; but--"</p> -<p>Geoffrey turned abruptly, and looked at her--looked at the graceful head, the -blushing cheek, the faltering lips--and went straight up to her. She shrunk just -a little at his approach; but when he laid his hand upon her shoulder, and bent -his head down towards hers, she raised her sweet candid face and looked at him.</p> -<p>"Annie," he said eagerly, with the quick earnestness of a man whose soul is -in his words, "will you forgive all my mistakes,--I have found them out -now,--and take the truest love that ever a man offered to the most perfect of -women? Annie, can you love me?--will you stay with me? My darling, say yes!"</p> -<p>His strong arms were round her now, and her sleek brown head lay upon his -breast. She raised it to look at him; then folded her hands and laid them upon -his shoulder, and with her crystal-clear eyes uplifted, said, "I will stay with -you, Geoffrey. I have always loved you."</p> -<br> - <p>The storm had blown itself out now--its last mutterings had died away; -and through all its fury and despair, through all its rude buffets and -threatening of doom, Geoffrey Ludlow had reached LAND AT LAST!</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> - <h4>THE END.</h4> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> - <hr class="W90"> -<h5>Printed by W. H. Smith & Son, 188, Strand, Loudon.</h5> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Land at Last, by Edmund Yates - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LAND AT LAST *** - -***** This file should be named 60329-h.htm or 60329-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/0/3/2/60329/ - -Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans produced by Google Books -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Land at Last - A Novel - -Author: Edmund Yates - -Release Date: September 24, 2019 [EBook #60329] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LAND AT LAST *** - - - - -Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans produced by Google Books - - - - - - - - - - -Transcriber's Note: - 1. Page scan source: Google Books - https://books.google.com/books?id=NzZWAAAAcAAJ - - - - - - -LAND AT LAST. - -A Novel. - - - -BY -EDMUND YATES, -AUTHOR OF "FORLORN HOPE," "BLACK SHEEP," "RUNNING THE GAUNTLET," -ETC., ETC. - - - -"Post tenebras lux." - - - -THIRD EDITION. - - - - -LONDON: -CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, PICCADILLY. -1868. - - - - - - -CONTENTS. - - -BOOK I. - - I. IN THE STREETS. - II. THE BRETHREN OF THE BRUSH. - III. BLOTTED OUT. - IV. ON THE DOORSTEP. - V. THE LETTER. - VI. THE FIRST VISIT. - VII. CHEZ POTTS. - VIII. THROWING THE FLY. - IX. SUNSHINE IN THE SHADE. - X. YOUR WILLIAM. - XI. PLAYING THE FISH. - XII. UNDER THE HARROW. - XIII. AT THE PRIVATE VIEW. - XIV. THOSE TWAIN ONE FLESH. - - -BOOK II. - - I. NEW RELATIONS. - II. MARGARET. - III. ANNIE. - IV. ALGY BARFORD'S NEWS. - V. SETTLING DOWN. - VI. AT HOME. - VII. WHAT THEIR FRIENDS THOUGHT. - VIII. MARGARET AND ANNIE. - IX. MR. AMPTHILL'S WILL. - X. LADY BEAUPORT'S PLOT. - XI. CONJECTURES. - XII. GATHERING CLOUDS. - XIII. MR. STOMPFF'S DOUBTS. - XIV. THREATENING. - XV. LADY BEAUFORT'S PLOT COLLAPSES. - - -BOOK III. - - I. THE WHOLE TRUTH. - II. THE REVERSE OF THE MEDAL. - III. GONE TO HIS REST. - IV. THE PROTRACTED SEARCH. - V. DISMAY. - VI. A CLUE. - VII. TRACKED. - VIII. IN THE DEEP SHADOW. - IX. CLOSING IN. - X. AFTER THE WRECK. - XI. LAND AT LAST. - - - - - - -LAND AT LAST. - - - - - -Book the First. - - - - -CHAPTER I. -IN THE STREETS. - - -It was between nine and ten oclock on a January night, and the London -streets were in a state of slush. During the previous night snow had -fallen heavily, and the respectable portion of the community, which, -according to regular custom, had retired to bed at eleven oclock, -had been astonished, on peering out from behind a corner of the -window-curtain when they arose, to find the roads and the neighbouring -housetops covered with a thick white incrustation. The pavements -were already showing dank dabs of footmarks, which even the snow -then falling failed to fill up; and the roadway speedily lost its -winter-garment and became sticky with congealed mud. Then the snow -ceased, and a sickly straggling bit of winter-sunlight, a mere parody -on the real thing, half light and half warmth, came lurking out between -the dun clouds; and under its influence the black-specked covering of -the roofs melted, and the water-pipes ran with cold black liquid filth. -The pavement had given it up long ago, and resumed its normal winter -state of sticky slippery grease--grease which clung to the boots and -roused the wildest rage of foot-passengers by causing them to slip -backward when they wanted to make progress, and which accumulated -in the direst manner on the landing-places and street corners,--the -first bits of refuge after the perils of the crossing,--where it -heaped itself in aggravating lumps and shiny rings under the heels of -foot passengers just arrived, having been shaken and stamped off the -soles of passengers who had just preceded them. So it had continued -all day; but towards the afternoon the air had grown colder, and a -whisper had run round that it froze again. Cutlers who had been gazing -with a melancholy air on the placards "Skates" in their window, and -had determined on removing them, as a bad joke against themselves, -decided on letting them remain. Boys who had been delighted in the -morning at the sight of the snow, and proportionately chopfallen -towards middle-day at the sight of the thaw, had plucked up again and -seen visions of snowballing matches, slides on the gutters, and, most -delicious of all, omnibus-horses both down at once on the slippery -road. Homeward-bound City-clerks, their day's work over, shivered in -the omnibuses, and told each other how they were afraid it had come at -last, and reminded each other of what the newspapers had said about -the flocks of wild-geese and other signs of a hard winter, and moaned -lugubriously about the advanced price of coals and the difficulties of -locomotion certain to be consequent on the frost. - -But when the cruel black night had set regularly in, a dim sleek soft -drizzle began to fall, and all hopes or fears of frost were at an end. -Slowly and gently it came down, wrapping the streets as with a damp -pall; stealing quietly in under umbrellas; eating its way through the -thickest broadcloth, matting the hair and hanging in dank, unwholesome -beads on the beards of all unlucky enough to be exposed to it. It -meant mischief, this drizzle, and it carried out its intention. -Omnibus-drivers and cabmen knew it at once from long experience, donned -their heavy tarpaulin-capes, and made up their minds for the worst. -The professional beggars knew it too. The pavement-chalking tramp, who -had selected a tolerably dry spot under the lee of a wall, no sooner -felt its first damp breath than he blew out his paper-lantern, put the -candle into his pocket, stamped out as much of the mackerel and the -ship at sea as he had already stencilled, and made off. The man in -the exemplary shirt-collar and apron, who had planted himself before -the chemist's window to procure an extra death-tinge from the light -reflected from the blue bottle, packed up his linen and decamped, -fearing lest his stock-in-trade--his virtue and his lucifers--might be -injured by damp. The brass bands which had been playing outside the -public-houses shouldered their instruments and went inside; the vendors -of secondhand books covered their openly-displayed stock with strips of -baize and dismissed their watchful boys, conscious that no petty thief -would risk the weather for so small a prey. The hot-potato men blew -fiercer jets of steam out of their tin kitchens, as though calling on -the public to defy dull care and comfort themselves with an antidote to -the general wretchedness; and the policemen stamped solemnly and slowly -round their beats, as men impressed with the full knowledge that, as -there was not the remotest chance of their being relieved from their -miserable fate until the morning, they might as well bear themselves -with as much dignity as possible under the circumstances. - -It was bad everywhere; but in no place at the West-end of London was -it so bad as at the Regent Circus. There the great tide of humanity -had been ebbing and flowing all day; there hapless females in shoals -had struggled across the roaring sea of Oxford Street, some conveyed -by the crossing-sweeper, some drifting helplessly under the poles of -omnibuses and the wheels of hansom cabs. There the umbrellas of the -expectant omnibus-seekers jostled each other with extra virulence; -and there the edges of the pavements were thick with dark alluvial -deposits kicked hither and thither by the feet of thousands. All day -there had been a bustle and a roar round this spot; and at ten o'clock -at night it had but little diminished. Omnibus-conductors, like kites -and vultures, clawed and wrangled over the bodies of their victims, who -in a miserable little flock huddled together in a corner, and dashed -out helplessly and without purpose as each lumbering vehicle drew -up. Intermingled with these were several vagabond boys, whose animal -spirits no amount of wet or misery could quell, and who constituted -themselves a kind of vedette or outpost-guard, giving warning of the -approach of the different omnibuses in much pleasantly familiar speech, -"Now, guv'nor, for Bayswater! Hatlas comin' up! Ready now for Nottin' -'Ill!" - -At the back of the little crowd, sheltering herself under the lee of -the houses, stood a slight female figure, a mere slight slip of a -girl, dressed only in a clinging gown and a miserable tightly-drawn -shawl. Her worn bonnet was pulled over her face, her arms were -clasped before her, and she stood in a doorway almost motionless. The -policeman tramping leisurely by had at first imagined her to be an -omnibus-passenger waiting for a vehicle; but some twenty minutes after -he had first noticed her, finding her still in the same position, -he took advantage of a pretended trial of the security of various -street-doors to scrutinise her appearance. To the man versed in such -matters the miserable garb told its own tale--its wearer was a pauper; -and a beggar the man in office surmised, although the girl had made no -plaint, had uttered no word, had remained immovable and statue-like, -gazing blankly before her. The policeman had been long enough in the -force to know that the girl's presence in the doorway was an offence -in the eyes of the law; but he was a kindly-hearted Somersetshire man, -and he performed his duty in as pleasant a way as he could, by gently -pulling a corner of the drabbled shawl, and saying, "You musn't stand -here, lass; you must move on, please." The shawl-wearer never looked up -or spoke but shivering slightly, stepped out into the dank mist, and -floated, phantom-like, across the road. - -Gliding up the upper part of Regent Street, keeping close to the -houses, and walking with her head bent down and her arms always folded -tightly across her breast, she struck off into a bystreet to the right, -and, crossing Oxford Market, seemed hesitating which way to turn. For -an instant she stopped before the window of an eating-house, where -thick columns of steam were yet playing round the attenuated remains -of joints, or casting a greasy halo round slabs of pudding. As the -girl gazed at these wretched remnants of a wretched feast, she raised -her head, her eyes glistened, her pinched nostrils dilated, and for an -instant her breath came thick and fast; then, drawing her shawl more -tightly round her, and bending her head to avoid as much as possible -the rain, which came thickly scudding on the rising wind, she hurried -on, and only stopped for shelter under the outstretched blind of a -little chandler's shop--a wretched shelter, for the blind was soaked -through, and the rain dripped from it in little pools, and the wind -shook it in its frame, and eddied underneath it with a wet and gusty -whirl; but there was something of comfort to the girl in the warm look -of the gaslit shop, in the smug rotund appearance of the chandler, -in the distant glimmer of the fire on the glazed door of the parlour -at the back. Staring vacantly before him while mechanically patting -a conical lump of lard, not unlike the bald cranium of an elderly -gentleman, the chandler became aware of the girl's face at the window; -and seeing Want legibly inscribed by Nature's never-erring hand on -every feature of that face, and being a humane man, he was groping in -the till for some small coin to bestow in charity, when from the back -room came a sharp shrill voice, "Jim, time to shut up!" and at the -sound of the voice the chandler hastily retreated, and, a small boy -suddenly appearing, pulled up the overhanging blind, and having lost -its shelter, the girl set forth again. - -But her course was nearly at an end. To avoid a troop of boys who, -arm-in-arm, came breasting up the street singing the burden of a -negro-song, she turned off again into the main thoroughfare, and had -barely gained the broad shadow of the sharp-steepled church in Langham -Place, when she felt her legs sinking under her, her brain reeling, -her heart throbbing in her breast like a ball of fire. She tottered -and clung to the church-railing for support. In the next instant she -was surrounded by a little crowd, in which she had a vision of painted -faces and glistening silks, a dream of faint words of commiseration -overborne by mocking laughter and ribald oaths, oaths made more fearful -still by being uttered in foreign accents, of bitter jests and broad -hints of drunkenness and shame; finally, of the strident voice of -the policeman telling her again to "move on!" The dead faintness, -consequent on cold and wet and weariness and starvation, passed away -for the time, and she obeyed the mandate. Passively she crept away a -few steps up a deserted bystreet until her tormentors had left her -quite alone; then she sunk down, shivering, on a doorstep, and burying -her face in her tattered shawl, felt that her end was come. - -There she remained, the dead damp cold striking through her lower -limbs and chilling them to stone, while her head was one blazing -fire. Gradually her limbs became numbed and lost to all sensation, a -sickening empty pain was round her heart, a dead apathy settling down -over her mind and brain. The tramping of feet was close upon her, the -noise of loud voices, the ringing shouts of loud laughter, were in her -ears; but she never raised her head from the tattered shawl, nor by -speech or motion did she give the smallest sign of life. Men passed her -constantly, all making for one goal, the portico next to that in which -she had sunk down helpless--men with kindly hearts attuned to charity, -who, had they known the state of the wretched wayfarer, would have -exerted themselves bravely in her succour, but whom a London life had -so inured to spectacles of casual misery and vice, that a few only cast -a passing glance on the stricken woman and passed on. They came singly -and in twos and threes; but none spoke to her, none noticed her save by -a glance and a shoulder shrug. - -Then, as the icy hands of Cold and Want gradually stealing over her -seemed to settle round the region of her heart, the girl gave one low -faint cry, "God help me! it's come at last--God help me!" and fell back -in a dead swoon. - - - - -CHAPTER II. -THE BRETHREN OF THE BRUSH. - - -The house to which all the jovial fellows who passed the girl on the -doorstep with such carelessness were wending their way was almost -unique in the metropolis. The rumour ran that it had originally -been designed for stables, and indeed there was a certain mews-ish -appearance about its architectural elevation; it had the squat, -squabby, square look of those buildings from whose upper-floors -clothes-lines stretch diagonally across stable-yards; and you were at -first surprised at finding an imposing portico with an imposing bell -in a position where you looked for the folding-doors of a coach-house. -Whether there had been any truth in the report or not, it is certain -that the owner of the property speedily saw his way to more money -than he could have gained by the ignoble pursuit of stabling horses, -and made alterations in his building, which converted it into several -sets of spacious, roomy, and comfortable, if not elegant chambers. The -upper rooms were duly let, and speedily became famous--thus-wise. When -Parmegiano Wilkins made his first great success with his picture of -"Boadicea at Breakfast,"--connoisseurs and art-critics will recollect -the marvellous manner in which the chip in the porridge of the Queen -of the Iceni was rendered,--Mr. Caniche, the great picture-dealer, to -whom Wilkins had mortgaged himself body and soul for three years, felt -it necessary that his next works should be submitted to the private -inspection of the newspaper-writers and the _cognoscenti_ previous -to their going into the Academy Exhibition. On receiving a letter -to this effect from Caniche, Wilkins was at his wits' end. He was -living, for privacy's sake, in a little cottage on the outskirts of -Epping Forest, and having made a success, had naturally alienated all -his friends whose rooms in town would otherwise have been available -for the display of his pictures; he thought--and there the astute -picture-dealer agreed with him--that it would be unwise to send them -to Caniche's shop (it was before such places were called "galleries"), -as tending to make public the connection between them; and Wilkins did -not know what to do. Then Caniche came to his rescue. Little Jimmy -Dabb, who had been Gold-Medallist and Travelling-Student at the Academy -three years beforehand, and who, for sheer sake of bread-winning, had -settled down as one of Caniche's Labourers, had a big studio in the -stable-like edifice near Langham Church. In it he painted those bits -of domestic life,--dying children on beds, weeping mothers, small -table with cut-orange, Bible and physic by bedside, and pitying angel -dimly hovering between mantelpiece and ceiling,--which, originally -in oil, and subsequently in engravings, had such a vast sale, and -brought so much ready money to Caniche's exchequer. The situation was -central; why not utilise it? No sooner thought of than done: a red -cotton-velvet coverlet was spread over Jimmy Dabb's bed in the corner; -a Dutch carpet, red with black flecks, was, at Caniche's expense, -spread over the floor, paint-smeared and burnt with tobacco-ash; two -gorgeous easels, on which were displayed Wilkins's two pictures, "The -Bird in the Hand"--every feather in the bird and the dirt in the -nails of the ploughboy's hand marvellously delineated--and "Crumbs of -Comfort," each crumb separate, and the loaf in the background so real, -that the Dowager-Countess of Rundall, a celebrated household manager, -declared it at once to be a "slack-baked quartern." Invitation-cards, -wonderfully illuminated in Old-English characters, and utterly -illegible, were sent forth to rank, fashion, and talent, who duly -attended. Crowds of gay carriages choked up the little street: Dabb -in his Sunday-clothes did the honours; Caniche, bland, smiling, and -polyglot, flitted here and there, his clerk took down orders for -proof copies, and the fortune of the chambers was made. They were so -original, so artistic, so convenient, they were just the place for a -painter. Smudge, R.A., who painted portraits of the aristocracy, who -wore a velvet-coat, and whose name was seen in the tail-end of the list -of fashionables at evening-parties, took a vacant set at once; and -Clement Walkinshaw of the Foreign Office, who passed such spare time -as his country could afford him in illuminating missals, in preparing -designs for stained glass, and in hanging about art-circles generally, -secured the remainder of the upper-floor, and converted it into a -Wardour-Street Paradise, with hanging velvet _portieres_, old oak -cabinets, Venetian-glass, marqueterie tables, Sevres china, escutcheons -of armour, and Viennese porcelain pipes. - -Meanwhile, utterly uncaring for and utterly independent of what went -on upstairs, the denizens of the lower story kept quietly on. Who -were the denizens of the lower story? who but the well-known Titian -Sketching-Club! How many men who, after struggling through Suffolk -Street and the Portland Gallery, have won their way to fame and -fortune, have made their _coup d'essai_ on the walls of the chambers -rented by the Titian Sketching-Club! Outsiders, who professed great -love for art, but who only knew the two or three exhibitions of the -season and only recognised the score of names in each vouchsafed for -by the newspaper-critics, would have been astonished to learn the -amount of canvas covered, pains taken, and skill brought to bear upon -the work of the Members of the Titian. There are guilds, and companies -of Freemasons, and brotherhoods by the score in London; but I know -of none where the grand spirit of Camaraderie is so carried out as -in this. It is the nearest thing to the _Vie de Boheme_ of Paris of -Henri Murger that we can show; there is more liberty of speech and -thought and action, less reticence, more friendship,--when friendship -is understood by purse-sharing, by sick-bedside-watching, by absence of -envy, jealousy, hatred, and all uncharitableness,--more singleness of -purpose, more contempt for shams and impostures and the dismal fetters -of conventionality, than in any other circle of English Society with -which I am acquainted. - -It was a grand night with the Titians; no model was carefully posed -on the "throne" that evening; no intelligent class was grouped round -on the rising benches, copying from the "draped" or the "nude;" -none of the wardrobe or properties of the club (and it is rich in -both),--none of the coats of mail or suits of armour, hauberks and -broadswords, buff boots, dinted breastplates, carved ebony crucifixes, -ivory-hafted daggers, Louis-Onze caps, friars' gowns and rosaries, nor -other portions of the stock-in-trade, were on view. The "sending-in" -day for the approaching Exhibition of the British Institution was at -hand; and the discoloured smoky old walls of the Titians, the rickety -easels piled round the room, all available ledges and nooks, were -covered with the works of the members of the club, which they fully -intended to submit for exhibition. A very Babel, in a thick fog of -tobacco-smoke, through which loomed the red face of Flexor the famous -model, like the sun in November, greeted you on your entrance. Flexor -pretended to take the hats, but the visitors seemed to know him too -well, and contented themselves with nodding at him in a friendly -manner, and retaining their property. Then you passed into the rooms, -where you found yourself wedged up amongst a crowd of perhaps the most -extraordinary-looking beings you ever encountered. Little men with big -heads and long beards, big men with bald heads and shaved cheeks, and -enormous moustaches and glowering spectacles; tall thin straggling men, -who seemed all profile, and whose full face you could never catch; -dirty shaggy little men, with heads of hair like red mops, and no -apparent faces underneath, whose eyes flashed through their elf-locks, -and who were explaining their pictures with singular pantomimic power -of their sinewy hands, and notably of their ever-flashing thumbs; -moon-faced solemn didactic men prosing away on their views of art to -dreary discontented listeners; and foppish, smart little fellows, -standing a-tiptoe to get particular lights, shading their eyes with -their hands, and backing against the company generally. Moving here -and there among the guests was the Titians' president, honest old Tom -Wrigley, who had been "at it," as he used to say, for thirty years; -without making any great mark in his profession, but who was cordially -beloved for his kind-heartedness and _bonhomie_, and who had a word and -a joke for all. As he elbowed his way through the room he spoke right -and left. - -"Hallo, Tom Rogers!--hallo, Tom! That's an improvement, Tom, my boy! -Got rid of the heavy browns, eh? weren't good, those heavy browns; -specially for a Venetian atmosphere, eh, Tom? Much better, this.--How -are you, Jukes? Old story, Jukes?--hen and chickens, ducks in the pond, -horse looking over the gate? Quite right, Jukes; stick to that, if it -pays. Much better than the death of J. Caesar on a twenty-foot canvas, -which nobody would be fool enough to buy. Stick to the ducks, Jukes, -old fellow.--What's the matter, George? Why so savage, my son?" - -"Here's Scumble!" said the young man addressed, in an undertone. - -"And what of that, George? Mr. Scumble is a Royal Academician, it -is true; and consequently a mark for your scorn and hatred, George. -But it's not _his_ fault; he never did anything to aspire to such a -dignity. It's your British public, George, which is such an insensate -jackass as to buy Scumble's pictures, and to tell him he's a genius." - -"He was on the Hanging-Committee last year, and--" - -"Ah, so he was; and your 'Aristides' was kicked out, and so was my -'Hope Deferred,' which was a deuced sight better than your big picture, -Master George; but see how I shall treat him.--How do you do, Mr. -Scumble? You're very welcome here, sir." - -Mr. Scumble, R.A., who had a head like a tin-loaf, and a face without -any earthly expression, bowed his acknowledgments and threw as much -warmth into his manner as he possibly could, apparently labouring -under a notion that he was marked out for speedy assassination. "This -is indeed a char-ming collection! Great talent among the ri-sing men, -Mr.--pardon me--President! This now, for instance, a most charming -landscape!" - -"Yes, old boy; you may say that," said a square-built man smoking -a clay-pipe, and leaning with his elbows on the easel on which the -picture was placed. "I mean the real thing,--not this; which ain't bad -though, is it? Not that I should say so; 'cause for why; which I did -it!" and here the square-built man removed one of his elbows from the -easel, and dug it into the sacred ribs of Scumble, R.A. - -"Bad, sir!" said Scumble, recoiling from the thrust, and still with -the notion of a secret dagger hidden behind the square-built man's -waistcoat; "it's magnificent, superb, Mr.----!" - -"Meaning me? Potts!" said the square-built man "Charley Potts, artist, -U.E., or unsuccessful exhibitor at every daub-show in London. That's -the Via Mala, that is. I was there last autumn with Geoffrey Ludlow -and Tom Bleistift. 'Show me a finer view than that,' I said to those -fellows, when it burst upon us. 'If you'd a Scotchman with you,' said -Tom, 'he'd say it wasn't so fine as the approach to Edinburgh.' 'Would -he?'said I. 'If he said anything of that sort, I'd show him that view, -and--and rub his nose in it!'" - -Mr. Scumble, R.A., smiled in a sickly manner, bowed feebly, and passed -on. Old Tom Wrigley laughed a great boisterous "Ha, ha!" and went -on his way. Charley Potts remained before his picture, turning his -back on it, and puffing out great volumes of smoke. He seemed to know -everybody in the room, and to be known to and greeted by most of them. -Some slapped him on the back, some poked him in the ribs, others laid -their forefingers alongside their noses and winked; but all called him -"Charley," and all had some pleasant word for him; and to all he had -something to say in return. - -"Hallo, Fred Snitterfield!" he called out to a fat man in a suit of -shepherd's-plaid dittoes. "Halloa, Fred! how's your brother Bill? -What's he been doing? Not here to-night, of course?" - -"No; he wasn't very well," said the man addressed. "He's got--" - -"Yes, yes; I know, Fred!" said Charley Potts. "Wife won't let him! -That's it, isn't it, old boy? He only dined out once in his life -without leave, and then he sent home a telegram to say he was engaged; -and when his wife received the telegram she would not believe it, -because she said it wasn't his handwriting! Poor old Bill! Did he sell -that 'Revenge' to what's-his-name--that Manchester man--Prebble?" - -"Lord, no! Haven't you heard? Prebble's smashed up,--all his property -gone to the devil!" - -"Ah, then Prebble will find it again some day, no doubt. Look out! -here's Bowie!" - -Mr. Bowie was the art-critic of a great daily journal. In early life -he had courted art himself; but lacking executive power, he had mixed -up a few theories and quaint conceits which he had learned with a -great deal of acrid bile, with which he had been gifted by nature, and -wrote the most pungent and malevolent art-notices of the day. A tall, -light-haired, vacant-looking man, like a light-house without any light -in it, peering uncomfortably over his stiff white cravat, and fumbling -nervously at his watch-chain. Clinging close to him, and pointing out -to him various pictures as they passed them by, was quite another style -of man,--Caniche, the great picture dealer,--an under-sized lively -Gascon, black-bearded from his chin, round which it was closely cut, to -his beady black eyes, faultlessly dressed, sparkling in speech, affable -in manner, at home with all. - -"Ah, ah!" said he, stopping before the easel, "the Via Mala! Not -bad--not at all bad!" he continued, with scarcely a trace of a foreign -accent. "Yours, Charley Potts? yours, _mon brave?_ De-caidedly an -improvement, Charley! You go on that way, mai boy, and some day--" - -"Some day you'll give me twenty pound, and sell me for a hundred! won't -you, Caniche?--generous buffalo!" growled Charley, over his pipe. - -The men round laughed, but Caniche was not a bit offended. "Of course," -he said, simply, "I will, indeed; that is my trade! And if you could -find a man who would give you thirty, you would throw me over in what -you call a brace of shakes! _N'est-ce pas?_ Meanwhile, find the man to -give you thirty. He is not here; I mean coming now.--How do you do, -Herr Stompff?" - -Mr. Caniche (popularly known as Cannish among the artists) winced as he -said this, for Herr Stompff was his great rival and bitterest enemy. - -A short, bald-headed, gray-bearded man was Mr. Stompff,--a -Hamburger,--who, on his first arrival in England, had been an importer -of piping bullfinches at Hull; then a tobacconist in St Mary Axe; and -who finally had taken up picture-selling, and did an enormous business. -No one could tell that he was not an Englishman from his talk, and an -Englishman with a marvellous fluency in the vernacular. He had every -slang saying as soon as it was out, and by this used to triumph over -his rival Caniche, who never could follow his phraseology. - -"Hallo, Caniche!" he said; "how are you? What's up?--running the rig -on the boys here! telling Charley Potts his daubs are first-rate? -Pickles!--We know all that game, don't we, Charley? What do you want -for it, Charley?--How are you, Mr. Bowie? what's fresh with you, -sir? Too proud to come and have a cut of mutton with me and Mrs. S. -a-Sunday, I suppose? Some good fellows coming, too; Mugger from the -Cracksideum, and Talboys and Sir Paul Potter--leastways I've asked him. -Well, Charley, what's the figure for this lot, eh?" - -"I'll trouble you not to 'Charley' me, Mr. Stump, or whatever your -infernal name is!" said Potts, folding his arms and puffing out -his smoke savagely. "I don't want any Havannah cigars, nor silk -handkerchiefs, nor painted canaries, nor anything else in your line, -sir; and I want your confounded patronage least of all!" - -"Good boy, Charley! very good boy!" said Stompff, calmly pulling his -whisker through his teeth--"shouldn't lose his temper, though. Come and -dine a-Sunday, Charley." Mr. Potts said something, which the historian -is not bound to repeat, turned on his heel, and walked away. - -Mr. Stompff was not a bit disconcerted at this treatment. He merely -stuck his tongue in his cheek, and looking at the men standing round, -said, "He's on the high ropes, is Master Charley! Some of you fellows -have been lending him half-a-crown, or that fool Caniche has bought one -of his pictures for seven-and-six! Now, has anybody anything new to -show, eh?" Of course everybody had something new to show to the great -Stompff, the enterprising Stompff, the liberal Stompff, whose cheques -were as good as notes of the Bank of England. How they watched his -progress, and how their hearts beat as he loitered before their works! -Jupp, who had a bed-ridden wife, a dear pretty little woman recovering -from rheumatic fever at, Adalbert Villa, Elgiva Road, St. John's -Wood; Smethurst, who had a 25_l_. bill coming due in a fortnight, -and had three-and-sevenpence wherewith to: Vogelstadt, who had been -beguiled into leaving Dusseldorf for London on the rumours of English -riches and English patronage, and whose capital studies of birds -in the snow, and _treibe-jagd's_, and boar-hunts, had called forth -universal laudation, but had not as yet entrapped a single purchaser, -so that Vogelstadt, who had come down not discontentedly to living on -bread-and-milk, had notions of mortgaging his ancestral thumb-ring -to procure even those trifling necessaries,--how they al glared with -expectation as the ex-singing-bird-importer passed their pictures in -review! That worthy took matters very easily, strolling along with -his hands in his pockets, glancing at the easels and along the walls, -occasionally nodding his head in approval, or shrugging his shoulders -in depreciation, but never saying a word until he stopped opposite a -well-placed figure-subject to which he devoted a two-minutes' close -scrutiny, and then uttered this frank though _argot_-tinged criticism -"That'll hit 'em up! that'll open their eyelids, by Jove! Whose is it?" - -The picture represented a modern ballroom, in a corner of which a man -of middle age, his arms tightly folded across his breast, was intently -watching the movements of a young girl, just starting off in a _valse_ -with a handsome dashing young partner. The expressions in the two faces -were admirably defined: in the man's was a deep earnest devotion not -unmingled with passion and with jealousy, his tightly-clenched mouth, -his deep-set earnest eyes, settled in rapt adoration on the girl, -showed the earnestness of his feeling, SO did the rigidly-fixed arms, -and the _pose_ of the figure, which, originally careless, had become -hardened and angular through intensity of feeling. The contrast was -well marked; in the girl's face which was turned toward the man while -her eyes were fixed on him, was a bright saucy triumph, brightening -her eyes, inflating her little nostrils, curving the corners of her -mouth, while her figure was light and airy, just obedient to the first -notes of the _valse_, balancing itself as it were on the arm of her -partner before starting off down the dance. All the accessories were -admirable: the dreary wallflowers ranged round the room, the chaperons -nidnodding together on the rout-seats, paterfamilias despondingly -consulting his watch, the wearied hostess, and the somnolently-inclined -musicians,--all were there, portrayed not merely by a facile hand but -by a man conversant with society. The title of the picture, "Sic vos -non vobis," was written on a bit of paper stuck into the frame, on -the other corner of which was a card bearing the words "Mr. Geoffrey -Ludlow." - -"Ah!" said Stompff, who, after carefully scanning the picture close and -then from a distance, had read the card--"at last! Geoffrey Ludlow's -going to fulfil the promise which he's been showing this ten years! A -late birth, but a fine babby now it's born! That's the real thing and -no flies! That's about as near a good thing as I've seen this long -time--that; come, you'll say the same! That's a good picture, Mr. -Wrigley!" - -"Ah!" said old Tom, coming up at the moment, "you've made another -lucky hit if you've bought that, Mr. Stompff! Geoff is so confoundedly -undecided, so horribly weak in all things, that he's been all this time -making up his mind whether he really would paint a good picture or not. -But he's decided at last, and he has painted a clipper." - -"Ye-es!" said Stompff, whose first enthusiasm had by no means died -away--on the contrary, he thought so well of the picture that he had -within himself determined to purchase it; but his business caution was -coming over him strongly. "Yes! it's a clipper, as you say, Wrigley; -but it's a picture which would take all a fellow knew to work it. Throw -that into the market--where are you! Pouf! gone I no one thinking of -it. Judicious advertisement, judicious squaring of those confounded -fellows of the press; a little dinner at the Albion or the Star and -Garter to two or three whom we know; and then the wonderful grasp of -modern life, the singular manner in which the great natural feelings -are rendered, the microscopic observation, and the power of detail--" - -"Yes, yes," said Tom Wrigley; "for which, see _Catalogue of Stompff's -Gallery of Modern Painters_, price 6_d_. Spare yourself, you unselfish -encourager of talent, and spare Geoff's blushes; for here he is.--Did -you hear what Stompff was saying on, Geoff?" - -As he spoke, there came slouching up, shouldering his way through the -crowd, a big, heavily-built man of about forty years of age, standing -over six feet, and striking in appearance if not prepossessing. -Striking in appearance from his height, which was even increased -by his great shock head of dark-brown hair standing upright on his -forehead, but curling in tight crisp waves round the back and poll of -his head; from his great prominent brown eyes, which, firmly set in -their large thickly-carved lids, flashed from under an overhanging -pair of brows; from his large heavy nose, thick and fleshy, yet with -lithe sensitive nostrils; from his short upper and protruding thick -under lip; from the length of his chin and the massive heaviness of -his jaw, though the heavy beard greatly concealed the formation of -the lower portion of his face. A face which at once evoked attention, -which no one passed by without noticing, which people at first called -"odd," and "singular," and "queer," according to their vocabulary; -then, following the same rule, pronounced "ugly," or "hideous," or -"grotesque,"--allowing all the time that there "was something very -curious in it." But a face which, when seen in animation or excitement, -in reflex of the soul within, whose every thought was legibly portrayed -in its every expression, in light or shade, with earnest watchful -eyes, and knit brows and quivering nostrils and working lips; or, on -the other hand, with its mouth full of sound big white teeth gleaming -between its ruddy lips, and its eyes sparkling with pure merriment -or mischief;--then a face to be preferred to all the dolly inanities -of the Household Brigade, or even the matchless toga-draped dummies -in Mr. Truefitt's window. This was Geoffrey Ludlow, whom everybody -liked, but who was esteemed to be so weak and vacillating, so infirm -of purpose, so incapable of succeeding in his art or in his life, as -to have been always regarded as an object of pity rather than envy; as -a man who was his own worst enemy, and of whom nothing could be said. -He had apparently caught some words of the conversation, for when he -arrived at the group a smile lit up his homely features, and his teeth -glistened again in the gaslight. - -"What are you fellows joking about?" he asked, while he roared with -laughter, as if with an anticipatory relish of the fun. "Some chaff at -my expense, eh? Something about my not having made up my mind to do -something or not; the usual nonsense, I suppose?" - -"Not at all Geoff," said Tom Wrigley. "The question asked by Mr. -Stompff here was--whether you wished to sell this picture, and what you -asked for it." - -"Ah!" said Geoffrey Ludlow, his lips closing and the fun dying out -of his eyes. "Well, you see it's of course a compliment for you, -Mr. Stompff, to ask the question; but I've scarcely made up my -mind--whether--and indeed as to the price--" - -"Stuff, Geoff! What rubbish you talk!" said Charley Potts, who had -rejoined the group. "You know well enough that you painted the picture -for sale. You know equally well that the price is two hundred guineas. -Are you answered, Mr. Stump?" - -Ludlow started forward with a look of annoyance, but Stompff merely -grinned, and said quietly, "I take it at the price, and as many more as -Mr. Ludlow will paint of the same sort; stock, lock, and barrel, I'll -have the whole bilin'. Must change the title though, Ludlow, my boy. -None of your Sic wos non thingummy; none of your Hebrew classics for -the British public. 'The Vow,' or 'the Last Farewell,' or something in -that line.--Very neatly done of you, Charley, my boy; very neat bit -of dealing, I call it. I ought to deduct four-and-nine from the next -fifteen shillin' commission you get; but I'll make it up to you this -way,--you've evidently all the qualities of a salesman; come and be my -clerk, and I'll stand thirty shillings a-week and a commission on the -catalogues." - -Charley Potts was too delighted at his friend's success to feel -annoyance at these remarks; he merely shook his fist laughingly, and -was passing on, with his arm through Ludlow's; but the vivacious -dealer, who had rapidly calculated where he could plant his -newly-acquired purchase, and what percentage he could make on it, was -not to be thus balked. - -"Look here!" said he; "a bargain's a bargain, ain't it? People say your -word's as good as your bond, and all that. Pickles! You drop down to -my office to-morrow, Ludlow, and there'll be an agreement for you to -sign--all straight and reg'lar, you know. And come and cut your mutton -with me and Mrs. S. at Velasquez Villa, Nottin' 'Ill, on Sunday, at -six. No sayin' no, because I won't hear it. We'll wet our connection in -a glass of Sham. And bring Charley with you, if his dress-coat ain't -up! You know, Charley! Tar, Tar!" And highly delighted with himself, -and with the full conviction that he had rendered himself thoroughly -delightful to his hearers, the great man waddled off his brougham. - -Meanwhile the news of the purchase had spread through the rooms, -and men were hurrying up on all sides to congratulate Ludlow on his -success. The fortunate man seemed, however, a little dazed with his -triumph; he shook all the outstretched hands cordially, and said a few -commonplaces of thanks, intermingled with doubts as to whether he had -not been too well treated; but on the first convenient opportunity he -slipped away, and sliding a shilling into the palm of Flexor the model, -who, being by this time very drunk, had arranged his hair in a curl -on his forehead, and was sitting on the bench in the hall after his -famous rendering of George the Fourth of blessed memory, Geoff seized -his hat and coat and let himself out. The fresh night-air revived him -wonderfully, and he was about starting off at his usual headstrong -pace, when he heard a low dismal moan, and looking round, he saw a -female figure cowering in a doorway. The next instant he was kneeling -by her side. - - - - -CHAPTER III. -BLOTTED OUT. - - -THE strange caprices of Fashion were never more strangely illustrated -than by her fixing upon St. Barnabas Square as one of her favourite -localities. There are men yet living among us whose mothers had -been robbed on their way from Ranelagh in crossing the spot, then a -dreary swampy marsh, on which now stands the city of palaces known as -Cubittopolis. For years on years it remained in its dismal condition, -until an enterprising builder, seeing the army of civilisation -advancing with grand strides south-westward, and perceiving at a glance -the immediate realisation of an enormous profit on his outlay, bought -up the entire estate, had it thoroughly cleansed and drained, and -proceeded to erect thereon a series of terraces, places, and squares, -each vying with the other in size, perfection of finish, and, let it be -said, general ghastliness. The houses in St. Barnabas Square resemble -those in Chasuble Crescent, and scarcely differ in any particular -from the eligible residences in Reredos Road: they are all very -tall, and rather thin; they have all enormous porticoes, over which -are little conservatories, railed in with ecclesiastical ironwork; -dismal little back-rooms no bigger than warm-baths, but described as -"libraries" by the house-agents; gaunt drawing-rooms connected by an -arch; vast landings, leading on to other little conservatories, where -"blacks," old flower-pots, and a few geranium stumps, are principally -conserved; and a series of gaunt towny bedrooms. In front they have -Mr. Swiveller's prospect,--a delightful view of over-the-way; across -the bit of square enclosure like a green pocket-handkerchief; while -at the back they look immediately on to the back-premises of other -eligible residences. The enterprising builder has done his best for his -neighbourhood, but he has been unable to neutralise the effects of the -neighbouring Thames; and the consequence is, that during the winter -months a chronic fog drifts up from the pleasant Kentish marshes, -and finding ample room and verge enough, settles permanently down in -the St. Barnabas district; while in the summer, the new roads which -intersect the locality, being mostly composed of a chalky foundation, -peel off under every passing wheel, and emit enormous clouds of dust, -which are generally drifting on the summer wind into the eyes and -mouths of stray passengers, and in at the doors and windows of regular -residents. Yet this is one of Fashion's chosen spots here in this -stronghold of stucco reside scores of those whose names and doings the -courtly journalist delighteth to chronicle; hither do county magnates -bring, to furnished houses, their wives and daughters, leaving them -to entertain those of the proper set during the three summer months, -while they, the county magnates themselves, are sleeping the sleep of -the just on the benches of the House of Commons, or nobly discharging -their duty to their country by smoking cigars on the terrace; here -reside men high up in the great West-end public offices, commissioners -and secretaries, anxious to imbue themselves with the scent of the -rose, and _vivre pres d'elle_, City magnates, judges of the land, and -counsel learned in the law. The situation is near to Westminster for -the lawyers and politicians; and the address has quite enough of the -true ring about it to make it much sought after by all those who go-in -for a fashionable neighbourhood. - -A few hours before the events described in the preceding chapters -took place, a brougham, perfectly appointed, and drawn by a splendid -horse, came dashing through the fog and driving mist, and pulled up -before one of the largest houses in St. Barnabas Square. The footman -jumped from the box, and was running to the door, when, in obedience -to a sharp voice, he stopped, and the occupant of the vehicle, who had -descended, crossed the pavement with rapid strides, and opened the door -with a pass-key. He strode quickly through the hall, up the staircase, -and into the drawing-room, round which he took a rapid glance. The -room was empty; the gas was lit, and a fire burned brightly on the -hearth; while an open piano, covered with music, on the one side of the -fireplace, and a book turned down with open leaves, showed that the -occupants had but recently left. The newcomer, finding himself alone, -walked to the mantelpiece, and leaning his back against it, passed his -hands rapidly across his forehead; then plunging both of them into his -pockets, seemed lost in thought. The gaslight showed him to be a man -of about sixty years of age, tall, wiry, well-proportioned; his head -was bald, with a fringe of grayish hair, his forehead broad, his eyes -deep-set, his mouth thin-lipped, and ascetic; he wore two little strips -of whisker, but his chin was closely shaved. He was dressed in high -stiff shirt-collars, a blue-silk neckerchief with white dots, in which -gleamed a carbuncle pin; a gray overcoat, under which was a cutaway -riding-coat, high waistcoat with onyx buttons, and tight-fitting -cord-trousers. This was George Brakespere, third Earl Beauport, of whom -and of whose family it behoves one to speak in detail. - -They were _novi homines_, the Brakesperes, though they always claimed -to be sprung from ancient Norman blood. Only seventy years ago old -Martin Brakespere was a wool-stapler in Uttoxeter; and though highly -respected for the wealth he was reported to have amassed, was very much -jeered at privately, and with bated breath, for keeping an apocryphal -genealogical tree hanging up in his back-shop, and for invariably -boasting, after his second glass of grog at the Greyhound, about his -lineage. But when, after old Martin had been some score years quietly -resting in Uttoxeter churchyard, his son Sir Richard Brakespere, who -had been successively solicitor and attorney general, was raised to -the peerage, and took his seat on the woolsack as Baron Beauport, Lord -High Chancellor of England, the Herald's College, and all the rest of -the genealogical authorities, said that the line was thoroughly made -out and received the revival of the ancient title with the greatest -laudation. A wiry, fox-headed, thin chip of a lawyer, the first Baron -Beauport, as knowing as a ferret, and not unlike one in the face. He -administered the laws of his country very well, and he lent some of the -money he had inherited from his father to the sovereign of his country -and the first gentleman in Europe at a very high rate of interest, it -is said. Rumour reports that he did not get all his money back again, -taking instead thereof an increase in rank, and dying, at an advanced -age, as Earl Beauport, succeeded in his title and estates by his only -son, Theodore Brakespere, by courtesy Viscount Caterham. - -When his father died, Lord Caterham, the second Earl Beauport, was -nearly fifty years old, a prim little gentleman who loved music and -wore a wig; a dried-up chip of a little man, who lived in a little -house in Hans Place with an old servant, a big violoncello, and a -special and peculiar breed of pug-dogs. To walk out with the pug-dogs -in the morning, to be carefully dressed and tittivated and buckled and -curled by the old servant in the afternoon, and either to play the -violoncello in a Beethoven or Mozart selection with some other old -amateur fogies, or to be present at a performance of chamber-music, or -philharmonics, or oratorio-rehearsals in the evening, constituted the -sole pleasure of the second Earl Beauport's life. He never married; and -at his death, some fifteen years after his father's, the title and, -with the exception of a few legacies to musical charities, the estates -passed to his cousin George Brakespere, Fellow of Lincoln College, -Oxon, and then of Little Milman Street, Bedford Row, and the Northern -Circuit, briefless barrister. - -Just in the very nick of time came the peerage and the estates to -George Brakespere, for he was surrounded by duns, and over head and -ears in love. With all his hard work at Oxford, and he had worked hard, -he had the reputation of being the best bowler at Bullingdon, and the -hardest rider after hounds; of having the best old port and the finest -cigars (it was before the days of claret and short pipes), and the best -old oak furniture, library of books, and before-letter proofs in the -University. All these could not be paid for out of an undergraduate's -income; and the large remainder of unpaid bills hung round him and -plagued him heavily long after he had left Oxford and been called to -the bar. It was horribly up-hill work getting a connection among the -attorneys; he tried writing for reviews, and succeeded, but earned -very little money. And then, on circuit, at an assize-ball, he fell in -love with Gertrude Carrington, a haughty county beauty, only daughter -of Sir Joshua Carrington, Chairman of Quarter Sessions; and that -nearly finished him. Gertrude Carrington was very haughty and very -wilful; she admired the clever face and the bold bearing of the young -barrister; but in all probability she would have thought no more of -him, had not the eminent Sir Joshua, who kept his eyes very sharply -about him, marked the flirtation, and immediately expressed his total -disapproval of it. That was enough for Gertrude, and she at once went -in for George Brakespere, heart and soul. She made no objection to -a clandestine correspondence, and responded regularly and warmly to -George's passionate letters. She gave him two or three secret meetings -under an old oak in a secluded part of her father's park,--Homershams -was a five-hours' journey from town,--and these assignations always -involved George's sleeping at an inn, and put him to large expense; and -when she came up to stay with her cousins in town, she let him know -all the parties to which they were going, and rendered him a mendicant -for invitations. When the change of fortune came, and George succeeded -to the title, Sir Joshua succumbed at once, and became anxious for -the match. Had George inherited money only, it is probable that from -sheer wilfulness Gertrude would have thrown him over; but the notion of -being a countess, of taking precedence and pas of all the neighbouring -gentry, had its influence, and they were married. Two sons were born -to them,--Viscount Caterham and the Hon. Lionel Brakespere,--and a -daughter, who only survived her birth a few weeks. As Earl Beauport, -George Brakespere retained the energy and activity of mind and body, -the love of exercise and field-sports, the clear brain and singleness -of purpose, which had distinguished him as a commoner: but there was -a skeleton in his house, whose bony fingers touched his heart in his -gayest moments, numbed his energies, and warped his usefulness; whose -dread presence he could not escape from, whose chilling influence nor -wine, nor work, nor medicine, nor gaiety, could palliate. It was ever -present in a tangible shape; he knew his weakness and wickedness in -permitting it to conquer him,--he strove against it, but vainly; and -in the dead watches of the night often he lay broad awake railing -against the fate which had mingled so bitter an ingredient in his cup -of happiness. - -The door swung open and the Countess entered, a woman nearly fifty -now, but not looking her age by at least eight years. A tall handsome -woman, with the charms of her former beauty mellowed but not impaired; -the face was more full, but the firm chiselling of the nose and lips, -the brightness of the eyes, the luxurious dark gloss of the hair, were -there still. As she entered, her husband advanced to meet her; and as -he touched her forehead with his lips, she laid her hand on his, and -asked "What news?" - -He shook his head sadly, and said, "The worst." - -"The worst!" she repeated, faintly; "he's not dead? Beauport, you--you -would not say it in that way--he's not dead?" - -"I wish to God he were!" said Lord Beauport through his teeth. "I wish -it had pleased God to take him years and years ago! No! he's not dead." -Then throwing himself into a chair, and staring vacantly at the fire, -he repeated, "I wish to God he were!" - -"Anything but that!" said the Countess, with a sense of immense relief; -"anything but that! whatever he has done may be atoned for, and -repented, and--But what has he done? where is he? have you seen Mr. -Farquhar?" - -"I have--and I know all. Gertrude, Lionel is a scoundrel and a -criminal--no, don't interrupt me! I myself have prosecuted and -transported men for less crimes than he has committed; years ago he -would have been hanged. He is a forger!" - -"A forger!" - -"He has forged the names of two of his friends--old brother officers; -Lord Hinchenbrook is one, and young Latham the other--to bills for five -thousand pounds. I've had the bills in my hands, and seen letters from -the men denying their signatures to-night, and--" - -"But Lionel--where is he? in prison?" - -"No; he saw the crash coming, and fled from it. Farquhar showed me a -blotted letter from him, written from Liverpool, saying in a few lines -that he had disgraced us all, that he was on the point of sailing under -a feigned name for Australia, and that we should never see him again." - -"Never see him again! my boy, my own darling boy!" and Lady Beauport -burst into an agony of tears. - -"Gertrude," said her husband, when the first wild storm of grief had -subsided, "calm yourself for one instant." - -He rang the bell, and to the servant answering it, said: - -"Tell Lord Caterham I wish to speak to him, and beg Miss Maurice to be -good enough to step here." - -Lady Beauport was about to speak, but the Earl said coldly: - -"I wish it, if you please;" and reiterated his commands to the servant, -who left the room. "I have fully decided, Gertrude, on the step I am -about to take. To-morrow those forged bills will be mine. I saw young -Latham at Farquhar's, and he said--" Lord Beauport's voice shook -here--"said everything that was kind and noble; and Hinchenbrook has -said the same to Farquhar. It--it cannot be kept quiet, of course. -Every club is probably ringing with it now; but they will let me have -the bills. And from this moment, Gertrude, that boy's name must never -be uttered, save in our prayers--in our prayers for his forgiveness -and--and repentance--by you, his mother; by me his father,--nor by any -one in this house. He is dead to us for ever!" - -"Beauport, for Heaven's sake--" - -"I swear it, Gertrude, I swear it! and most solemnly will keep the -oath. I have sent for Caterham, who must know, of course; his good -sense will approve what I have done; and for Annie, she is part of our -household now, and must be told. Dead to us all henceforth; dead to us -all!" - -He sank into a chair opposite the fire and buried his face in his -hands, but roused himself at advancing footsteps. The door opened, and -a servant entered, pushing before him a library-chair fitted on large -wheels, in which sat a man of about thirty, of slight spare frame, with -long arms and thin womanly hands--a delicately-handsome man, with a -small head, soft grey eyes, and an almost feminine mouth; a man whom -Nature had intended for an Apollo, whom fortune had marked for her -sport, blighting his childhood with some mysterious disease for which -the doctors could find neither name nor cure, sapping his marrow and -causing his legs to wither into the shrunken and useless members which -now hung loosely before him utterly without strength, almost without -shape, incapable of bearing his weight, and rendering him maimed, -crippled, blasted for life. This was Viscount Caterham, Earl Beauport's -eldest son, and heir to his title and estates. His father cast one -short, rapid glance at him as he entered, and then turned to the person -who immediately followed him. - -This was a tall girl of two-and-twenty, of rounded form and winning -expression. Her features were by no means regular; her eyes were brown -and sleepy; she had a pert inquisitive nose; and when she smiled, in -her decidedly large mouth gleamed two rows of strong white teeth. Her -dark-brown hair was simply and precisely arranged; for she had but a -humble opinion of her own charms, and objected to any appearance of -coquetry. She was dressed in a tight-fitting black silk, with linen -collar and cuffs, and her hands and feet were small and perfectly -shaped. Darling Annie Maurice, orphan daughter of a second cousin of -my lord's, transplanted from a suburban curacy to be companion and -humble friend of my lady, the one bright bit of sunshine and reality in -that palace of ghastly stucco and sham. Even now, as she came in, Lord -Beauport seemed to feel the cheering influence of her presence, and his -brow relaxed for an instant as he stepped forward and offered his hand; -after taking which, she, with a bow to the Countess, glided round and -stood by Lord Caterham's chair. - -Lord Caterham was the first to speak. - -"You sent for us--for Annie and me, sir," he said in a low tremulous -voice; "I trust you have no bad news of Lionel." - -Lady Beauport hid her face in her hands; but the Earl, who had resumed -his position against the mantelpiece, spoke firmly. - -"I sent for you, Caterham, and for you, Annie, as members of my family, -to tell you that Lionel Brakespere's name must never more be mentioned -in this house. He has disgraced himself, and us through him; and though -we cannot wipe away that disgrace, we must strive as far as possible to -blot him out from our memories and our lives. You know, both of you--at -least you, Caterham, know well enough,--what he has been to me--the -love I had for him--the--yes, my God, the pride I had in him!" - -His voice broke here, and he passed his hand across his eyes. In the -momentary pause Annie Maurice glanced up at Lord Caterham, and marked -his face distorted as with pain, and his head reclining on his chest. -Then, gulping down the knot rising in his throat, the Earl continued: - -"All that is over now; he has left the country, and the chances are -that we shall never see nor even hear from him again." A moan from -the Countess shook his voice for a second, but he proceeded: "It was -to tell you this that I sent for you. You and I, Caterham, will have -to enter upon this subject once more to-morrow, when some business -arrangements have to be made. On all other occasions, recollect, it is -tabooed. Let his name be blotted out from our memories, and let him be -as if he had never lived." - -As Earl Beauport ceased speaking he gathered himself together and -walked towards the door, never trusting himself to look for an instant -towards where his wife sat cowering in grief, lest his firmness should -desert him. Down the stairs he went, until entering his library he shut -the door behind him, locked it, and throwing himself into his chair, -leant his head on the desk, and covering it with his hands gave way -to a passion of sobs which shook his strong frame as though he were -convulsed. Then rising, he went to the book-case, and taking out a -large volume, opened it, and turned to the page immediately succeeding -the cover. It was a big old-fashioned Bible, bound in calf, with a -hideous ancient woodcut as a frontispiece representing the Adoration -of the Wise Men; but the page to which Lord Beauport turned, yellow -with age, was inscribed in various-coloured inks, many dim and faded, -with the names of the old Brakespere family, and the dates of their -births, marriages, and deaths. Old Martin Brakespere's headed the list; -then came his son's, with "created Baron Beauport" in the lawyer's -own skimpy little hand, in which also was entered the name of the -musical-amateur peer, his son; then came George Brakespere's bold entry -of his own name and his wife's, and of the names of their two sons. -Over the last entry Lord Beauport paused for a few minutes, glaring at -it with eyes which did not see it, but which had before them a chubby -child, a bright handsome Eton boy, a dashing guardsman, a "swell" -loved and petted by all, a fugitive skulking in an assumed name in the -cabin of a sea-tossed ship; then he took up a pen and ran it through -the entry backwards and forwards until the name was completely blotted -out; and then he fell again into his train of thought. The family -dinner-hour was long since passed; the table was laid, all was ready, -and the French cook and the grave butler were in despair: but Lord -Beauport still sat alone in his library with old Martin Brakespere's -Bible open before him. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. -ON THE DOORSTEP. - - -It is cheap philosophy to moralise on the importance of events led up -to by the merest trifles; but the subject comes so frequently before -us as to furnish innumerable pegs whereon the week-day preacher may -hang up his little garland of reflections, his little wreath of homely -truisms. If Ned Waldron had not been crossing into the Park at the -exact moment when the shortsighted Godalming banker was knocked down -by the hansom at the Corner, he would have still been enjoying eighty -pounds a-year as a temporary extra-clerk at Whitehall, instead of -groaning over the villanous extortion of the malt-tax, as a landed -proprietor of some thousands of inherited acres. If Dr. Weston's -red-lamp over the surgery-door had been blown out when the servant -rushed off for medical advice for Master Percy Buckmaster's ear-ache, -the eminent apothecary would never have had the chance of which he -so skilfully availed himself--of paying dutiful attention to Mrs. -Buckmaster, and finally stepping into the shoes of her late husband, -the wealthy Indian indigo-planter. - -If Geoffrey Ludlow, dashing impetuously onward in his career, had not -heard that long low heart-breaking moan, he might have gone on leading -his easy, shiftless, drifting life, with no break greater than the -excitement consequent on the sale of a picture or the accomplishment -of a resolution. But he _did_ hear it, and, rare thing in him, acting -at once on his first impulse, he dropped on his knees just in time to -catch the fainting form in his outstretched arms. That same instant -he would have shrunk back if he could; but it was too late; that same -instant there came across him a horrible feeling of the ludicrousness -of his position: there at midnight in a London thoroughfare holding -in his arms--what! a drunken tramp, perhaps; a vagrant well known to -the Mendicity Society; a gin-sodden streetwalker, who might requite -his good Samaritanism with a leer and a laugh, or an oath and a -blow. And yet the groan seemed to come from the lowest depths of a -wrung and suffering heart; and the appearance--no, there could be no -mistake about that. That thin, almost emaciated, figure; those pinched -features; drawn, haggard, colourless cheeks; that brow, half hidden by -the thick, damp, matted hair, yet in its deep lines and indentations -revealing the bitter workings of the mind; the small thin bony hands -now hanging flaccid and motionless--all these, if there were anything -real in this life, were outward semblances such as mere imposters could -not have brought forward in the way of trade. - -Not one of them was lost on Geoffrey Ludlow, who, leaning over the -prostrate figure, narrowly scanned its every feature, bent his face -towards the mouth, placed his hands on the heart, and then, thoroughly -alarmed, looked round and called for aid. Perhaps his excitement had -something to do with it, but Geoff's voice fell flat and limp on the -thick damp air, and there was no response, though he shouted again and -again. But presently the door whence he had issued opened widely, and -in the midst of a gush of tobacco smoke a man came out, humming a song, -twirling a stick, and striding down the street. Again Geoffrey Ludlow -shouted, and this time with success, for the newcomer stopped suddenly, -took his pipe from his mouth, and turning hist-doo head towards the -spot whence the voice proceeded, he called out, simply but earnestly, -"Hallo there! what's the row?" - -Ludlow recognised the speaker at once. It was Charley Potts, and -Geoffrey hailed him by name. - -"All right!" said Charley in return. "You've picked up my name fast -enough, my pippin; but that don't go far. Better known than trusted is -your obedient servant, C. P. Hallo, Geoff, old man, is it you? Why, -what the deuce have you got there? an 'omeless poor, that won't move -on, or a----- By George, Geoff, this is a bad case!" He had leant over -the girl's prostrate body, and had rapidly felt her pulse and listened -at her heart. "This woman's dying of inanition and prostration. I know -it, for I was in the red-bottle and Plaster-of-Paris-horse line before -I went in for Art. She must be looked to at once, or she'll slip off -the hooks while we're standing by her. You hold on here, old man, while -I run back and fetch the brandy out of Dabb's room; I know where he -keeps it. Chafe her hands, will you, Geoff? I shan't be a second." - -Charley Potts rushed off, and left Geoffrey still kneeling by the -girl's side. In obedience to his friend's instructions, he began -mechanically to chafe her thin worn hands; but as he rubbed his own -over them to and fro, to and fro, he peered into her face, and wondered -dreamily what kind of eyes were hidden behind the drooped lids, and -what was the colour of the hair hanging in dank thick masses over the -pallid brow. Even now there began to spring in his mind a feeling of -wonder not unmixed with alarm, as to what would be thought of him, -were he discovered in his then position; whether his motives would be -rightly construed; whether he were not acting somewhat indiscreetly -in so far committing himself: for Geoffrey Ludlow had been brought up -in the strict school of dire respectability, where a lively terror -of rendering yourself liable to Mrs. Grundy's remarks is amongst the -doctrines most religiously inculcated. But a glance at the form before -him gave him fresh assurance; and when Charley Potts returned he found -his friend rubbing away with all his energy. - -"Here it is," said Charley; "Dabb's particular. I know it's first-rate, -for Dabb only keeps it medicinally, taking Sir Felix Booth Bart. as his -ordinary tipple. I know this water-of-life-of-cognac of old, sir, and -always have internal qualms of conscience when I go to see Dabb, which -will not be allayed until I have had what Caniche calls a suspicion. -Hold her head for a second, Geoff, while I put the flask to her mouth. -There! Once more, Geoff. Ah! I thought so. Her pulse is moving now, old -fellow, and she'll rouse in a bit; but it was very nearly a case of -Walker." - -"Look at her eyes--they're unclosing." - -"Not much wonder in that, is there, my boy? though it is odd, perhaps. -A glass of brandy has made many people shut their eyes before now; but -as to opening them--Hallo! steady there!" - -He said this as the girl, her eyes glaring straight before her, -attempted to raise herself into an erect position, but after a faint -struggle dropped back, exclaiming feebly: - -"I cannot, I cannot." - -"Of course you can't, my dear," said Charley Potts, not unkindly; "of -course you can't. You musn't think of attempting it either. I say, -Geoff,"--(this was said in a lower tone)--"look out for the policeman -when he comes round, and give him a hail. Our young friend here must -be looked after at once, and he'd better take her in a cab to the -workhouse." - -As he said the last words, Geoffrey Ludlow felt the girl's hand which -he held thrill between his, and, bending down, thought he saw her lips -move. - -"What's the matter?" said Charley Potts. - -"It's very strange," replied Geoffrey; "I could swear I heard her say -'Not there!' and yet--" - -"Likely enough been there before, and knows the treatment. However, we -must get her off at once, or she'll go to grief; so let us--" - -"Look here, Charley: I don't like the notion of this woman's going to -a workhouse, specially as she seems to--object, eh? Couldn't we--isn't -there any one where we could--where she could lodge for a night or two, -until--the doctor, you know--one might see? Confound it all, Charley, -you know I never can explain exactly; can't you help me, eh?" - -"What a stammering old idiot it is!" said Charley Potts, laughing. -"Yes, I see what you mean--there's Flexor's wife lives close by, in -Little Flotsam Street--keeps a lodging-house. If she's not full, this -young party can go in there. She's all right now so far as stepping -it is concerned, but she'll want a deal of looking after yet. O, by -Jove! I left Rollit in at the Titians, the army-doctor, you know, who -sketches so well. Let's get her into Flexor's, and I'll fetch Rollit to -look at her. Easy now! Up!" - -They raised her to her feet, and half-supported, half-carried her round -the church and across the broad road, and down a little bystreet on -the other side. There Charley Potts stopped at a door, and knocking at -it, was soon confronted by a buxom middle-aged woman, who started with -surprise at seeing the group. - -"Lor, Mr. Potts! what can have brought you 'ere, sir? Flexor's not come -in, sir, yet--at them nasty Titiums, he is, and joy go with him. If -you're wanting him, sir, you'd better--" - -"No, Mrs. Flexor, we don't want your husband just now. Here's Mr. -Ludlow, who--" - -"Lord, and so it is! but seeing nothing but the nape of your neck, sir, -I did not recognise--" - -"All right, Mrs. Flexor," said Geoffrey; "we want to know if your -house is full. If not, here is a poor woman for whom we--at least Mr. -Potts--and I myself, for the matter of that--" - -"Stuttering again, Geoff! What stuff! Here, Mrs. Flexor, we want a room -for this young woman to sleep in; and just help us in with her at once -into your parlour, will you? and let us put her down there while I run -round for the doctor." - -It is probable that Mrs. Flexor might have raised objections to this -proposition; but Charley Potts was a favourite with her, and Geoffrey -Ludlow was a certain source of income to her husband; so she stepped -back while the men caught up their burden, who all this time had been -resting, half-fainting, on Geoffrey's shoulder, and carried her into -the parlour. Here they placed her in a big, frayed, ragged easy-chair, -with all its cushion-stuffing gone, and palpable bits of shaggy wool -peering through its arms and back; and after dragging this in front of -the expiring fire, and bidding Mrs. Flexor at once prepare some hot -gruel, Charley Potts rushed away to catch Dr. Rollit. - -And now Geoffrey Ludlow, left to himself once more (for the girl was -lying back in the chair, still with unclosing eyes, and had apparently -relapsed into a state of stupor), began to turn the events of the -past hour in his mind, and to wonder very much at the position in -which he found himself. Here he was in a room in a house which he had -never before entered, shut up with a girl of whose name or condition -he was as yet entirely ignorant, of whose very existence he had only -just known; he, who had always shirked anything which afforded the -smallest chance of adventure, was actually taking part in a romance. -And yet--nonsense! here was a starving wanderer, whom he and his friend -had rescued from the street; an ordinary every-day case, familiar in a -thousand phases to the relieving-officers and the poor-law guardians, -who, after her certain allowance of warmth, and food, and physic, would -start off to go--no matter where, and do--no matter what. And yet he -certainly had not been deceived in thinking of her faint protest when -Charley proposed to send her to the workhouse. She had spoken then; and -though the words were so few and the tone so low, there was something -in the latter which suggested education and refinement. Her hands too, -her poor thin hands, were long and well-shaped, with tapering fingers -and filbert-nails, and bore no traces of hard work: and her face--ah, -he should be better able to see her face now. - -He turned, and taking the flaring candle from the table, held it above -her head. Her eyes were still closed; but as he moved, they opened -wide, and fixed themselves on him. Such large, deep-violet eyes, with -long sweeping lashes! such a long, solemn, stedfast gaze, in which his -own eyes were caught fast, and remained motionless. Then on to his -hand, leaning on the arm of the chair, came the cold clammy pressure -of feeble fingers; and in his ear, bent and listening, as he saw a -fluttering motion of her lips, murmured very feebly the words, "Bless -you!--saved me!" twice repeated. As her breath fanned his cheek, -Geoffrey Ludlow's heart beat fast and audibly, his hand shook beneath -the light touch of the lithe fingers; but the next instant the eyelids -dropped, the touch relaxed, and a tremulousness seized on the ashy -lips. Geoffrey glanced at her for an instant, and was rushing in alarm -to the door, when it opened, and Charley Potts entered, followed by a -tall grave man, in a long black beard, whom Potts introduced as Dr. -Rollit. - -"You're just in time," said Geoffrey; "I was just going to call for -help. She--" - -"Pardon me, please," said the doctor, calmly pushing him on one side. -"Permit me to--ah!" he continued, after a glance--"I must trouble you -to leave the room, Potts, please, and take your friend with you. And -just send the woman of the house to me, will you? There is a woman, I -suppose?" - -"O yes, there is a woman, of course.--Here, Mrs. Flexor, just step up, -will you?--Now, Geoff, what are you staring at, man? Do you think the -doctor's going to eat the girl? Come on old fellow; we'll sit on the -kitchen-stairs, and catch blackbeetles to pass the time. Come on!" - -Geoff roused himself at his friend's touch, and went with him, but in -a dreamy sullen manner. When they got into the passage, he remained -with outstretched ear, listening eagerly; and when Charley spoke, he -savagely bade him hold his tongue. Mr. Potts was so utterly astonished -at this conduct, that he continued staring and motionless, and merely -gave vent to his feelings in one short low whistle. When the door -was opened, Geoffrey Ludlow strode down the passage at once, and -confronting the doctor, asked him what news. Dr. Rollit looked his -questioner steadily in the eyes for a moment; and when he spoke his -tone was softer, his manner less abrupt than before. "There is no -special danger, Mr. Ludlow," said he; "though the girl has had a narrow -escape. She has been fighting with cold and want of proper nourishment -for days, so far as I can tell." - -"Did she say so?" - -"She said nothing; she has not spoken a word." Dr. Rollit did not fail -to notice that here Geoffrey Ludlow gave a sigh of relief. "I but judge -from her appearance and symptoms. I have told this good person what to -do; and I will look round early in the morning. I live close by. Now, -goodnight." - -"You are sure as to the absence of danger?" - -"Certain." - -"Goodnight; a thousand thanks!--Mrs. Flexor, mind that your patient has -every thing wanted, and that I settle with you.--Now, Charley, come; -what are you waiting for?" - -"Eh?" said Charley. "Well, I thought that, after this little -excitement, perhaps a glass out of that black bottle which I know Mrs. -Flexor keeps on the second shelf in the right-hand cupboard--" - -"Get along with you, Mr. Potts!" said Mrs. Flexor, grinning. - -"You know you do Mrs. F.--a glass of that might cheer and not -inebriate.--What do you say, Geoff?" - -"I say no! You've had quite enough; and all Mrs. Flexor's attention is -required elsewhere.--Goodnight, Mrs. Flexor; and"--by this time they -were in the street--"goodnight, Charley." - -Mr. Potts, engaged in extracting a short-pipe from the breast-pocket of -his pea-jacket, looked up with an abstracted air, and said, "I beg your -pardon." - -"Goodnight, Charley." - -"Oh, certainly, if you wish it. Goodnight, Geoffrey Ludlow, Esquire; -and permit me to add, Hey no nonny! Not a very lucid remark, perhaps, -but one which exactly illustrates my state of mind." And Charley Potts -filled his pipe, lit it, and remained leaning against the wall, and -smoking with much deliberation until his friend was out of sight. - -Geoffrey Ludlow strode down the street, the pavement ringing -under his firm tread, his head erect, his step elastic, his whole -bearing sensibly different even to himself. As he swung along he -tried to examine himself as to what was the cause of his sudden -light-heartedness; and at first he ascribed it to the sale of his -picture, and to the warm promises of support he had received at -the hands of Mr. Stompff. But these, though a few hours since they -had really afforded him the greatest delight, now paled before the -transient glance of two deep-violet eyes, and the scarcely-heard murmur -of a feeble voice. "'Bless you!--saved me!' that's what she said!" -exclaimed Geoff, halting for a second and reflecting. "And then the -touch of her hand, and the--ah! Charley was right! Hey no nonny is the -only language for such an ass as I'm making of myself." So home through -the quiet streets, and into his studio, thinking he would smoke one -quiet pipe before turning in. There, restlessness, inability to settle -to any thing, mad desire to sketch a certain face with large eyes, a -certain fragile helpless figure, now prostrate, now half-reclining on -a bit of manly shoulder; a carrying-out of this desire with a bit of -crayon on the studio-wall, several attempts, constant failure, and -consequent disgust. A feeling that ought to have been pleasure, and -yet had a strong tinge of pain at his heart, and a constant ringing of -one phrase, "'Bless you!--saved me!" in his ears. So to bed; where he -dreamt he saw his name, Geoffrey Ludlow, in big black letters at the -bottom of a gold frame, the picture in which was Keat's "Lamia;" and -lo! the Lamia had the deep-violet eyes of the wanderer in the streets. - - - - -CHAPTER V. -THE LETTER. - - -The houses in St. Barnabas Square have an advantage over most -other London residences in the possession of a "third room" on the -ground-floor. Most people who, purposing to change their domicile, -have gone in for a study of the _Times_ Supplement or the mendacious -catalogues of house-agents, have read of the "noble dining-room, snug -breakfast-room, and library," and have found the said breakfast-room -to be about the size and depth of a warm-bath, and the "library" a -soul-depressing hole just beyond the glazed top of the kitchen-stairs, -to which are eventually relegated your old boots, the bust of the -friend with whom since he presented it you have had a deadly quarrel, -some odd numbers of magazines, and the framework of a shower-bath -which, in a moment of madness, you bought at a sale and never have been -able to fit together. - -But the houses in St. Barnabas Square have each, built over what in -other neighbourhoods is called "leads,"--a ghastly space where the -cats creep stealthily about in the daytime, and whence at night they -yowl with preternatural pertinacity,--a fine large room, devoted in -most instances to the purposes of billiards, but at Lord Beauport's -given up entirely to Lord Caterham. It had been selected originally -from its situation on the ground-floor giving the poor crippled lad -easy means of exit and entrance, and preventing any necessity for his -being carried--for walking was utterly impossible to him--up and down -stairs. It was _his_ room; and there, and there alone, he was absolute -master; there he was allowed to carry out what his mother spoke of -as his "fads," what his father called "poor Caterham's odd ways." -His brother, Lionel Brakespere, had been in the habit of dropping in -there twice or three times a-week, smoking his cigar, turning over -the "rum things" on the table, asking advice which he never took, and -lounging round the room, reading the backs of the books which he did -not understand, and criticising the pictures which he knew nothing -about. It would have been impossible to tell to what manner of man the -room belonged from a cursory survey of its contents. Three-fourths of -the walls were covered with large bookcases filled with a heterogeneous -assemblage of books. Here a row of poets, a big quarto Shakespeare in -six volumes, followed by _Youatt on the Horse, Philip Van Artevelde_, -and Stanhope's _Christian Martyr_. In the next shelf Voltaire, all -the Tennysons, _Mr. Sponge's Sporting-Tour_, a work on Farriery, -and _Blunt on the Pentateuch_. So the _melange_ ran throughout the -bookshelves; and on the fourth wall, where hung the pictures, it was -not much better. For in the centre were Landseer's "Midsummer-Night's -Dream," where that lovely Titania, unfairy-like if you please, but -one of the most glorious specimens of pictured womanhood, pillows her -fair face under the shadow of that magnificent ass's head; and Frith's -"Coming of Age," and Delaroche's "Execution of Lady Jane Grey," and -three or four splendid proof-engravings of untouchable Sir Joshua; -and among them, dotted here and there, hunting-sketches by Alken, and -coaching bits from Fores. Scattered about on tables were pieces of lava -from Vesuvius, photographs from Pompeii, a collection of weeds and -grasses from the Arctic regions (all duly labelled in the most precise -handwriting), a horse's shoe specially adapted for ice-travelling, -specimens of egg-shell china, a box of gleaming carpenter's tools, -boxes of Tunbridge ware, furs of Indian manufacture, caricature -statuettes by Danton, a case of shells, and another of geological -specimens. Here stood an easel bearing a half-finished picture, in one -corner was a sheaf of walking-sticks, against the wall a rack of whips. -Before the fire was a carved-oak writing-desk, and on it, beside the -ordinary blotting and writing materials, wee an aneroid barometer, a -small skeleton clock, and a silver handbell. And at it sat Viscount -Caterham, his head drooping, his face pale, his hands idly clasped -before him. - -Not an unusual position this with him, not unusual by any means when -he was alone. In such society as he forced himself to keep--for with -him it was more than effort to determine occasionally to shake off -his love of solitude, to be present amongst his father's guests, and -to receive some few special favourites in his own rooms--he was more -than pleasant, he was brilliant and amusing. Big, heavy, good-natured -guardsmen, who had contributed nothing to the "go" of the evening, -and had nearly tugged off their tawny beards in the vain endeavour to -extract something to say, would go away, and growl in deep bas voices -over their cigars about "that strordinary fler Caterham. Knows a lot, -you know, that f'ler, 'bout all sorts things. Can't 'ceive where picks -it all up; and as jolly as old boots, by Jove!" - -Old friends of Lord Beauport's, now gradually dropping into fogiedom, -and clutching year by 672 year more tightly the conventional prejudices -instilled into them in early life, listened with elevated eyebrows -and dropping jaws to Lord Caterham's outspoken opinions, now clothed -in brilliant tropes, now crackling with smart antithesis, but always -fresh, earnest, liberal, and vigorous; and when they talked him over -in club-windows, these old boys would say that "there was something in -that deformed fellow of Beauport's, but that he was all wrong; his mind -as warped as his body, by George!" And women,--ah, that was the worst -of all,--women would sit and listen to him on such rare occasions as he -spoke before them, sit many of them steadfast-eyed and ear-attentive, -and would give him smiles and encouraging glances, and then would float -away and talk to their next dancing-partner of the strange little man -who had such odd ideas, and spoke so--so unlike most people, you know. - -He knew it all, this fragile, colourless, delicate cripple, bound for -life to his wheelchair, dependent for mere motion on the assistance -of others; a something apart and almost without parallel, helpless -as a little child, and yet with the brain, the heart, the passions -of a man. No keener observer of outward show, no clearer reader of -character than he. From out his deep-set melancholy eyes he saw the -stare of astonishment, sometimes the look of disgust, which usually -marked a first introduction to him; his quick ear caught the would-be -compassionate inflection of the voice addressing him on the simplest -matters; he knew what the old fogies were thinking of as they shifted -uneasily in their chairs as he spoke; and he interpreted clearly enough -the straying glances and occasional interjections of the women. He knew -it all, and bore it--bore it as the cross is rarely borne. - -Only three times in his life had there gone up from his lips a wail -to the Father of mercies, a passionate outpouring of his heart, a -wild inquiry as to why such affliction had been cast upon him. But -three times, and the first of these was when he was a lad of eighteen. -Lord Beauport had been educated at Charterhouse, where, as every one -knows, Founder's Day is kept with annual rejoicings. To one of these -celebrations Lord Beauport had gone, taking Lord Caterham with him. The -speeches and recitations were over, and the crowd of spectators were -filing out into the quadrangle, when Lord Caterham, whose chair was -being wheeled by a servant close by his father's side, heard a cheery -voice say, "What, Brakespere! Gad, Lord Beauport, I mean! I forgot. -Well, how are you, my dear fellow? I haven't seen you since we sat on -the same form in that old place." Lord Caterham looked up and saw his -father shaking hands with a jolly-looking middle-aged man, who rattled -on--"Well, and you've been in luck and are a great gun! I'm delighted -to hear it. You're just the fellow to bear your honours bravely. O -yes, I'm wonderfully well, thank God. And I've got my boy here at the -old shop, doing just as we used to do, Brakespere--Beauport, I mean. -I'll introduce you. Here, Charley!" calling to him a fine handsome -lad; "this is Lord Beauport, an old schoolfellow of mine. And you, -Beauport,--you've got children, eh?" - -"O yes," said Lord Beauport--"two boys." - -"Ah! that's right. I wish they'd been here; I should have liked to have -seen them." The man rattled on, but Lord Caterham heard no more. He had -heard enough. He knew that his father was ashamed to acknowledge his -maimed and crippled child--ashamed of a comparison between the stalwart -son of his old schoolfellow and his own blighted lad; and that night -Lord Caterham's pillow was wet with tears, and he prayed to God that -his life might be taken from him. - -Twice since then the same feelings had been violently excited; but -the sense of his position, the knowledge that he was a perpetual -grief and affliction to his parents, was ever present, and pervaded -his very being. To tell truth, neither his father nor his mother ever -outwardly manifested their disappointment or their sorrow at the -hopeless physical state of their firstborn son; but Lord Caterham read -his father's trouble in thousands of covert glances thrown towards the -occupant of the wheeled chair, which the elder man thought were all -unmarked, in short self-suppressed sighs, in sudden shiftings of the -conversation when any subject involving a question of physical activity -or muscular force happened to be touched upon, in the persistent way -in which his father excluded him from those regular solemn festivities -of the season, held at certain special times, and at which he by right -should certainly have been present. - -No man knew better than Lord Beauport the horrible injustice he was -committing; he felt that he was mutely rebelling against the decrees of -Providence, and adding to the affliction already mysteriously dispensed -to his unfortunate son by his treatment. He fought against it, but -without avail; he could not bow his head and kiss the rod by which he -had been smitten. Had his heir been brainless, dissipated, even bad, -he could have forgiven him. He did in his heart forgive his second son -when he became all three; but that he, George Brakespere, handsome -Brakespere, one of the best athletes of the day, should have to own -that poor misshapen man as his son and heir!--it was too much. He tried -to persuade himself that he loved his son; but he never looked at him -without a shudder, never spoke of him with unflushed cheeks. - -As for Lady Beauport, from the time that the child's malady first was -proclaimed incurable, she never took the smallest interest in him, but -devoted herself, as much as devotion was compatible with perpetual -attendance at ball, concert, and theatre, to her second son. As a -child, Lord Caterham had, by her express commands, been studiously kept -out of her sight; and now that he was a man, she saw very much less of -him than of many strangers. A dozen times in the year she would enter -his room and remain a few minutes, asking for his taste in a matter of -fancy-costume, or something of the kind; and then she would brush his -forehead with her lips, and rustle away perfectly satisfied with her -manner of discharging the duties of maternity. - -And Lord Caterham knew all this; read it as in a book; and suffered, -and was strong. Who know most of life, discern character most readily, -and read it most deeply? We who what we call "mix in the world," hurry -hither and thither, buffeting our way through friends and foes, taking -the rough and the smooth, smiling here, frowning there, but ever -pushing onward? Or the quiet ones, who lie by in the nooks and lanes, -and look on at the strife, and mark the quality and effect of the blows -struck; who see not merely how, but why the battle has been undertaken; -who can trace the strong and weak points of the attack and defence, see -the skirmishers thrown out here, the feigned retreat there, the mine -ready prepared in the far distance? How many years had that crippled -man looked on at life, standing as it were at the gates and peering -in at the antics and dalliances, the bowings and scrapings, the mad -moppings and idiotic mowings of the puppets performing? And had he not -arrived during this period at a perfect knowledge of how the wires were -pulled, and what was the result? - -Among them but not of them, in the midst of the whirl of London but -as isolated as a hermit, with keen analytical powers, and leisure and -opportunity to give them full swing, Lord Caterham passed his life -in studying the lives of other people, in taking off the padding and -the drapery, the paint and the tinsel, in looking behind the grins, -and studying the motives for the sneers. Ah, what a life for a man to -pass! situated as Lord Caterham was, he must under such circumstances -have become either a Quilp or an angel. The natural tendency is to the -former: but Providence had been kind in one instance to Lord Caterham, -and he, like Mr. Disraeli, went in for the angel. - -His flow of spirits was generally, to say the least of it, equable. -When the dark hour was on him he suffered dreadfully; but this morning -he was more than usually low, for he had been pondering over his -brother's insane downfall, and it was with something like real pleasure -that he heard his servant announce "Mr. Barford," and gave orders for -that gentleman's admittance. - -The Honourable Algernon Barford by prescriptive right, but "Algy -Barford" to any one after two days' acquaintance with him, was one of -those men whom it is impossible not to call by their Christian names; -whom it is impossible not to like as an acquaintance; whom it is -difficult to take into intimate friendship; but with whom no one ever -quarrelled. A big, broad-chested, broad-faced, light-whiskered man, -perfectly dressed, with an easy rolling walk, a pleasant presence, a -way of enarming and "old boy-ing" you, without the least appearance of -undue familiarity; on the contrary, with a sense of real delight in -your society; with a voice which, without being in the least affected, -or in the remotest degree resembling the tone of the stage-nobleman, -had the real swell ring and roll in it; a kindly, sunny, chirpy, -world-citizen, who, with what was supposed to be a very small income, -lived in the best society, never borrowed or owed a sovereign, and -was nearly always in good temper. Algy Barford was the very man to -visit you when you were out of spirits. A glance at him was cheering; -it revived one at once to look at his shiny bald forehead fringed -with thin golden hair, at his saucy blue eyes, his big grinning mouth -furnished with sparkling teeth; and when he spoke, his voice came -ringing out with a cheery music of its own. - -"Hallo, Caterham!" said he, coming up to the chair and placing one of -his big hands on the occupant's small shoulder; "how goes it, my boy? -Wanted to see you, and have a chat. How are you, old fellow, eh? Where -does one put one's hat, by the way, dear old boy? Can't put it under my -seat, you know, or I should think I was in church; and there's no place -in this den of yours; and--ah, that'll do, on that lady's head. Who is -it? O, Pallas Athene; ah, very well then, _non invita Minerva_, she'll -support my castor for me. Fancy my recollecting Latin, eh? but I think -I must have seen it on somebody's crest. Well, and now, old boy, how -are you?" - -"Well, not very brilliant this morning, Algy. I--" - -"Ah, like me, got rats, haven't you?" - -"Rats?" - -"Yes; whenever I'm out of spirits I think I've got rats--sometimes -boiled rats. Oh, it's all very well for you to laugh, Caterham; but you -know, though I'm generally pretty jolly, sometimes I have a regular -file-gnawing time of it. I think I'll take a peg, dear old boy--a -sherry peg--just to keep me up." - -"To be sure. Just ring for Stevens, will you? he'll--" - -"Not at all; I recollect where the sherry is and where the glasses -live. _Nourri dans le serail, j'en connais les detours_. Here they are. -Have a peg, Caterham?" - -"No, thanks, Algy; the doctor forbids me that sort of thing. I take no -exercise to carry it off, you know; but I thought some one told me you -had turned teetotaller." - -"Gad, how extraordinarily things get wind, don't you know! So I did, -honour!--kept to it all strictly, give you my word, for--ay, for a -fortnight; but then I thought I might as well die a natural death, -so I took to it again. This is the second peg I've had to-day--took -number one at the Foreign Office, with my cousin Jack Lambert. You know -Jack?--little fellow, short and dirty, like a winter's day." - -"I know him," said Caterham, smiling; "a sharp fellow." - -"O yes, deuced cute little dog--knows every thing. I wanted him to -recommend me a new servant--obliged to send my man away--couldn't stand -him any longer--always worrying me." - -"I thought he was a capital servant?" - -"Ye-es; knew too much though, and went to too many -evening-parties--never would give me a chance of wearing my own black -bags and dress-boots--kept 'em in constant requisition, by Jove! A -greedy fellow too. I used to let him get just outside the door with -the breakfast-things, and then suddenly call him back; and he never -showed up without his mouth full of kidney, or whatever it was. And -he always would read my letters--before I'd done with them, I mean. -I'm shortsighted, you know, and obliged to get close to the light: he -was in such a hurry to find out what they were about, that he used to -peep in through the window, and read them over my shoulder. I found -this out; and this morning I was ready for him with my fist neatly -doubled-up in a thick towel. I saw his shadow come stealing across the -paper, and then I turned round and let out at him slap through the -glass. It was a gentle hint that I had spotted his game; and so he -came in when he had got his face right, and begged me to suit myself -in a month, as he had heard of a place which he thought he should like -better. Now, can you tell me of any handy fellow, Caterham?" - -"Not I; I'm all unlikely to know of such people. Stay, there was a man -that--" - -"Yes; and then you stop. Gad, you are like the rest of the world, old -fellow: you have an _arriere pensee_ which prevents your telling a -fellow a good thing." - -"No, not that, Algy. I was going to say that there was a man who was -Lionel's servant. I don't know whether he has got another place; but -Lionel, you know--" and Lord Caterham stopped with a knot in his throat -and burning cheeks. - -"I know, dear old boy," said Algy Barford, rising from his seat and -again placing his hand on Caterham's shoulder; "of course I know. -You're too much a man of the world"--(Heaven help us! Caterham a man -of the world! But this was Algy Barford's pleasant way of putting -it)--"not to know that the clubs rang with the whole story last night. -Don't shrink, old boy. It's a bad business; but I never heard such -tremendous sympathy expressed for a--for a buffer--as for Lionel. Every -body says he must have been no end cornered before he--before he--well, -there's no use talking of it. But what I wanted to say to you is -this,--and I'm deuced glad you mentioned Lionel's name, old fellow, for -I've been thinking all the time I've been here how I could bring it in. -Look here! he and I were no end chums, you know; I was much older than -he; but we took to each other like any thing, and--and I got a letter -from him from Liverpool with--with an enclosure for you, old boy." - -Algy Barford unbuttoned his coat as he said these last words, took a -long breath, and seemed immensely relieved, though he still looked -anxiously towards his friend. - -"An enclosure for me?" said Lord Caterham, turning deadly white; "no -further trouble--no further misery for--" - -"On my honour, Caterham, I don't know what it is," said Algy Barford; -"he doesn't hint it in his letter to me. He simply says, 'Let the -enclosed be given to Caterham, and given by your own hand.' He -underlines that last sentence; and so I brought it on. I'm a bungling -jackass, or I should have found means to explain it myself, by Jove! -But as you have helped me, so much the better." - -"Have you it with you?" - -"O yes; brought it on purpose," said Algy, rising and taking his coat -from a chair, and his hat from the head of Pallas Athene; "here it is. -I don't suppose anything from poor Lionel can be very brilliant just -now; but still, I know nothing. Goodby, Caterham, old fellow; can't -help me to a servant-man, eh? See you next week; meantime,--and this -earnest, old boy,--if there's anything I can do to help Lionel in any -shape, you'll let me know, won't you, old fellow?" - -And Algy Barford handed Lord Caterham the letter, kissed his hand, and -departed in his usual airy, cheery fashion. - -That night Lord Caterham did not appear at the dinner-table; and his -servant, on being asked, said that his master "had been more than usual -queer-like," and had gone to bed very early. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. -THE FIRST VISIT. - - -Geoffrey Ludlow was in his way a recognisant and a grateful man, -grateful for such mercies as he knew he enjoyed; but from never -having experienced its loss, he was not sufficiently appreciative -of one of the greatest of life's blessings, the faculty of sleep at -will. He could have slept, had he so willed it, under the tremendous -cannonading, the _feu-d'enfer_, before Sebastopol, or while Mr. -Gladstone was speaking his best speech, or Mr. Tennyson was reading -aloud his own poetry; whenever and wherever he chose he could sleep -the calm peaceful sleep of an infant. Some people tell you they are -too tired to sleep--that was never the case with Geoffrey; others that -their minds are too full, that they are too excited, that the weather -is too hot or too cold, that there is too much noise, or that the very -silence is too oppressive. But, excited or comatose, hot or cold, in -the rumble of London streets or the dead silence of--well, he had never -tried the Desert, but let us say Walton-on-the-Naze, Geoffrey Ludlow -no sooner laid his head on the pillow than he went off into a sound, -glorious, healthy sleep--steady, calm, and peaceful; not one of your -stertorous, heavy, growling slumbers, nor your starting, fly-catching, -open-mouthed, moaning states, but a placid, regular sleep, so quiet and -undisturbed that he scarcely seemed to breathe; and often as a child -had caused his mother to examine with anxiety whether the motionless -figure stretched upon the little bed was only sleeping naturally, or -whether the last long sleep had not fallen on it. - -Dreams he had, no doubt; but they by no means disturbed the refreshing, -invigorating character of his repose. On the night of his adventure -in the streets, he dreamt the Lamia dream without its in the least -affecting his slumber; and when he opened his eyes the next morning, -with the recollection of where he was, and what day it was, and what he -had to do--those post-waking thoughts which come to all of us--there -came upon him an indefinable sensation of something pleasurable and -happy, of something bright and sunshiny, of something which made his -heart feel light within him, and caused him to open his eyes and -grapple with the day at once. - -Some one surely must long ere this have remarked how our manner of -waking from slumber is affected by our state of mind. The instant that -consciousness comes upon us, the dominant object of our thoughts, -be it pleasant or horrible, is before us: the absurd quarrel with -the man in the black beard last night, about--what _was_ it about? -the acceptance which Smith holds, which must be met, and can't be -renewed; the proposal in the conservatory to Emily Fairbairn, while -she was flushed with the first _valse_ after supper, and we with Mrs. -Tresillian's champagne;--or, _per contra_, as they say in the City, the -thrilling pressure of Flora Maitland's hand, and the low whisper in -which she gave us rendezvous at the Botanical Fete this afternoon the -lawyer's letter informing us of our godfather's handsome legacy;--all -these, whether for good or ill, come before us with the first unclosing -of our eyelids. If agreeable we rouse ourselves at once, and lie -simultaneously chewing the cud of pleasant thoughts and enjoying the -calm haven of our bed; if objectionable, we try and shut them out yet -for a little while, and turning round court sleep once more. - -What was the first thought that flashed across Geoffrey Ludlow's brain -immediately on his waking, and filled him with hope and joy? Not the -remembrance of the purchase of his picture by Mr. Stompff, though -that certainly occurred to him, with Stompff's promises of future -employment, and the kind words of his old friends at the Titians, all -floating simultaneously across his mind. But with these thoughts came -the recollection of a fragile form, and a thin hand with long lithe -fingers wound round his own, and a low feeble voice whispering the -words "Bless you!--saved me!" in his listening ear. - -Beneath the flickering gas-lamps, or in the dim half-light of Mrs. -Flexor's room, he had been unable to make out the colour of the eyes, -or of the thick hair which hung in heavy masses over her cheeks; it -was a spiritual recollection of her at the best; but he would soon -change that into a material inspection. So, after settling in his own -mind--that mind which coincides so readily with our wishes--that it was -benevolence which prompted his every action, and which roused in him -the desire to know how the patient of the previous night was getting -on, he sprang from his bed, and pulled the string of his shower-bath -with an energy which not even the knowledge of the water's probable -temperature could mitigate. But he had not proceeded half-way through -his toilet, when the old spirit of irresolution began to exercise its -dominion over him. Was it not somewhat of a Quixotic adventure in which -he was engaging? To succour a starving frozen girl on a wet night was -merely charitable and humane; there was no man of anything like decent -feeling but would have acted as he had done, and--by George!--here the -hair-brushes were suspended in mid-air, just threatening a descent one -on either side of his bushy head--wouldn't it have been better to have -accepted Charley Pott's suggestion, and let the policeman take her to -the workhouse? There she would have had every attention and--bah! every -attention! the truckle-bed in a gaunt bare room, surrounded by disease -in every shape; the perfunctory visits of the parish-doctor; the--O no! -and, moreover, had he not heard, or at all events imagined he heard, -the pallid lips mutter "Not there!" No! there was something in her -which--which--at all events--well, _ruat caelum_, it was done, and he -must take the consequences; and down came the two hair-brushes like two -avalanches, and worried his unresisting scalp like two steam-harrows. -The recollection of the fragile frame, and the thin hands, and the -broken voice, supported by the benevolent theory, had it all their own -way from that time out, until he had finished dressing, and sent him -downstairs in a happy mood, pleased with what he had done, more pleased -still with the notion of what he was about to do. He entered the room -briskly, and striding up to an old lady sitting at the head of the -breakfast-table, gave her a sounding kiss. - -"Goodmorning, dearest mother.--How do, Til, dear?" turning to a young -woman who was engaged in pouring out the tea. "I'm late again, I see." - -"Always on sausage mornings, I notice, Geoffrey," said Mrs. Ludlow, -with a little asperity. "It does not so much matter with haddock, -though it becomes leathery; or eggs, for you like them hard; but -sausages should be eaten hot, or not at all; and to-day, when -I'd sent specially for these, knowing that nasty herb-stuffing -is indigestible--let them deny it if they can--it does seem hard -that--well, never mind--" - -Mrs. Ludlow was a very good old lady, with one great failing: she was -under the notion that she had to bear what she called "a cross," a most -uncomfortable typical object, which caused all her friends the greatest -annoyance, but in which, though outwardly mournful, she secretly -rejoiced, as giving her a peculiar status in her circle. This cross -intruded itself into all the social and domestic details of her life, -and was lugged out metaphorically on all possible occasions. - -"Don't mind me, mother," said Geoff; "the sausages will do splendidly. -I overslept myself; I was a little late last night." - -"O, at those everlasting Titians.--I declare I forgot," said the young -woman who had been addressed as "Til," and who was Geoffrey's only -sister. "Ah, poor fellow! studying his art till two this morning, -wasn't he?" And Miss Til made a comic sympathetic _moue_, which made -Geoff laugh. - -"Two!" said Mrs. Ludlow; "nearer three, Matilda. I ought to know, for I -had water running down my back all night, and my feet as cold as stone; -and I had a perfect recollection of having left the key of the linen -closet in the door, owing to my having been hurried down to luncheon -yesterday when I was giving Martha out the clean pillowcases. However, -if burglars do break into that linen-closet, it won't be for my not -having mentioned it, as I call you to witness, Matilda." - -"All right, mother," said Geoffrey; "we'll run the risk of that. I'm -very sorry I disturbed the house, but I _was_ late, I confess; but I -did some good, though." - -"O yes, Geoffrey, we know," said Matilda. "Got some new notions for a -subject, or heard some aesthetic criticism; or met some wonderful lion, -who's going to astonish the world, and of whom no one ever hears again! -You always have done something extraordinary when you're out very late, -I find." - -"Well, I did something really extraordinary last night. I sold my -picture the 'Ballroom,' you know; and for what do you think?--two -hundred pounds." - -"O, Geoff, you dear, darling old Geoff! I am so glad! Two hundred -pounds! O, Geoff, Geoff! You dear, lucky old fellow!" and Miss Till -flung her arms round her brother's neck and hugged him with delight. -Mrs. Ludlow said never a word; but her cross melted away momentarily, -her eyes filled with tears, and her lips quivered. Geoffrey noticed -this, and so soon as he had returned his sister's hearty embrace, he -went up to his mother, and kneeling by her side, put up his face for -her kiss. - -"God bless you, my son!" said the old lady reverently, as she gave it; -"God bless you! This is brave news, indeed. I knew it would come in -time; but--" - -"Yes; but tell us all about it, Geoff. How did it come about? and -however did you pluck up courage, you dear, bashful, nervous old thing, -to ask such a price?" - -"I--why, Til, you know that I--and you, dear mother, you know too -that--not that I am bashful, as Til says; but still there's something. -O, I should never have sold the picture, I believe, if I'd been let -alone. It was Charley Potts sold it for me." - -"Charles Potts! That ridiculous young man! Well, I should never have -thought it," said Mrs. Ludlow. - -Miss Matilda said nothing, but a faint flush rose on her neck and -cheeks, and died away again as quickly as it came. - -"O, he's a capital man of business--for anybody else, that's to say. -He don't do much good for himself. He sold the picture for me, and -prevented my saying a word in the whole affair. And who do you think -has bought it? Mr. Stompff, the great dealer, who tells me he'll take -as many more of the same style as I like to paint." - -"This is great news, indeed, my boy," said the old lady. "You've only -to persevere, and your fortune's made. Only one thing, Geoffrey,--never -paint on Sunday, or you'll never become a great man." - -"Well but, mother," said Geoff, smiling, "Sir Joshua Reynolds painted -always on Sundays until Johnson's death and he was a great man." - -"Ah, well, my dear," replied his mother forcibly, if not logically, -"that's nothing to do with it." - -Then Geoffrey, who had been hurrying through his sausage, and towards -the last began to grow nervous and fidgety--accounted for by his -mother and sister from his anxiety to go and see Mr. Stompff, and at -once fling himself on to fresh canvases--finished his breakfast, and -went out to get his hat. Mrs. Ludlow, with her "cross" rapidly coming -upon her, sat down to "do the books,"--an inspection of the household -brigade of tradesmen's accounts which she carried on weekly with the -sternest rigour; and Matilda, who was by no means either a romantic -or a strong-minded woman commenced to darn a basketful of Geoffrey's -socks. Then the sock-destroyer put his head in at the door, his mouth -ornamented with a large cigar, and calling out "Goodbye," departed on -his way. - -The fragile form, the thin hands, and the soft low voice had it all -their own way with Geoffrey Ludlow now. He was going to see their -owner; in less than an hour he should know the colour of the eyes and -the hair; and figuratively Geoffrey walked upon air; literally, he -strode along with bright eyes and flushed cheeks, swinging his stick, -and, but for the necessity of clenching his cigar between his teeth, -inclined to hum a tune aloud. He scarcely noticed any of the people he -met; but such as he did casually glance at he pitied from the bottom -of his soul: there were no thin hands or soft voices waiting for them. -And it must be owned that the passers-by who noticed him returned his -pity. The clerks on the omnibuses, sucking solemnly at their briar-root -pipes, or immersed in their newspapers, solemn staid men going in "to -business," on their regular daily routine, looked up with wonder on -this buoyant figure, with its black wideawake hat and long floating -beard, its jerky walk, its swinging stick, and its general air of -light-hearted happiness. The cynical clerks, men with large families, -whom nothing but an increase of salary could rouse, interchanged -shoulder-shrugs of contempt, and the omnibus-conductor, likewise a -cynic, after taking a long stare at Geoffrey, called out to his driver, -"'Appy cove that! looks as if he'd found a fourpennypiece, don't he?" - -Entirely ignorant of the attention he was attracting, Geoff blithely -pursued his way. He lived at Brompton, and he was bound for the -neighbourhood of Portland Place; so he turned in at the Albert Gate, -and crossing the enclosure and the Row, made for Grosvenor Gate. In the -Park he was equally the object of remark: the nurse-girls called their -charges to come "to heel" out of the way of that "nasty ugly big man;" -the valetudinarians taking their constitutional in the Row loathed -him for swinging his stick and making their horses shy as he passed; -the park-keepers watched him narrowly, as one probably with felonious -intent to the plants or the ducks. - -Still, utterly unconscious, Geoffrey went swinging along across -Grosvenor Square, down Brook Street; and not until he turned into Bond -Street did he begin to realise entirely the step he was about to take. -Then he wavered, in mind and in gait; he thought he would turn back: -he did turn back, irresolute, doubtful. Better have nothing more to -do with it; nip it in the bud; send Charley Potts with a couple of -sovereigns to Mrs. Flexor's, and tell her to set the girl on her way -again, and wish her God-speed. But what if she were still ill, unable -to move? people didn't gain sufficient strength in twelve hours; and -Charley, though kind-hearted, was rather _brusque_; and then the low -voice, with the "Bless you!--saved me!" came murmuring in his ear; and -Geoffrey, like Whittington, turned again, and strode on towards Little -Flotsam Street. - -When he got near Flexor's door, he faltered again, and very nearly -gave in: but looking up, saw Mrs. Flexor standing on the pavement; and -perceiving by her manner that his advent had been noticed, proceeded, -and was soon alongside that matron. - -"Good morning, Mrs. Flexor." - -"Good momin', sir; thought you'd be over early, though not lookin' -for you now, but for Reg'las, my youngest plague, so called after Mr. -Scumble's Wictory of the Carthageniums, who has gone for milk for -some posset for our dear; who is much better this momin', the Lord a -mussy! Dr. Rollix have been, and says we may sit up a little, if taking -nourishment prescribed; and pleased to see you we shall be. A pretty -creetur, Mr. Ludlow, though thin as thin and low as low: but what can -we expect?" - -"She is better, then?" - -"A deal better, more herself like; though not knowing what she was -before, I can't exactly say. Flexor was fine and buffy when he came -home last night, after you was gone, sir. Them nasty Titiums, he always -gets upset there. And now he's gone to sit to Mr. Potts for--ah, well, -some Roman party whose name I never can remember." - -"Is your patient up, Mrs. Flexor?" - -"Gettin'. We shall be ready to see you in five minutes, sir. I'll go -and see to her at once." - -Mrs. Flexor retired, and Geoffrey was left to himself for a quarter of -an hour standing in the street, during which time he amused himself -as most people would under similar circumstances. That is to say, he -stared at the houses opposite and at the people who passed; and then -he beat his stick against his leg, and then he whistled a tune, and -then, having looked at his watch five times, he looked at it for the -sixth. Then he walked up the street, taking care to place his foot on -the round iron of every coal-shoot; and then he walked down the street, -carrying out a determination to step in the exact centre of every -flagstone; and then, after he had pulled his beard a dozen times, and -lifted his wideawake hat as many, that the air might blow upon his hot -forehead, he saw Mrs. Flexor's head protrude from the doorway, and he -felt very much inclined to run away. But he checked himself in time, -and entered the house, and, after a ghostly admonition from Mrs. Flexor -"not to hagitate her," he opened the parlour-door, which Mrs. Flexor -duly shut behind him, and entered the room. - -Little light ever groped its way between the closely-packed rows of -houses in Little Flotsam Street, even on the brightest summer day; -and on a dark and dreary winter's morning Mrs. Flexor's little front -parlour was horribly dark. The worthy landlady had some wild notion, -whence derived no one knew, that an immense amount of gentility was -derived from keeping the light out; and consequently the bottom parts -of her windows were fitted with dwarf wire-blinds, and the top parts -with long linen-blinds, and across both were drawn curtains made -of a kind of white fishing-net; so that even so little daylight as -Little Flotsam Street enjoyed was greatly diluted in the Flexorian -establishment. - -But Geoffrey Ludlow saw stretched out on a miserable black horsehair -sofa before him there this fragile form which had been haunting his -brain for the last twelve hours. Ah, how thin and fragile it was; -how small it looked, even in, its worn draggled black-merino dress! -As he advanced noiselessly, he saw that the patient slept; her head -was thrown back, her delicate white hands (and almost involuntarily -Geoffrey remarked that she wore no wedding-ring) were clasped across -her breast, and her hair, put off her dead-white face, fell in thick -clusters over her shoulders. - -With a professional eye Geoffrey saw at once that whatever trouble she -might have taken, she could not have been more artistically posed than -in this natural attitude. The expression of her eyes was wanting; and, -as he sunk into a chair at her feet, her eyes opened upon him. Then he -saw her face in its entirety; saw large deep-violet eyes, with dark -lashes and eyebrows; a thin, slightly aquiline nose; small thin close -lips, and a little chin; a complexion of the deadest white, without the -smallest colour and hair, long thick rich luxuriant hair, of a deep, -red-god colour--not the poetic "auburn," not the vulgar "carrots;" -a rich metallic red, unmistakable, admitting of no compromise, no -darkening by grease or confining by fixature--a great mass of deep-red -hair, strange, weird, and oddly beautiful. The deep-violet eyes, -opening slowly, fixed their regard on his face without a tremor, and -with a somewhat languid gaze; then brightening slowly, while the hands -were unclasped, and the voice--how well Geoff remembered its tones, and -how they thrilled him again!--murmured faintly, "It is you!" - -What is that wonderful something in the human voice which at once -proclaims the social status of the speaker? The proletary and the -_roturier_, Nature willing, can have as good features, grow as flowing -beards, be as good in stature, grace, and agility, as the noblest -patrician, or the man in whose veins flows the purest _sangre azul_; -but they fail generally in hands, always in voice. Geoffrey Ludlow, all -his weakness and irresolution notwithstanding, was necessarily by his -art a student of life and character; and no sooner did he hear those -three little words spoken in that tone, than all his floating ideas -of shamming tramp or hypocritical streetwalker, as connected with the -recipient of his last night's charity, died away, and he recognised at -once the soft modulations of education, if not of birth. - -But those three words, spoken in deep low quivering tones, while they -set the blood dancing in Geoffrey Ludlow's veins, made him at the same -time very uncomfortable. He had a dread of anything romantic; and there -flashed through his mind an idea that he could only answer this remark -by exclaiming, "Tis I!" or "Ay, indeed!" or something else equally -absurd and ridiculous. So he contented himself with bowing his head and -putting out his hand--into which the long lithe fingers came fluttering -instantly. Then with burning cheeks Geoffrey bent forward, and said, -"You are better to-day?" - -"Oh, so much--so much better! thanks to you, thanks to you!" - -"Your doctor has been?" She bowed her head in reply. - -"And you have everything you wish for?" She bowed again, this time -glancing up--with, O, such a light in the deep-violet eyes--into -Geoffrey's face! - -"Then--then I will leave you now," said he, awkwardly enough. The -glance fell as he said this; but flashed again full and earnest in -an instant; the lithe fingers wound round his wrist, and the voice, -even lower and more tremulously than before, whispered, "You'll come -to-morrow?" - -Geoff flushed again, stammered, "Yes, O, by all means!" made a clumsy -bow, and went out. - -Now this was a short, and not a particularly satisfactory, interview; -but the smallest detail of it remained in Geoffrey Ludlow's mind, and -was reproduced throughout the remainder of that day and the first -portion of the succeeding night, for him to ponder over. He felt the -clasp of her fingers yet on his wrist, and he heard the soft voice, -"You'll come to-morrow?" It must be a long distance, he thought, that -he would not go to gaze into those eyes, to touch that hand, to hear -that voice again! - - - - -CHAPTER VII. -CHEZ POTTS. - - -Mr. Potts lived in Berners Street, on the second floor of a rambling -big old-fashioned house, which in its palmy days had been inhabited by -people of distinction; and in which it was rumoured in the art-world -that the great Mr. Fuseli had once lived, and painted those horrors -which sprung from the nightmare consequent on heavy suppers of -pork-chops. But these were the days of its decadence, and each of its -floors had now a separate and distinct tenant. The ground-floor was -a kind of half showroom, half shop, held by Mr. Lectern, the great -church-upholsterer. Specimens of stained-glass windows, croziers, -and brass instruments like exaggerated beadles'-staves, gilt sets of -communion-service, and splendidly-worked altar-cloths, occupied the -walls; the visitor walked up to the desk at which Mr. Lectern presided -between groves of elaborately-carved pulpits and reading-desks, and -brazen eagles were extending their wings in every available corner. On -the first-floor Mdlle. Stetti gave lessons to the nobility, gentry, -and the public in general in the fashionable dances of the day, and -in the Magyar sceptre-exercises for opening the chest and improving -the figure. Mdlle. Stetti had a very large connection; and as many -of her pupils were adults who had never learned to dance while they -were supple and tender, and as, under the persevering tuition of -their little instructress, they gambolled in a cumbrous and rather -elephantine manner, they earned for themselves many hearty anathemas -from Mr. Potts, who found it impossible to work with anything like a -steady hand while the whole house was rocking under the influence of a -stout stockbroker doing the "changes," or while the walls trembled at -every bound of the fourteen-stone lady from Islington, who was being -initiated into the mysteries of the gavotte. But Charley Potts' pipe -was the only confidant of his growled anathemas, and on the whole -he got on remarkably well with his neighbours; for Mr. Lectern had -lent him bits of oak furniture to paint from; and once, when he was -ill, Mdlle. Stetti, who was the dearest, cheeriest, hardest-working, -best-tempered little creature in existence, had made him broths and -"goodies" with her own hand, and when he was well, had always a kind -word and a smile for him--and, indeed, revelled in the practical -humour and buffoonery of "_ce farceur_ Pott." For Mr. Potts was -nothing if not funny; the staircase leading to his rooms began to be -decorated immediately after you had passed Mdlle. Stetti's apartments; -an enormous hand, sketched in crayon, with an outstretched finger, -directed attention to an inscription--"To the halls of Potts!" Just -above the little landing you were confronted by a big beef-eater's -head, out of the mouth of which floated a balloon-like legend--"Walk -up, walk up, and see the great Potts!" The aperture of the letter-box -in the door formed the mouth in a capital caricatured head of Charley -himself; and instead of a bell-handle there hung a hare's-foot, beneath -which was gummed a paper label with a written inscription "Tug the -trotter." - -Three days after the gathering at the Titian Sketching-Club, Mr. -Potts sat in his studio, smoking a pipe, and glaring vacantly at a -picture on an easel in front of him. It was not a comfortable room; -its owner's warmest friend could not have asserted that. There was -no carpet, and the floor was begrimed with the dirt of ages, and -with spilt tobacco and trodden-in cigar-ash. The big window was half -stopped-up, and had no curtain. An old oak-cabinet against the wall, -surmounted by the inevitable plaster torso, and studies of hands -and arms, had lost one of its supporting feet, and looked as though -momentarily about to topple forward. A table in the middle of the room -was crowded with litter, amongst which a pewter-pot reared itself -conspicuously. Over an old sofa were thrown a big rough Inverness-cape, -a wideawake hat, and a thick stick; while on a broken, ragged, but -theatrically-tawdry arm-chair, by the easel, were a big palette already -"set," a colour-box, and a sheaf of brushes. Mr. Potts was dressed in -a shepherd's-plaid shooting coat, adorned here and there with dabs of -paint, and with semi-burnt brown patches, the result of the incautious -dropping of incandescent tobacco and vesuvians. He had on a pair of -loose rough trousers, red-morocco slippers without heels, and he wore -no neckcloth; but his big turned-down shirt-collar was open at the -throat. He wore no beard, but had a large sweeping Austrian moustache, -which curled fiercely at the ends; had thin brown hair, light blue -eyes, and the freshest and healthiest of complexions. No amount of -late hours, of drinking and smoking, could apparently have any effect -on this baby-skin; and under the influence of cold water and yellow -soap, both of which he used in large quantities, he seemed destined -to remain--so far as his complexion was concerned--"beautiful for -ever,"--or at least until long after Madame Rachel's clients had seen -the worthlessness of pigments. Looking at him as he sat there--his -back bent nearly double, his eyes fixed on his picture, his pipe fixed -stiffly between his teeth, and his big bony hands clasped in front -of him--there was no mistaking him for anything but a gentleman; -ill-dressed, slatternly, if you like; but a true gentleman, every inch -of him. - -The "trotter" outside being tugged with tremendous violence, roused -him from his reverie, and he got up and opened the door, saying, as -he did so, "Why didn't you ring? I would, if I'd been you. You're in -the bell-hanging line, I should think, by the way you jerked my wire. -Hollo, Bowker, my boy! is it you? What's the matter? Are you chivied by -a dun on the staircase, or fainting for a pull at the pewter, that you -come with such a ring as that? Bring your body in, old man; there's a -wind here enough to shave you." - -Mr. Bowker preceded his friend into the room, looked into the -pewter-pot, drained it, wiped his beard with a handkerchief; which -he took out of his hat, and said, in a solemn deep voice: "Potts, my -pipkin, how goes it?" - -"Pretty well, old man, pretty well--considering the weather. And you?" - -"Your William _se porte bien_. Hallo!" glancing at the easel, while -he took a pipe from his pocket and filled it from a jar on the table; -"hallo! something new! What's the subject? Who is the Spanish party in -tights? and what's the venerable buffer in the clerical get-up of the -period putting out his hand about?" - -"Oh, it's a scene from _Gil Blas_, where the Archbishop of Grenada -discharges him, you know." - -"No, I don't, and I don't want to hear; your William, dear boy, has -discovered that life is too short to have anything explained to him: -if he don't see it at first, he let's it pass. The young party's right -leg is out of drawing, my chick; just give your William a bit of chalk. -There--not being a patient at the Orthopaedic Hospital--that's where -his foot would come to. The crimson of the reverend gent's gown is -about as bad as anything Ive seen for a long time, dear boy. Hand over -the palette and brushes for two minutes. Your William is a rum old -skittle; but if there's one thing he knows about, it is colour." And -Charley, who knew that, with all his eccentricity, Mr. Bowker, or "your -William," as he always spoke of himself; was a thorough master of his -art, handed him what he required, and sat by watching him. - -A fat bald-headed man with a grizzled beard, a large paunch and flat -splay feet, badly dressed and not too clean, Mr. Bowker did not give -one the idea of ever having been an "object of interest" to any one -save the waiter at the tavern where he dined, or the tobacconist where -he bought his Cavendish. But yet there had been a day when bright eyes -grew brighter at his approach, tiny ears latticed with chestnut-hair -had eagerly drunk in the music of his voice, gentle hands had thrilled -beneath his touch. He had bright blue eyes himself then, and long -hair, and a slim figure. He was young Mr. Bowker, whose first pictures -exhibited at Somerset House had made such a sensation, and who was so -much noticed by Sir David Wilkie, and for whom Mr. Northcote prophesied -such a future, and whom Mr. Fuseli called a "coot prave poy!" He was -the young Mr. Bowker who was recommended by Sir Thomas Lawrence as -drawing-master to the lovely young wife of old Mr. Van Den Bosch, -the Dutch banker and financier long resident in London. He was "that -scoundrel Bowker, sir," who, being wildly romantic, fell head-over-ears -in love with his pupil; and finding that she was cruelly ill-treated by -the old ruffian her husband, ran away with her to Spain, and by that -rash act smashed-up his career and finally settled himself for ever. -Old Van Den Bosch got a divorce, and died, leaving all his money to -his nephews; and then William Bowker and the woman he had eloped with -returned to England, to find himself universally shunned and condemned. -His art was as good, nay a thousand times better than ever; but they -would not hear of him at the Royal Academy now; would not receive his -pictures; would not allow the mention of his name. Patrons turned their -backs on him, debts accumulated, the woman for whom he had sacrificed -everything died,--penitent so far as she herself was concerned, but -adoring her lover to the last, and calling down blessings on him with -her latest breath. And then William Bowker strove no more, but accepted -his position and sunk into what he was, a kindly, jolly, graceless -vagabond, doing no harm, but very little good. He had a little private -money on which he lived; and as time progressed, some of his patrons, -who found he painted splendidly and cheaply, came back to him and gave -him commissions; but he never again attempted to regain his status; -and so long as he had enough to supply his simple daily wants, seemed -content. He was a great favourite with some half-dozen young men of -Charley Potts's set, who had a real love and regard for him, and was -never so happy as when helping them with advice and manual assistance. - -Charley watched him at his work, and saw with delight the archbishop's -robe gradually growing all a-glow beneath the master's touch; and then, -to keep him in good-humour and amused, began to talk, telling him a -score of anecdotes, and finally asking him if he'd heard anything of -Tommy Smalt. - -"Tommy Smalt, sir?" cried Bowker, in his cheery voice; "Tommy Smalt, -sir, is in clover! Your William has been able to put Tommy on to -a revenue of at least thirty shillings a-week. Tommy is now the -right-hand man of Jacobs of Newman Street; and the best judges say that -there are no Ostades, Jan Steens, or Gerard Dows like Tommy's." - -"What do you mean?--copies?" - -"Copies! no, sir: originals." - -"Originals!" - -"Certainly! original Tenierses, of boors drinking; Wouvermanns, -not forgetting the white horse; or Jan Steens, with the -never-failing episode;--all carefully painted by Tommy Smalt and his -fellow-labourers! Ah, Jacobs is a wonderful man! There never was such -a fellow; he sticks at nothing; and when he finds a man who can do his -particular work, he keeps him in constant employment." - -"Well, but is the imposition never detected? Don't the pictures look -new?" - -"Oh, most verdant of youths, of course not! The painting is clobbered -with liquorice-water; and the varnish is so prepared that it cracks at -once; and the signature in the corner is always authentic; and there's -a genuine look of cloudy vacancy and hopeless bankruptcy about the -whole that stamps it at once to the connoisseur as the real thing. -Tommy's doing a 'Youth's Head' by Rembrandt now, which ought to get him -higher pay; it ought indeed. It's for a Manchester man. They're very -hot about Rembrandts at Manchester." - -"Well, you've put me up to a new wrinkle. And Jacobs lives by this?" - -"Lives by it! ay, and lives like a prince too. Mrs. J. to fetch him -every day in an open barouche, and coachman and footman in skyblue -livery, and all the little J.'s hanging over the carriage-doors, -rendering Newman Street dark with the shadow of their noses. Lives by -it! ay, and why not? There will always be fools in the world, thank -Heaven!--or how should you and I get on, Charley, my boy?--and so -long as people will spend money on what they know nothing about, for -the sake of cutting-out their friends, gaining a spurious reputation -for taste, or cutting a swell as 'patrons of the fine-arts,'--patrons -indeed! that word nearly chokes me!--it's quite right that they should -be pillaged and done. No man can love art in the same manner that he -can love pancakes. He must know something about it, and have some -appreciation of it. Now no man with the smallest knowledge would go -to Jacobs; and so I say that the lords and railway-men and cotton-men -who go there simply as a piece of duff--to buy pictures as they would -carpets--are deuced well served out. There! your William has not talked -so much as that in one breath for many a long day. The pewter's empty. -Send for some more beer, and let's have a damp; my throat's as dry as a -lime-burner's wig." - -Charley Potts took up the pewter-measure, and going on to the -landing outside the door, threw open the staircase-window, and gave -a shrill whistle. This twice repeated had some effect! for a very -much-be-ribboned young lady in the bar of the opposite public-house -looked up, and nodded with great complaisance; and then Charley, -having made a solemn bow, waved the empty quart-pot three times -round his head. Two minutes afterwards a bare-headed youth, with his -shirt-sleeves rolled up to his shoulders, crossed the road, carefully -bearing a pasteboard hat-box, with which he entered the house, and -which he delivered into Mr. Potts' hands. - -"Good boy, Richard I never forget the hat-box; come for it this -evening, and take back both the empty pewters in it.--It would never -do, Bowker, my boy, to have beer--vulgar beer, sir--in its native -pewter come into a respectable house like this. The pious parties, who -buy their rattletraps and properties of old Lectern down below, would -be scandalised; and poor little Mossoo woman Stetti would lose her -swell connection. So Caroline and I--that's Caroline in the bar, with -the puce-coloured ribbons--arranged this little dodge; and it answers -first-rate." - -"Ha--a!" said Mr. Bowker, putting down the tankard half-empty, and -drawing a long breath; "beer is to your William what what's-his-name -is to thingummy; which, being interpreted, means that he can't get on -without it. I never take a big pull at a pewter without thinking of our -Geoff. How is our Geoff?" - -"Our Geoff is--hush! some one coming up stairs. What's to-day? Friday. -The day I told the tailor to call. Hush!" - -The footsteps came creaking up the stairs until they stopped outside -Charley Potts' door, on which three peculiar blows were struck,--one -very loud, then two in rapid succession. - -"A friend!" said Charley, going to the door and opening it. "Pass, -friend, and give the countersign! Hallo, Flexor! is it you? I forgot -our appointment for this morning. Come in." - -It was, indeed, the great model, who, fresh-shaved, and with his hair -neatly poodled under his curly-brimmed hat, entered the room with a -swagger, which, when he perceived a stranger, he allowed to subside -into an elaborate bow. - -"Now then, Flexor, get to work! we won't mind my friend here; he knows -all this sort of game of old," said Charley; while Flexor began to -arrange himself into the position of the expelled secretary of the -archbishop. - -"Ay, and I know M. Flexor of old, that's another thing!" said Bowker, -with a deep chuckle, expelling a huge puff of smoke. - -"Do you, sir?" said Flexor, still rigid in the Gil-Bias position, and -never turning his head; "maybe, sir; many gents knows Flexor." - -"Yes; but many gents didn't know Flexor five-and-twenty years ago, when -he stood for Mercutio discoursing of Queen Mab." - -"Lor' a mussy!" cried Flexor, forgetting all about his duty, parting -the smoke with his hand and bending down to look into William's face. -"It's Mr. Bowker, and I ought to have knowed him by the voice. And how -are you, sir? hearty you look, though you'yve got a paucity of nobthatch, -and what ''ir you 'ave is that gray, you might be your own grandfather. -Why, I haven't seen you since you was gold-medallist at the 'cademy, -'cept once when you come with Mrs.----" - -"There, that'll do, Flexor! I'm alive still, you see; and so I see are -you. And your wife, is she alive?" - -"O yes, sir; but, Lord, how different from what you know'd her! None -of your Wenuses, nor Dalilys, nor Nell Gwyns now! she's growed stout -and cumbersome, and never sits 'cept some gent wants a Mrs. Primrose -in that everlastin' Wicar, or a old woman a-scoldin' a gal because she -wants to marry a poor cove, or somethin' in that line; and then I says, -'Well, Jane, you may as well earn a shillin' an hour as any one else,' -I says." - -"And you've been a model all these years, Flexor?" - -"Well, no sir--off and on; but Ive always come back to it. I was -a actor for three years; did Grecian stators,--Ajax defyin' the -lightnin'; Slave a-listenin' to conspirators; Boy a-sharpenin' his -knife, and that game, you know, in a cirkiss. But I didn't like it; -they're a low lot, them actors, with no feelin' for art. And then Iwas -a gentleman's servant; but that wouldn't do; they do dam' and cuss -their servants so, the gentlemen do, as I couldn't stand it; and I was -a mute." - -"A mute!--what, a funeral mute?" - -"Yes, sir; black-job business; and wery good that is,--plenty of -pleasant comp'ny and agreeable talk, and nice rides in the summer time -on the 'earses to all the pleasant simmetries in the suburbs! But in -the winter it's frightful! and my last job I was nearly killed. We had -a job at 'Ampstead, in the debth of snow; and it was frightful cold on -the top of the 'Eath. It was the party's good lady as was going to be -interred, and the party himself were frightful near; in fact, a reg'lar -screw. Well, me and my mate had been standin' outside the 'ouse-door -with the banners in our 'ands for an hour, until we was so froze we -could scarcely hold the banners. So I says, I won't stand no longer, I -says; and I gev a soft rap, and told the servant we must have a drop -of somethin' short, or we should be killed with cold. The servant goes -and tells her master, and what do you think he says? 'Drink!' he says. -'Nonsense!' he says; '_if they're cold, let 'em jump about and warm -'emselves_,' he says. Fancy a couple of mutes with their banners in -their 'ands a-jumpin' about outside the door just before the party was -brought out. So that disgusted me, and I gev it up, and come back to -the old game agen." - -"Now, Flexor," said Charley, "if you've finished your biography, get -back again." - -"All right, sir!" and again Flexor became rigid, as the student of -Santillane. - -"What were we talking of when Flexor arrived? O, I remember; I was -asking you about Geoff Ludlow. What of him?" - -"Well, sir, Geoff Ludlow has made a thundering _coup_ at last. The -other night at the Titians he sold a picture to Stompff for two hundred -pounds; more than that, Stompff promised him no end of commissions." - -"That's first-rate! Your William pledges him!" and Mr. Bowker finished -the stout. - -"He'll want all he can make, gentlemen," said Flexor, who, seeing the -pewter emptied, became cynical; "he'll want all he can make, if he goes -on as he's doin' now." - -"What do you mean?" asked Bowker. - -"He's in love, Mr. Ludlow is; that's wot I mean. That party--you know, -Mr. Potts--as you brought to our place that night--he's been to see -her every day, he has; and my missis says, from what she 'ave seen and -'eard--well, that's neither 'ere nor there," said Flexor, checking -himself abruptly as he remembered that the keyhole was the place whence -Mrs. Flexor's information had been derived. - -Charley Potts gave a loud whistle, and said, "The devil!" then turning -to Bowker, he was about to tell the story of the wet night's adventure, -but William putting up his finger warningly, grunted out "_Nachher!_" -and Charley, who understood German, ceased his chatter and went on with -his painting. - -When the sitting was over, and Flexor had departed, William Bowker -returned to the subject, saying, "Now, Charley, tell your William all -about this story of Geoff and his adventure." - -Charley Potts narrated it circumstantially, Bowker sitting grimly by -and puffing his pipe the while. When he had finished, Bowker never -spoke for full five minutes; but his brow was knit, and his teeth -clenched round his pipe. At length he said, "This is a bad business, so -far as I see; a devilish bad business! If the girl were in Geoff's own -station or if he were younger, it wouldn't so much matter; but Geoff -must be forty now, and at that age a man's deuced hard to turn from any -thing he gets into his head. Well, we must wait and see. I'd rather it -were you, Charley, by a mile; one might have some chance then. But you -never think of any thing of that sort, eh?" - -What made Charley Potts colour as he said, "Welt--not in Geoff's line, -at all events?" - -William Bowker noticed the flush, and said ruefully, "Ah, I see! Always -the way! Now let's go and get some beef or something to eat: I'm -hungry." - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. -THROWING THE FLY. - - -Mr. Flexor was by nature mendacious; indeed his employers used -pleasantly to remark, that when he did not lie, it was simply by -accident; but in what he had mentioned to Charley Potts about Geoffrey -Ludlow's visits to the nameless female then resident in his, Flexor's, -house, he had merely spoken the truth. To be sure there had been an -_arriere pensee_ in his remark; the fact being that Flexor objected -to matrimony as an institute amongst his patrons. He found that by an -artist in a celibate state beer was oftener sent for, donations of -cigars were more frequent, cupboards were more constantly unlocked, and -irregularities of attendance on his part, consequent on the frivolities -of the preceding night, were more easily overlooked, than when there -was a lady to share confidence and keys, and to regard all models, both -male and female, as "horrid creatures." But although Mr. Flexor had -spoken somewhat disparagingly of Geoffrey's frequent visits, and had -by his hints roused up a certain amount of suspicion in the breasts of -Charley Potts and that grim old cynic William Bowker, he was himself -far from knowing what real ground for apprehension existed, or how far -matters had progressed, at least with one of the parties concerned. - -For Geoffrey Ludlow was hard hit! In vain he attempted to argue with -himself that all he had done, was doing, and might do, was but prompted -by benevolence. A secret voice within him told him that his attempts at -self-deceit were of the feeblest, and that, did he but dare to confess -it, he knew that there was in this woman whom he had rescued from -starvation an attraction more potent than he had ever yet submitted to. -It was, it may be said, his duty to call and see how she was getting -on, to learn that she wanted for nothing, to hear from her own lips -that his orders for her comfort had been obeyed; but it was not his -duty to sit watching jealously every glance of her eye, every turn of -her head, every motion of her lithe fingers. It was _not_ his duty to -bear away with him recollections of how she sat when she said this or -answered that; of the manner in which, following a habit of hers, she -would push back the thick masses of her gleaming hair, and tuck them -away behind her pretty ears; or, following another habit, she would -drum petulantly on the floor with her little foot, when talking of -any thing that annoyed her--as, for instance, Mrs. Flexor's prying -curiosity. - -What was it that caused him to lie awake at night, tossing from side -to side on his hot pillow, ever before him the deep-violet eyes, the -pallid face set in masses of deep-red hair, the slight frail figure? -What was it that made his heart beat loudly, his breath come thickly, -his whole being tingle with a strange sensation--now ecstatic delight, -now dull blank misery? Not philanthropy, I trow. The superintendents -of boys' reformatories and refuges for the houseless poor may, in -thinking over what good they have achieved, enjoy a comfortable amount -of self-satisfaction and proper pride; but I doubt if the feeling -ever rises to this level of excitement. Not much wonder if Geoffrey -himself, suffering acutely under the disease, knew not, or refused to -avow to himself, any knowledge of the symptoms. Your darling child, -peacefully sleeping in his little bed, shall show here and there an -angry skin-spot, which you think heat or cold, or any thing else, -until the experienced doctor arrives, and with a glance pronounces it -scarlet-fever. Let us be thankful, in such a case, that the prostrate -patient is young. Geoffrey's was as dire a malady, and one which, -coming on at forty years of age, usually places the sufferer in a -perilous state. It was called Love; not the ordinary sober inclination -of a middle-aged man, not that thin line of fire quivering amongst a -heap of ashes which betokens the faded passion of the worn and sated -voluptuary; this was boy-love, calf-love, mad-spooniness--any thing -by which you can express the silliest, wildest, pleasantest, most -miserable phase of human existence. It never comes but once to any -one. The _caprices_ of the voluptuary are as like to each other as -peas or grains of sand; the platonic attachments or the sentimental -_liaisons_ indulged in by foolish persons of both sexes with nothing to -do may have some slight shade of distinction, but are equally wanting -in backbone and _vis_. Not to man or woman is it given to be ever -twice "in love"--a simple phrase, which means every thing, but needs -very little explanation. My readers will comprehend what I want to -convey, and will not require my feeble efforts in depicting the state. -Suffice it to say, that Geoffrey Ludlow, who had hitherto gone through -life scot-free, not because he was case-hardened, not because he was -infection-proof, or that he had run no risks, but simply from the -merest chance,--now fell a victim to the disease, and dropped powerless -before its attack. - -He did not even strive to make head against it much. A little of his -constitutional wavering and doubtfulness came into play for a short -time, suggesting that this passion--for such he must allow it--was -decidedly an unworthy one; that at present he knew nothing of the -girl's antecedents; and that her actual state did not promise much for -all she had to tell of what had gone before. At certain times too, -when things present themselves in their least roseate garb, notably on -waking in the morning, for instance, he allowed, to himself, that he -was making a fool of himself; but the confidence extended no farther. -And then, as the day grew, and the sun came out, and he touched up his -picture, and thought of the commissions Mr. Stompff had promised him, -he became brighter and more hopeful, and he allowed his thoughts to -feast on the figure then awaiting him in Little Flotsam Street, and he -put by his sheaf of brushes and his palette, and went up and examined -himself in the glass over the mantelpiece. He had caught himself doing -this very frequently within the last few days, and, half-chuckling -inwardly, had acknowledged that it was a bad sign. But though he -laughed, he tweaked out the most prominent gray hairs in his beard, -and gave his necktie a more knowing twist, and removed the dabs of -stray paint from his shooting-coat. Straws thrown up show which way the -wind blows, and even such little sacrifices to vanity as these were in -Geoffrey Ludlow very strong signs indeed. - -He had paid three visits to Little Flotsam Street; and on the -fourth morning, after a very poor pretence of work, he was at the -looking-glass settling himself preparatory to again setting out. Ever -since that midnight adventure after the Titians meeting, Geoffrey had -felt it impossible to take his usual daily spell at the easel, had not -done five-pounds' worth of real work in the whole time, had sketched-in -and taken out, and pottered, and smoked over his canvas, perfectly -conscious that he was doing no good, utterly unable to do any better. -On this fourth morning he had been even more unsuccessful than usual; -he was highly nervous; he could not even set his palette properly, and -by no manner of means could he apply his thoughts to his work. He had -had a bad night; that is, he had woke with a feeling that this kind -of penny-journal romance, wherein a man finds a starving girl in the -streets and falls desperately in love with her, could go on no longer -in London and in the nineteenth century. She was better now, probably -strong enough to get about; he would learn her history, so much of it -at least as she liked to tell; and putting her in some way of earning -an honest livelihood, take his leave of her, and dismiss her from his -thoughts. - -He arrived at this determination in his studio; he kept it as he -walked through the streets; he wavered horribly when he came within -sight of the door; and by the time he knocked he had resolved to let -matters take their chance, and to act as occasion might suggest. -It was not Mrs. Flexor who opened the door to him, but that worthy -woman's youngest plague, Reg'las, who, with a brown eruption -produced by liquorice round his lips, nodded his head, and calmly -invited the visitor, as he would have done any one else, to "go up -'tairs." Geoffrey entered, patted the boy's head, and stopped at the -parlour-door, at which he gave a low rap, and immediately turning the -handle, walked in. - -She was lying as usual on the sofa, immediately opposite the door; but, -what he had never seen before, her hair was freed from the confining -comb, and was hanging in full luxuriance over her shoulders. Great -heavens, how beautiful she looked! There had been a certain piquancy -and _chic_ in her appearance when her hair had been taken saucily off -her face and behind her ears; but they were nothing as compared to the -profound expression of calm holy resignation in that dead-white face -set in that deep dead-gold frame of hair. Geoff started when he saw -it; was it a Madonna of Raphael's, or a St. Teresa of Guido's, which -flashed across his mind? And as he looked she raised her eyes, and a -soft rosy flush spread over her face, and melted as quickly as it came. -He seated himself on a chair by her side as usual, and took her hand as -usual, the blood tingling in his fingers as he touched hers--as usual. -She was the first to speak. - -"You are very early this morning. I scarcely expected you so soon--as -you may see;" and with a renewed flush she took up the ends of her -hair, and was about to twist them up, when Geoffrey stopped her. - -"Leave it as it is," said he in a low tone; "it could not be better; -leave it as it is." - -She looked at him as he spoke; not a full straight glance, but through -half-closed lids; a prolonged gaze,--half-dreamy, half-intense; then -released her hair, and let it again fall over her shoulders in a rich -red cloud. - -"You are much better?" - -"Thanks to you, very much; thanks to you!" and her little hand came out -frankly, and was speedily swallowed up in his big palm. - -"No thanks at all; that is--well, you know. Let us change the subject. -I came to say--that--that--" - -"You hesitate because you are afraid of hurting my feelings. I think I -can understand. I have learnt the world--God knows in no easy school; -you came to say that I had been long enough a pensioner on your -charity, and now must make my own way. Isn't that it?" - -"No, indeed; not, that is not entirely what I meant. You see--our -meeting--so strange--" - -"Strange enough for London and this present day. You found me starving, -dying, and you took care of me; and you knew nothing of me--not even my -name--not even my appearance." - -There was a something harsh and bitter in her tone which Geoffrey had -never remarked before. It jarred on his ear; but he did not further -notice it. His eyes dropped a little as he said, "No, I didn't; I do -not know your name." - -She looked up at him from under her eyelids; and the harshness had all -faded out of her voice as she said, "My name is Margaret Dacre." She -stopped, and looked at him; but his face only wore its grave honest -smile. Then she suddenly raised herself on the sofa, and looking -straight into his face, said hurriedly, "You are a kind man, Mr. -Ludlow; a kind, generous, honourable man; there are many men would have -given me food and shelter--there are very few who would have done it -unquestioning, as you have." - -"You were my guest, Miss Dacre, and that was enough, though the -temptation was strong. How one evidently born and bred a lady could -have--" - -"Ah, now," said she, smiling fainting, "you are throwing off your -bonds, and all man's curiosity is at work." - -"No, on my honour; but--I don't know whether you know, but any one -acquainted with the world would see that--gad! I scarcely know how to -put it--but--fact is, that--people would scarcely understand--you must -excuse me, but--but the position, Miss Dacre!" and Geoff pushed his -hands through his hair, and knew that his cheeks were flaming. - -"I see what you mean," said she, "and you are only explaining what I -have for the last day or two felt myself; that the--the position must -be altered. But you have so far been my friend, Mr. Ludlow--for I -suppose the preserver of one's life is to be looked upon as a friend, -at all events as one actuated by friendly motives--that I must ask you -to advise me how to support it." - -"It would be impossible to advise unless--I mean, unless one knew, or -had some idea--what, in fact, one had been accustomed to." - -The girl sat up on the sofa, and this time looked him steadily in the -face for a minute or so. Then she said, in a calm unbroken voice, "You -are coming to what I knew must arise, to what is always asked, but what -I hitherto have always refused to tell. You, however, have a claim to -know--what I suppose people would call my history." Her thin lips were -tightly pressed and her nostrils curved in scorn as she said these -words. Geoffrey marked the change, and spoke out at once, all his usual -hesitation succumbing before his earnestness of purpose. - -"I have asked nothing," said he; "please to remember that; and further, -I wish to hear nothing. You are my guest for so long as it pleases -you to remain in that position. When you wish to go, you will do so, -regretted but certainly unquestioned." If Geoffrey Ludlow ever looked -handsome, it was at this moment. He was a little nettled at being -suspected of patronage, and the annoyance flushed his cheek and fired -his eyes. - -"Then I am to be a kind of heroine of a German fairytale; to appear, -to sojourn for a while--then to fade away and never to be heard of -ever after, save by the good fortune which I leave behind me to him -who had entertained an angel unawares. Not the last part of the story, -I fear, Mr. Ludlow; nor indeed any part of it. I have accepted your -kindness; I am grateful--God knows how grateful for it--and now, being -strong again--you need not raise your eyebrows; I am strong, am I not, -compared with the feeble creature you found in the streets?--I will -fade away, leaving gratitude and blessings behind me." - -"But what do you intend to do?" - -"Ah! there you probe me beyond any possibility of reply. I shall--" - -"I--I have a notion, Miss Dacre, just come upon me. It was seeing you -with your hair down--at least, I think it was--suggested it; but I'm -sure it's a good one. To sit, you know, as a model--of course I mean -your face, you know, and hair, and all that sort of thing, so much in -vogue just now; and so many fellows would be delighted to get studies -of you--the pre-Raphaelite fellows, you know; and it isn't much--the -pay, you know: but when one gets a connexion--and I'm sure that I could -recommend--O, no end of fellows." It was not that this was rather a -longer speech than usual that made Geoffrey terminate it abruptly; it -was the expression in Margaret Dacre's gray eyes. - -"Do you think I could become a model, Mr. Ludlow--at the beck and call -of every man who chose to offer me so much per hour? Would you wish -to see me thus?" and as she said the last words she knit her brows, -leaning forward and looking straight at him under her drooping lids. - -Geoffrey's eyes fell before that peculiar glance, and he pushed his -hands through his hair in sheer doubtful desperation. - -"No!" he said, after a minute's pause "it wouldn't do. I hadn't thought -of that. You see, I--O by Jove, another idea! You play? Yes, I knew you -did by the look of your hands! and talk French and German, I daresay? -Ah, I thought so! Well, you know, I give lessons in some capital -families--drawing and water-colour sketching--and I'm constantly asked -if I know of governesses. Now what's to prevent my recommending you?" - -"What, indeed? You have known me so long! You are so thoroughly -acquainted with my capabilities--so persuaded of my respectability!" - -The curved lips, the petulant nostril, the harsh bitter voice again! -Geoff winced under them. "I think you are a little prejudiced," he -began. "A little--" - -"A little nothing! Listen, Mr. Ludlow! You have saved me from death, -and you are kind enough to wish me, under your auspices, to begin life -again. Hear, first, what was my former life. Hear it, and then see the -soundness of your well-intentioned plans. My father was an infantry -captain, who was killed in the Crimea. After the news came of his -death, my mother's friends, wealthy tradespeople, raised a subscription -to pay her an annuity of 150_l_, on condition of her never troubling -them again. She accepted this, and she and I went to live for cheapness -at Tenby in Wales. There was no break in my life until two years since, -when I was eighteen years old. Up to that time, school, constant -practice at home (for I determined to be well educated), and attendance -on my mother, an invalid, formed my life. Then came the usual -character--without which the drama of woman's life is incomplete--a -man!" - -She hesitated for a moment, and looked up as Geoffrey Ludlow leaned -forward, breathing thickly through his nostrils; then she continued-- - -"This one was a soldier, and claimed acquaintance with a dead comrade's -widow; had his claim allowed, and came to us morning, noon, and night. -A man of the world, they called him; could sit and talk with my mother -of her husband's virtues and still-remembered name, and press my hand, -and gaze into my eyes, and whisper in my ear whenever her head was -turned." - -"And you?" - -"And I! What would a girl do, brought up at a sleepy watering-place, -and seeing nobody but the curate or the doctor? I listened to his every -word, I believed his every look; and when he said to me, 'On such a -night fly with me,' I fled with him without remorse." - -Geoffrey Ludlow must have anticipated something of this kind, and yet -when he heard it, he dropped his head and shook it, as though under the -effect of a staggering blow. The action was not unnoticed by Margaret. - -"Ah," said she, in low tones and with a sad smile, "I saw how your -schemes would melt away before my story." - -This time it was his hand that came out and caught hers in its grip. - -"Ah, wait until you have heard the end, now very close at hand. The -old, old story: a coming marriage, which never came, protracted and -deferred now for one excuse, now for another--the fear of friends, the -waiting for promotion, the--ah, every note in the whole gamut of lies! -And then--" - -"Spare yourself and me--I know enough!" - -"No; hear it out! It is due to you, it is due to me. A sojourn in -Italy, a sojourn in England--gradual coolness, final flight. But such -flight! One line to say that he was ruined, and would not drag me -down in his degradation--no hope of a future meeting--no provision -for present want. I lived for a time by the sale of what he had given -me,--first jewels, then luxuries, then--clothes. And then, just as I -dropped into death's jaws, you found me." - -"Thank God!" said Geoffrey earnestly, still retaining the little hand -within his own; "thank God! I can hear no more to-day--yes; one thing, -his name?" - -"His name," said she, with fixed eyes, "I have never mentioned to -mortal; but to you I will tell it. His name was Leonard Brookfield." - -"Leonard Brookfield," repeated Geoffrey. "I shall not forget it. Now -adieu! We shall meet to-morrow." - -He bowed over her hand and pressed it to his lips, then was gone; but -as his figure passed the window, she raised herself upright, and ere -he vanished from her sight, from between her compressed lips came the -words, "At last! at last!" - - - - -CHAPTER IX. -SUNSHINE IN THE SHADE. - - -What is a dull life? In what does the enjoyment of existence consist? -It is a comparative matter, after all, I fancy. A Londoner, cantering -homeward down the Row, will lift his hat as he passes three horsemen -abreast, the middle one of whom, comely, stout, and pleasant-looking, -bows in return; or, looking after an olive-coloured brougham with a -white horse, out of the window of which looms a lined leery-looking -face, will say, "How well Pam holds out!" and will go home to dinner -without bestowing another thought on the subject; whereas the mere fact -of having seen the Prince of Wales or Lord Palmerston would give a -countryman matter for reflection and conversation for a couple of days. -There are even Londoners who look upon a performance of chamber-music, -or a visit to the Polytechnic Institute as an excitement; while in a -provincial town to attend a lecture on "Mnemonics," or the dinner of -the farmers' club, is the acme of dissipation. Some lives are passed -in such a whirl that even the occasional advent among their kindred -of the great date-marker, Death, is scarcely noticed; others dwindle -away with such unvarying pulsations that the purchase of a new bonnet, -the lameness of an old horse, the doctor's visit, the curate's cough, -are all duly set down as notabilia worthy to be recorded. Who does not -recollect the awe and reverence with which one regarded the Bishop -of Bosphorus, when, a benevolent seraph in a wig (they wore wigs in -those days) and lawn sleeves, he arrived at the parish church for the -confirmation-service? It was exciting to see him; it was almost too -much to hear his voice; but now, if you are a member of the Athenaeum -Club, you may see him, and two or three other prelates, reading the -evening papers, or drinking their pint of sherry with the joint, and -speaking to the waiters in voices akin to those of ordinary mortals; -may even see him sitting next to Belmont the poet, whose _Twilight -Musings_ so delighted your youth, but whom you now find to be a fat man -with a red face and a tendency to growl if there be not enough schalot -sent up with his steak. - -If there were ever a man who should have felt the influence of a dull -life, it was Lord Caterham, who never repined. And yet it would be -difficult to imagine any thing more terribly lonely than was that man's -existence. Dressed by his servant, his breakfast over, and he wheeled -up to his library-table, there was the long day before him; how was -he to get through it? Who would come to see him? His father, perhaps, -for five minutes, with a talk about the leading topic treated of in -the _Times_, a remark about the change in the weather, a hope that his -son would "get out into the sunshine," and as speedy a departure as -could be decently managed. His mother, very rarely, and then only for a -frosty peck at his cheek, and a tittered hope that he was better. His -brother Lionel, when in town, when not else engaged, when not too seedy -after "a night of it,"--his brother Lionel, who would throw himself -into an easy-chair, and, kicking out his slippered feet, tell Caterham -what a "rum fellow" he, Lionel, thought him; what a "close file;" what -a "reserved, oyster-like kind of a cove!" Other visitors occasionally. -Algy Barford, genial, jolly, and quaint; always welcome for his bright -sunshiny face, his equable temper, his odd salted remarks on men and -things. A bustling apothecary, with telescopic shoulders and twinkling -eyelids, who peered down Lord Caterham's throat like a magpie looking -into a bone, and who listened to the wheezings of Lord Caterham's chest -with as much intentness as a foreigner in the Opera-pit to the prayer -in _Der Freischuetz_. Two or three lounging youths, fresh from school -or college, who were pleased to go away afterwards and talk of their -having been with him, partly because he was a lord, partly because -he was a man whose name was known in town, and one with whom it was -rather _kudos_ to be thought intimate. There are people who, under such -circumstances, would have taken their servants into their confidence; -but Lord Caterham was not one of these. Kindly and courteous to all, -he yet kept his servant at the greatest distance; and the man knew -that to take the slightest liberty was more than his place was worth. -There were no women to talk with this exile from his species; there -were none on sufficiently intimate footing to call on him and sit with -him, to talk frankly and unreservedly that pleasant chatter which -gives us the keynote to their characters; and for this at least Lord -and Lady Beauport were unfeignedly thankful. Lord Beauport's knowledge -of the world told him that there were women against whom his son's -deformity and isolated state would be no defence, to whom his rank and -position would be indefinable attractions, by whom he would probably -be assailed, and with whom he had no chance of coping. Not bad women, -not _intrigantes_,--such would have set forth their charms and wasted -their dalliances in vain,--but clever heartless girls, brought up by -matchmaking mothers, graduates in the great school of life, skilled -in the deft and dexterous use of all aggressive weapons, unscrupulous -as to the mode of warfare so long as victory was to be the result. -In preventing Lord Caterham from making the acquaintance of any such -persons, Lord Beauport took greater pains than he had ever bestowed on -anything in connection with his eldest son; and, aided by the astute -generalship of his wife, he had succeeded wonderfully. - -Only once did there seem a chance of an enemy's scaling the walls -and entering the citadel, and then the case was really serious. It -was at an Eton and Harrow match at Lord's that Lord Caterham first -saw Carry Chesterton. She came up hanging on the arm of her brother, -Con Chesterton, the gentleman farmer, who had the ground outside -Homershams, Lady Beauport's family place, and who begged to present his -sister to Lord Caterham, of whom she had heard so much. A sallow-faced -girl, with deep black eyes, arched brows, and raven hair in broad -bands, with a high forehead and a chiselled nose and tight thin lips, -was Carry Chesterton; and as she bent over Lord Caterham's chair and -expressed her delight at the introduction, she shot a glance that went -through Caterham's eyes, and into his very soul. - -"She was a poetess, was Carry, and all that sort of thing," said -honest Con; "and had come up to town to try and get some of her -writings printed, you know, and that sort of thing; and your lordship's -reputation as a man of taste, you know, and that sort of thing,--if -you'd only look at the stuff and give your opinion, and that sort of -thing." - -"That sort of thing," _i.e_. the compulsory conversion into a -Mecaenas, Lord Caterham had had tried-on before; but only in the case -of moon-struck men, never from such a pair of eyes. Never had he had -the request indorsed in such a deep-toned thrilling voice; and so he -acquiesced, and a meeting was arranged for the morrow, when Con was to -bring Carry to St. Barnabas Square; and that night Lord Caterham lay -in a pleasant state of fevered excitement, thinking of his expected -visitor. Carry came next day, but not Con. Con had some arrangements to -make about that dreadful yeomanry which took up so much of his time, to -see Major Latchford or Lord Spurrier, the colonel, and arrange about -their horrid evolutions; but Carry came, and brought her manuscript -book of poems. Would she read them? she could, and did, in a deep low -_trainante_ voice, with wonderful art and pathos, illustrating them -with elevations of her thick brows and with fervid glances from her -black eyes. They were above the average of women's verse, had nothing -namby-pamby in them, and were not merely flowing and musical, but -strong and fervid; they were full of passion, which was not merely -a Byronic _refrain_, but had a warmth and novelty of its own. Lord -Caterham was charmed with the verses, was charmed with the writer; he -might suggest certain improvements in them, none in her. He pointed out -certain lines which might be altered; and as he pointed them out, their -hands met, touched but for an instant, and on looking up, his eyes lost -themselves in hers. - -Ah, those hand-touches and eye-glances! The oldest worldling has some -pleasure in them yet, and can recall the wild ecstatic thrill which -ran through him when he first experienced them in his salad-days. -But we can conceive nothing of their effect on a man who, under -peculiar circumstances, had lived a reserved self-contained life until -five-and-twenty years of age,--a man with keen imagination and warm -passions, who had "never felt the kiss of love, nor maiden's hand in -his," until his whole being glowed and tingled under the fluttering -touch of Carry Chesterton's lithe fingers, and in the fiery gaze of -her black eyes. She came again and again; and after every visit Lord -Caterham's passion increased. She was a clever woman with a purpose, -to the fulfilment of which her every word, her every action, tended. -Softly, delicately, and with the greatest _finesse_, she held up to -him the blank dreariness of his life, and showed him how it might be -cheered and consoled. In a pitying rather than an accusing spirit, she -pointed out the shortcomings of his own relatives, and indicated how, -to a person in his position, there could be but one who should be all -in all. This was all done with the utmost tact and refinement; a sharp -word, an appearance of eagerness, the slightest showing of the cards, -and the game would have been spoilt; but Carry Chesterton knew her -work, and did it well. She had been duly presented by Lord Caterham to -his father and mother, and had duly evoked first their suspicion, then -their rage. At first it was thought that by short resolute measures -the evil might be got rid of. So Lord Beauport spoke seriously to -his son, and Lady Beauport spoke warningly; but all in vain. For the -first time in his life Lord Caterham rebelled, and in his rebellion -spoke his mind; and in speaking his mind he poured forth all that -bitterness of spirit which had been collecting and fermenting so long. -To the crippled man's heartwrung wail of contempt and neglect, to his -passionate appeal for some one to love and to be loved by, the parents -had no reply. They knew that he had bitter cause for complaint; but -they also knew that he was now in pursuit of a shadow; that he was -about to assuage his thirst for love with Dead-Sea apples; that the -"set gray life and apathetic end" were better than the wild fierce -conflict and the warming of a viper in the fires of one's heart. Lady -Beauport read Carry Chesterton like a book, saw her ends and aims, and -told Lord Caterham plainly what they were. "This girl is attracted by -your title and position, Caterham,--nothing else," she said, in her -hard dry voice; "and the natural result has ensued." But that voice had -never been softened by any infusion of maternal love. Her opinions had -no weight with her son. He made no answer, and the subject dropped. - -Lionel Brakespere, duly apprised by his mother of what was going on, -and urged to put a stop to it, took his turn at his brother, and spoke -with his usual mess-room frankness, and in his usual engaging language. -"Every body knew Carry Chesterton," he said, "all the fellows at the -Rag knew her; at least all who'd been quartered in the neighbourhood -of Flockborough, where she was a regular garrison hack, and had been -engaged to Spoonbill of the 18th Hussars, and jilted by Slummer of the -160th Rifles, and was as well known as the town-clock, by Jove; and -Caterham was a fiat and a spoon, and he'd be dashed if he'd see the -fam'ly degraded; and I say, why the doose didn't Caterham listen to -reason!" So far Captain the Honourable Lionel Brakespere; who, utterly -failing in his purpose and intent, and having any further access to -Lord Caterham's rooms strictly denied him by Lord Caterham's orders, -sought out Algy Barford and confided to him the whole story, and "put -him on" to save the fam'ly credit, and stop Caterham's rediklous -'fatuation. - -Now if the infatuation in question had been legitimate, and likely to -lead to good results, Algy Barford would have been the very last man on -earth to attempt to put a stop to it, or to interfere in any way save -for its advancement. But this airy, laughing philosopher, with all his -apparent carelessness, was a man of the world and a shrewd reader of -human character; and he had made certain inquiries, the result of which -proved that Carry Chesterton was, if not all that Lionel Brakespere had -made her out, at all events a heartless coquette and fortune-huntress, -always rising at the largest fly. Quite recently jilted by that -charming creature Captain Slummer of the Rifles, she had been heard to -declare she would not merely retrieve the position hereby lost, but -achieve a much greater one; and she had been weak enough to boast of -her influence over Lord Caterham, and her determination to marry him -in spite of all his family's opposition. Then Algy Barford joined the -ranks of the conspirators, and brought his thoroughly practical worldly -knowledge to their camp. It was at a council held in Lady Beauport's -boudoir that he first spoke on the subject, his face radiant with good -humour, his teeth gleaming in the light, and his attention impartially -divided between the matter under discussion and the vagaries of a big -rough terrier which accompanied him every where. - -"You must pardon me, dear Lady Beauport," said he; "but you've all -been harking forward on the wrong scent.--Down, Tinker! Don't let him -jump on your mother, Lionel; his fleas, give you my honour, big as -lobsters!--on the wrong scent! Dear old Caterham, best fellow in the -world; but frets at the curb, don't you know? Put him a couple of links -higher up than usual, and he rides rusty and jibs--jibs, by Jove! And -that's what you've been doing now. Dear old Caterham! not much to amuse -him in life, don't you know? goes on like a blessed old martyr; but at -last finds something which he likes, and you don't. Quite right, dear -Lady Beauport; _I_ see it fast enough, because I'm an old lad, and have -seen men and cities; but dear Caterham, who is all milk and rusks and -green peas, and every thing that is innocent, don't you know, don't -see it at all. And then you try to shake him by the shoulder and rouse -him out of his dream, and tell him that he's not in fairyland, not in -Aladdin's palace, not in a two-pair back in Craven Street, Strand. -Great mistake that, Lionel, dear boy. Dear Lady Beauport, surely your -experience teaches you that it is a great mistake to cross a person -when they're in that state?" - -"But, Mr. Barford, what is to be done?" - -"Put the helm about, Lady Beauport, and--Tinker! you atrocious -desperado, you shameless caitiff! will you get down?--put the helm -about, and try the other tack. Weve failed with dear old Caterham: now -let's try the lady. Caterham is the biggest fish she's seen yet; but -my notion is that if a perch came in her way, and seemed likely to -bite, she'd forget she'd ever seen a gudgeon. Now my brother Windermere -came to town last week, and he's an earl, you know, and just the sort -of fellow who likes nothing so much as a flirtation, and is all the -time thunderingly well able to take care of himself. I think if Miss -Chesterton were introduced to Windermere, she'd soon drop poor dear -Caterham." - -Both Lionel and his mother agreed in this notion, and an early -opportunity was taken for the presentation of Lord Windermere to Miss -Chesterton. An acknowledged _parti_; a man of thews and sinews; frank, -generous, and affable: apparently candid and unsuspecting in the -highest degree, he seemed the very prize for which that accomplished -fortune-huntress had long been waiting; and forgetting the old fable of -the shadow and the substance she at once turned a decided cold shoulder -upon poor Lord Caterham, ceased visiting him, showed him no more -poetry, and within a week of her making Lord Windermere's acquaintance, -cut her old friend dead in Kensington Gardens, whither he had been -wheeled in the hope of seeing her. Ah, in how few weeks, having -discovered the sandy foundation on which she had been building, did -she come back, crouching and fawning and trying all the old devices, -to find the fire faded out of Caterham's eyes and the hope out of his -breast, and the prospect of any love or companionship as distant from -him as ever! - -Yes, that was Lord Caterham's one experience of love; and after its -lame and impotent conclusion he determined he would never have another. -We have all of us determined that in our time; but few of us have kept -to our resolution so rigidly as did Lord Caterham, possibly because -opportunities have not been so wanting to us as to him. It is all that -horrible opportunity which saps our strongest resolutions; it is the -close proximity of the magnum of "something special" in claret which -leads to the big drink; it is the shaded walk, and the setting sun -behind the deep bank of purple clouds, and the solemn stillness, and -the upturned eyes and the provoking mouth, which lead to all sorts -of horrible mistakes. Opportunity after the Chesterton _escapade_ -was denied to Lord Caterham both by himself and his parents. He shut -himself up in solitude: he would see no one save the apothecary and -Algy Barford, who indeed came constantly, feeling all the while -horribly treacherous and shamefaced. And then by degrees--by that -blessed process of Time against which we rail so much, but which is so -beneficial, of Time the anodyne and comforter, he fell back into his -old ways of life; and all that little storm and commotion was as though -it had never been. It left no marks of its fury on Caterham; he kept -no relics of its bright burning days: all letters had been destroyed. -There was not a glove nor a flower in his drawers--nothing for him -to muse and shake his head over. So soon as his passion had spent -itself--so soon as he could look calmly upon the doings of the few -previous months, he saw how unworthy they had been, and blotted them -from his memory for ever. - -So until Annie Maurice had come to take up her position as his mother's -companion, Lord Caterham had been entirely without female society, and -since her advent he had first learned the advantages of associating -with a pure, genuine healthy woman. Like Carry Chesterton, she seemed -to take to the crippled man from her first introduction to him; but ah, -how unlike that siren did sweet Annie Maurice show her regard! There -was no more romance in her composition, so she would have told you -herself, than in the statue at Charing Cross; no eyebrow elevations, no -glances, no palpable demonstrations of interest. In quite a household -and domestic manner did this good fairy discharge her duties. She was -not the Elf, the Wili, the Giselle; in book-muslin and star-sprent -hair; she was the ordinary "Brownie," the honest Troll, which shows -its presence in help rather than ornament. Ever since Miss Maurice had -been an inmate of the house in Barnabas Square, Caterham's books had -been dusted, his books and papers arranged, his diurnal calendar set, -his desk freshened with a glass of newly-gathered flowers. Never before -had his personal wants been so readily understood, so deftly attended -to. No one smoothed his pillows so softly, wheeled his chair so easily, -his every look so quickly comprehended. To all that dreary household -Annie Maurice was a sunbeam; but on no one did she shine so brightly -as on that darkened spirit. The Earl felt the beaming influence of -her bright nature; the Countess could not deny her meed of respect to -one who was always "in her place;" the servants, horribly tenacious -of interference, could find no fault with Miss Maurice; but to none -appeared she in so bright a light as to Lord Caterham. - -It was the morning after the receipt of the letter which Algy Barford -had left with him, and which had seemingly so much upset him, that -Caterham was sitting in his room, his hands clasped idly before him, -his looks bent, not on the book lying open on the desk, but on the -vacant space beyond it. So delicately constituted was his frame, that -any mental jar was immediately succeeded by acute bodily suffering; he -was hurt, not merely in spirit but in body; the machinery of his being -was shaken and put out of gear, and it took comparatively some length -of time for all to get into working order again. The strain on this -occasion had evidently been great, his head throbbed, his eyes were -surrounded with bistre rings, and the nervous tension of his clasped -fingers showed the unrest of his mind. Then came a gentle tap on the -door, a sound apparently instantly recognisable, for Lord Caterham -raised his head, and bade the visitor "Come in." It was Annie Maurice. -No one else opened the door so quickly and closed it so quietly behind -her, no one came with so light and yet so firm a step, no one else -would have seen that the sun was pouring in through the window on to -the desk, and would have crossed the room and arranged the blind before -coming up to the chair. Caterham knew her without raising his eyes, and -had said, "Ah, Annie dear!" before she reached him. - -"I feared you were ill, my lord," she commenced; but a deep growl -from Caterham stopped her. "I feared you were ill, Arthur," she then -said; "you did not show at dinner last night, nor in the evening; but -I thought you might be disinclined for society--the Gervises were -here, you know, and the Scrimgeours, and I know you don't care for -our classical music, which is invariable on such occasions; but I met -Stephens on the staircase, and he gave me such a desponding account, -that I really feared you were ill." - -"Only a passing dull fit, Annie; only a passing dull fit of extra -heaviness, and consequently extra duration! Stephens is a croaker, you -know; and having, I believe, an odd sort of Newfoundland-dog attachment -to me, is frightened if I have a finger-ache. But I'm very glad you've -come in, Annie, for I'm not really very bright even now, and you always -help to set me straight. Well, and how goes it with you, young lady?" - -"Oh, very well, Arthur, very well." - -"You feel happier than you did on your first coming among us? You feel -as though you were settling down into your home?" - -"I should be worse than foolish if I did not, for every one tries to be -kind to me." - -"I did not ask you for moral sentiments, Annie, I asked you for facts. -Do you feel settling down into your home?" And as Caterham said this, -he shot a keen scrutinising glance at the girl. - -She paused for a moment ere she answered, and when she spoke she looked -at him straight out of her big brown eyes. - -"Do I feel as if I were settling down into my home, Arthur? No; in all -honesty, no. I have no home, as you know well enough; but I feel that--" - -"Why no home?" he interrupted; "isn't--No, I understand." - -"No, you do not understand; and it is for that reason I speak. You -do not understand me, Lord--Arthur. You have notions which I want to -combat, and set right at once, please. I know you have, for Ive heard -hints of them in something you've said before. It all rises out of your -gentlemanly and chivalrous feeling, I know; but, believe me, you're -wrong. I fill the position of your mother's companion here, and you -have fallen into the conventional notion that I'm not well treated, put -upon, and all that kind of thing. On my honour, that is utterly wrong. -No two people could be kinder, after their lights, than Lord and Lady -Beauport are to me. Of your own conduct I need say no word. From the -servants I have perfect respect; and yet--" - -"And yet?" - -"Well, simply you choose the wrong word; there's no homey feeling about -it, and I should be false were I to pretend there were." - -"But pardon me for thus pursuing the subject into detail,--my interest -in you must be my excuse,--what 'homey feeling,' as you call it, had -you at Ricksborough Vicarage, whence you came to us? The people there -are no closer blood-relations than we are; nor did they, as far as I -know--" - -"Nor did they try more to make me happy. No, indeed, they could not -have tried more in that way than you do. But I was much younger -when I first went there, Arthur--quite a little child--and had all -sorts of childish reminiscences of cow-milking, and haymaking, -and harvest-homes, and all kinds of ruralities, with that great -balloon-shaped shadow of St. Paul's ever present on the horizon keeping -watch over the City, where dear old uncle Frank told me I should have -to get my living after he was gone. Its home-influence gained on me -even from the sorrow which I saw and partook of in it; from the sight -of my aunt's deathbed and my uncle's meek resignation overcoming his -desperate grief; from the holy comfort inspired in him by the discharge -of his holy calling; by the respect and esteem in which he was held by -all around, and which was never so much shown as when he wanted it most -acutely. These things, among many others, made that place home to me." - -"Yes," said Lord Caterham, in a harsh dry voice; "I understand easily -enough. After such innocence and goodness I can fully comprehend what -it must be to you to read blue-books to my father, to listen to my -mother's _fade_ nonsense about balls, operas, and dresses, or to attend -to the hypochondriacal fancies of a valetudinarian like myself--" - -"Lord Caterham! I don't think that even you have a right to insult me -in this way!" - -"_Even_ I! thank you for the compliment, which implies--Bah! what a -brute I am! You'll forgive me, Annie, won't you? I'm horribly hipped -and low. Ive not been out for two days; and the mere fact of being a -prisoner to the house always fills my veins with bile instead of blood. -Ah, you won't keep that knit brow and those tightened lips any longer, -will you? No one sees more plainly than I do that your life here wants -certain--" - -"Pray say no more, I--" - -"Ah, Annie, for Heaven's sake don't pursue this miserable growl of -mine. Have some pity for my ill-health. But I want to see you with -as many surroundings natural to your age and taste as we can find in -this--hospital. There's music: you play and sing very sweetly; but you -can't--I know you can't--sit down with any ease or comfort to that -great furniture-van of a grand-piano in that gaunt drawing-room; that's -only fit for those long-haired foreigners who let off their fireworks -on Lady Beauport's reception-nights. You must have a good piano of your -own, in your own room or here, or somewhere where you can practise -quietly. I'll see about that. And drawing--for you have a great natural -talent for that; but you should have some lessons: you must keep it up; -you must have a master. There's a man goes to Lady Lilford's, a capital -fellow, whom I know; you must have him. What's his name? Ludlow--" - -"What, Geoffrey Ludlow! dear old Geoff! He used to be papa's greatest -friend when we were at Willesden, you know,--and before that dreadful -bankruptcy, you know, Mr. Ludlow was always there. Ive sat on his knee -a thousand times; and he used to sketch me, and call me his little elf. -Oh yes, dear Arthur, I should like that,--I should like to have lessons -from Mr. Ludlow! I should so like to see him again!" - -"Well, Annie, you shall. I'll get his address from the Lilfords and -write to him, and settle about his coming. And now, Annie, leave me, -dear; I'm a little tired, and want rest." - -He was tired, and wanted rest; but he did not get it just then. Long -after Annie left the room he sat pondering, pondering, with a strange -feeling for which he himself could not account, but which had its -keynote in this: How strongly she spoke of the man Ludlow; how he -disliked her earnestness on the subject; and what would he not have -given, could he have thought she would have spoken so strongly of him. - - - - -CHAPTER X. -YOUR WILLIAM. - - -When you feel yourself gradually becoming enthralled, falling a -victim to a fascination all-potent, but scarcely all-satisfactory, -be it melancholy, or gambling, or drink, or love, there is nothing -so counteracting to the horrible influence as to brace your nerves -together, and go in for a grand spell of work. That remedy is always -efficacious, of course. It never fails, as Geoffrey Ludlow knew -very well; and that was the reason why, on the morning after his -last-described interview with Margaret Dacre, he dragged out from -behind a screen, where it had been turned with its face to the wall, -his half-finished picture intended for the Academy, and commenced -working on it with wonderful earnestness. It was a large canvas with -three principal figures: a young man, a "swell" of modern days, turning -away from the bold and eager glances of a somewhat brazen coquette, -and suddenly struck by the modest bashful beauty of a girl of the -governess-order seated at a piano. "Scylla and Charybdis" Geoff had -intended calling it, with the usual _Incidit in &c_. motto; and when -the idea first struck him he had taken pains with his composition, -had sketched his figures carefully, and had painted-in the flirt and -the man very successfully. The governess had as yet been a failure; -he had had no ideal to work from; the model who had sat to him was a -little coarse and clumsy, and irritated at not being able to carry -out his notion, he had put the picture by. But he now felt that work -was required of him, not merely as a distraction from thought, but as -an absolute duty which he owed to himself; and as this was a subject -likely to be appreciated by Mr. Stompff, he determined to work at it -again, and to have it ready for submission to the Hanging Committee of -the Academy. He boggled over it a little at first; he smoked two pipes, -staring at the canvas, occasionally shading his eyes with one hand, and -waving the other in a dreamy possessed manner in front of him. Then he -took up a brush and began to lay on a bit of colour, stepping back from -time to time to note the effect; and then the spirit came upon him, and -he went to work with all his soul. - -What a gift is that of the painter, whose whole story can be read at -one glance, who puts what we require three thick volumes to narrate -into a few feet of canvas, who with one touch of his brush gives an -expression which we pen-and-ink workers should take pages to convey, -and even then could never hope to do it half so happily!--who sees his -work grow beneath his hand, and can himself judge of its effect on -others;--who can sit with his pipe in his mouth, and chirp away merrily -to his friend, the while his right hand is gaining him wealth and -honour and fame! - -The spirit was on Geoffrey Ludlow, and the result came out splendidly. -He hoped to gain a good place on the Academy walls, he hoped to do -justice to the commissions which Mr. Stompff had given him; but there -was something beyond these two incentives which spurred his industry -and nerved his touch. After all his previous failures, it seemed -as though Scylla the governess would have the best of it at last. -Charybdis was a splendid creature, a bold, black-eyed, raven-haired -charmer, with her hair falling in thick masses over her shoulders, and -with a gorgeous passion-flower hanging voluptuously among her tresses; -a goddess amongst big Guardsmen, who would sit and suck their yellow -moustaches and express their admiration in fragmentary ejaculations, -or amongst youths from the Universities, with fluff instead of hair, -and blushes in place of _aplomb_. But in his later work the artist's -heart seemed to have gone with Scylla, who was to her rival as is a -proof after Sir Joshua to a French print, as a glass of Amontillado -to a _petit verre_ of Chartreuse,--a slight delicate creature, with -violet eyes and pallid complexion, and deep-red hair brought down in -thick braids, and tucked away behind such dainty little ears; her -modest gray dress contrasting, in its quaker-like simplicity, with the -brilliant-hued robe and rich laces of her rival. His morning's work -must have been successful, for--rare thing with him--Geoff himself was -pleased with it; no doubt of the inspiration now, he tried to deny it -to himself, but could not--the likeness came out so wonderfully. So he -gave way to the charm, and as he sat before the canvas, thoughtfully -gazing at it, he let his imagination run riot, and gave his pleasant -memories full play. - -He had worked well and manfully, and had tolerably satisfied himself, -and was sitting resting, looking at what he had done, and thinking over -what had prompted his work, when there came a tap at the door, and his -sister Til crept noiselessly in. She entered softly, as was her wont -when her brother was engaged, and took up her position behind him. But -Miss Til was demonstrative by nature, and after a minute's glance could -not contain herself. - -"Oh, you dear old Geoff; that is charming! oh, Geoff, how you have got -on! But I say, Geoff; the governess--what do you call her? I never can -recollect those Latin names, or Greek is it?--you know, and it does -not matter; but she is--you know, Geoff, I know you don't like me to -say so, but I can't find any other word--she is stunning! Not that -I think--I don't know, you know, of course, because we don't mix in -that sort of society--not that--that I think that people who--well, I -declare, I don't know any other word for them I--I mean swells--would -allow their governess to have her hair done in that style; but she -is de-licious! you've got a new model, Geoff; at least you've never -attempted any thing in that style before and I declare you've made a -regular hit. You don't speak, Geoff; don't you like what I'm saying?" - -"My dear child, you don't give me the chance of saying any thing. You -rattle on with 'I know' and 'you know' and 'don't you know,' till I -can scarcely tell where I am. One thing I do manage to glean, however, -and that is that you are pleased with the picture, which is the very -best news that I could have. For though you're a most horrible little -rattletrap, and talk nineteen to the dozen, there is some sense in what -you say and always a great deal of truth." - -"Specially when what I say is complimentary, eh, Geoff? Not that I -think I have ever said much in any other strain to you. But you haven't -told me about your new model, Geoff. Where did she come from?" - -"My new model?" - -"Yes, yes, for the governess, you know. That's new--I mean that hair -and eyes, and all that. You've never painted any thing like that before. -Where did she come from?" - -There were few things that Geoffrey Ludlow would have kept from his -sister, but this was one of them; so he merely said: - -"O, a model, Til dear--one of the usual shilling-an-hour victims." - -"Sent you by Mr. Charles Potts, I suppose," said Miss Til, with unusual -asperity; "sent you for--" But here a knock at the door cut short the -young lady's remarks. "O, but if that is Mr. Potts," she resumed, -"don't say a word about what I said just now; don't, Geoff, there's a -dear." - -It was not Mr. Potts who responded to Geoffrey Ludlow's "Come in." It -was Mr. Bowkees head which was thrust through the small space made -by the opening of the door; and it was Mr. Bowker's deep voice which -exclaimed: - -"Engaged, eh? Your William will look in again." - -But Til, with whom Mr. Bowker was a special favourite, from his strange -unconventional manners and rough _bonhomie_, called out at once: "Mr. -Bowker, it's only I--Geoff's sister Til;" and Geoff himself roaring out -that "Bowker was growing modest in his old age," that gentleman was -persuaded to come in; and closing the door lightly behind him, he went -up to the young lady, and bending over her hand, made her a bow such as -any _preux chevalier_ might have envied. A meeting with a lady was a -rare oasis in the desert of William Bowkees wasted life; but whenever -he had the chance he showed that he had been something more than the -mere pot-walloping boon-companion which most men thought him. - -"Geoff's sister Til!" he repeated, looking at the tall handsome girl -before him,--"Geoff's sister Til! Ah, then it's perfectly right that -I should have lost all my hair, and that my beard should be grizzled, -and that I have a general notion of the omnipresence of old age. I -was inclined to grumble; but if 'Geoff's sister Til,' who I thought -was still a little child, is to come up and greet me in this guise, I -recant: Time is right; and your William is the only old fool in the -matter." - -"It is your own fault, Mr. Bowker, that you don't know the changes that -take place in us. You know we are always glad to see you, and that -mamma is always sending you messages by Geoff." - -"You are all very good, and--well, I suppose it is my fault; let's -say it is, at all events. What! going? There, you see the effect my -presence has when I come up on a chance visit." - -"Not at all," said Til; "I should have gone five minutes ago if you -had not come in. I'll make a confidant of you, Mr. Bowker, and let you -into a secret. Those perpetual irritable pulls at the bell are the -tradespeople waiting for orders; and I must go and settle about dinner -and all sorts of things. Now goodbye." She shook hands with him, nodded -brightly at her brother, and was gone. - -"That's a nice girl," said William Bowker, as the door closed after -her; "a regular nice girl--modest, ladylike, and true; none of your -infernal fal-lal affectations--honest as the day; you can see that in -her eyes and in every word she says. Where do you keep your tobacco? -All right. Your pipes want looking after, Geoff. Ive tried three, and -each is as foul as a chimney. Ah, this will do at last; now I'm all -right, and can look at your work. H--m! that seems good stuff. You must -tone-down that background a little, and put a touch of light here and -there on the dress, which is infernally heavy and Hamlet-like. Hallo, -Geoff, are you going in for the P.-R.-B. business?" - -"Not I. What do you mean?" - -"What do _you_ mean by this red-haired party, my boy? This is a new -style for you, Geoff, and one which no one would have thought of your -taking up. You weren't brought up to consider this the right style of -thing in old Sassoon's academy, Geoff. If the old boy could rise from -his grave, and see his favourite pupil painting a frizzy, red-haired, -sallow-faced woman as the realisation of beauty, I think he'd be glad -he'd been called away before such awful times." - -There was a hesitation in Geoff's voice, and a hollowness in his smile, -as he answered: - -"P.-R.-B. nonsense! Old Sassoon couldn't teach everything; and as for -his ideas of beauty, look how often he made us paint Mrs. S. and the -Miss S.'s, who, Heaven knows, were anything but reproductions of the -Venus Calipyge. The simple question, as I take it, is this--is the -thing a good thing or a bad one? Tell me that." - -"As a work of art?" - -"Of course; as you see it. What else could I mean?" - -"As a work of art, it's good--undeniably good, in tone, and treatment, -and conception; as a work of prudence, it's infernally bad." - -Geoff looked at him sharply for a minute, and William Bowker, calmly -puffing at his pipe, did not shrink from his friend's glance. Then, -with a flush, Geoff said: - -"It strikes me that it is as a work of art you have to regard it. As to -what you say about a work of prudence, you have the advantage of me. I -don't understand you." - -"Don't you?" said William. "I'm sorry for you. What model did you paint -that head from?" - -"From no model." - -"From life?" - -"N-no; from memory--from--Upon my soul, Bowker, I don't see what right -you have to cross-question me in this way." - -"Don't you?" said Bowker. "Give your William something to drink, -please; he can't talk when he's dry. What is that? B. and soda. Yes, -that'll do. Look here, Geoffrey Ludlow, when you were little more than -a boy, grinding away in the Life-School, and only too pleased if the -Visitor gave you an encouraging word, your William, who is ten years -your senior, had done work which made him be looked upon as the coming -man. He had the ball at his foot, and he had merely to kick it to send -it where he chose. He does not say this out of brag--you know it?" - -Geoffrey Ludlow inclined his head in acquiescence. - -"Your William didn't kick the bail; something interfered just as his -foot was lifted to send it flying to the goal--a woman." - -Again Geoffrey Ludlow nodded in acquiescence. - -"You have heard the story. Every body in town knew it, and each had -his peculiar version; but I will tell you the whole truth myself. You -don't know how I struggled on against that infatuation;--no, you may -think you do, but I am a much stronger man than you--am, or was--and -I saw what I was losing by giving way. I gave way. I knocked down the -whole fabric which, from the time I had had a man's thoughts, a man's -mind, a man's energy and power, I had striven to raise. I kicked it all -down, as Alnaschar did his basket of eggs, and almost as soon found how -vain had been my castle-building. I need scarcely go into detail with -you about that story: it was published in the Sunday newspapers of the -time; it echoed in every club-room; it has remained lingering about -art-circles, and in them is doubtless told with great gusto at the -present day, should ever my name be mentioned. I fell in love with a -woman who was married to a man of more than double her age,--a woman of -education, taste, and refinement; of singular beauty too--and that to a -young artist was not her least charm--tied for life to an old heartless -scoundrel. My passion for her sprung from the day of my first seeing -her; but I choked it down. I saw as plainly as I see this glass before -me now what would be the consequence of any absurd escapade on my part; -how it would crush me, how, infinitely more, it would drag _her_ down. -I knew what was working in each of us; and, so help me Heaven! I tried -to spare us both. I tried--and failed, dismally enough. It was for no -want of arguing with myself--from no want of forethought of all the -consequences that might ensue. I looked at all point-blank; for though -I was young and mad with passion, I loved that woman so that I could -even have crushed my own selfishness lest it should be harm to her. -I could have done this: I did it until--until one night I saw a blue -livid mark on her shoulder. God knows how many years that is ago, but I -have the whole scene before me at this moment. It was at some fine ball -(I went into what is called 'society' then), and we were standing in a -conservatory, when I noticed this mark. I asked her about it, and she -hesitated; I taxed her with the truth, which she first feebly denied, -then admitted. He had struck her, the hound! in a fit of jealous -rage,--had struck her with his clenched fist! Even as she told me this, -I could see him within a few yards of us, pretending to be rapt in -conversation, but obviously noting our conduct. I suppose he guessed -that she had told me of what had occurred. I suppose he guessed it -from my manner and the expression of my face, for a deadly pallor came -over his grinning cheeks; and as we passed out of the conservatory, he -whispered to her--not so low but that I caught the words--'You shall -pay for this, madam--you shall pay for this!' That determined me, and -that night we fled.--Give me some more brandy and soda, Geoff. Merely -to tell this story drags the heart out of my breast." - -Geoff pushed the bottle over to his friend, and after a gulp Bowker -proceeded: - -"We went to Spain, and remained there many months; and there it was -all very well. That slumbering country is even now but little haunted -by your infernal British tourist; but then scarcely any Englishman -came there. Such as we came across were all bachelors, your fine lad -can't stand the mule-travelling and the roughing it in the posadas; and -they either had not heard the story, or didn't see the propriety of -standing on any squeamishness, more especially when the acquaintance -was all to their advantage, and we got on capitally. Nelly had seen -nothing, poor child, having left school to be married; and all the -travel, and the picturesque old towns, and the peasantry, and the -Alhambra, and all the rest of it, made a sort of romantic dream for -her. But then old Van den Bosch got his divorce; and so soon as I had -heard of that, like a madman as I was, I determined to come back to -England. The money was running short, to be sure; but I had made no -end of sketches, and I might have sent them over and sold them; but I -wanted to get back. A man can't live on love alone; and I wanted to be -amongst my old set again, for the old gossip and the old _camaraderie_; -and so back we came. I took a little place out at Ealing, and then I -went into the old haunts, and saw the old fellows, and--for the first -time--so help me Heaven! for the first time I saw what I had done. -They cut me, sir, right and left! There were some of them--blackguards -who would have hobnobbed with Greenacre, if he'd stood the drink--who -accepted my invitations, and came Sunday after Sunday, and would have -eaten and drunk me out of house and home, if I'd have stood it; but -the best--the fellows I really cared about--pretty generally gave me -the cold shoulder. Some of them had married during my absence, and -of course they couldn't come; others were making their way in their -art, working under the patronage of big swells in the Academy, and -hoping for election there, and they daren't be mixed up with such a -notoriously black sheep as your William. I felt this, Geoff, old boy. -By George, it cut me to the heart; it took all the change out of me; it -made me low and hipped, and, I fear, sometimes savage. And I suppose I -showed it at home; for poor Nell seemed to change and wither from the -day of our return. She had her own troubles, poor darling, though she -thought she kept them to herself. In a case like that, Geoff, the women -get it much hotter than we do. There were no friends for her, no one -to whom she could tell her troubles. And then the story got known, and -people used to stare and nudge each other, and whisper as she passed. -The parson called when we first came, and was a good pleasant fellow; -but a fortnight afterwards he'd heard all about it, and grew purple -in the face as he looked straight over our heads when we met him. And -once a butcher, who had to be spoken to for cheating, cheeked her and -alluded to her story; but I think what I did to him prevented any -repetition of that kind of conduct. But I couldn't silence the whole -world by thrashing it, old fellow; and Nell drooped and withered under -all the misery--drooped and--died! And I--well, I became the graceless, -purposeless, spiritless brute you see me now!" - -Mr. Bowker stopped and rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes, and -gave a great cough before finishing his drink; and then Geoffrey patted -him on the shoulder and said, "But you know how we all love you, old -friend; how that Charley Potts, and I, and Markham, and Wallis, and all -the fellows, would do anything for you." - -Mr. Bowker gave his friend's hand a tight grip as he said, "I know, -Geoff; I know you boys are fond of your William but it wasn't to parade -my grief, or to cadge for sympathy from them, that I told you that -story. I had another motive." - -"And that was--" - -"To set myself up as an example and a warning to--any one who might -be going to take a similar step. You named yourself just now, Geoff, -amongst those who cared for me. Your William is a bit of a fogy, he -knows; but some of you do care for him, and you amongst them." - -"Of course. You know that well enough." - -"Then why not show your regard for your William, dear boy? - -"Show my regard--how shall I show it?" - -"By confiding in him, Geoff; by talking to him about yourself; telling -him your hopes and plans; asking him for some of that advice which -seeing a great many men and cities, and being a remarkably downy old -skittle, qualifies him to give. Why not confide in him, Geoff?" - -"Confide in you? About what? Why on earth not speak out plainly at -once?" - -"Well, well, I won't beat about the bush any longer. I daresay there's -nothing in it; but people talk and cackle so confoundedly, and, by -George, men--some men, at least--are quite as bad as women in that -line; and they say you're in love, Geoff; regularly hard hit--no chance -of recovery!" - -"Do they?" said Geoff, flushing very red--"do they? Who are 'they,' by -the way?--not that it matters, a pack of gabbling fools! But suppose I -am, what then?" - -"What then! Why, nothing then--only it's rather odd that you've never -told your William, whom you've known so long and so intimately, any -thing about it. Is that" (pointing to the picture) "a portrait of the -lady?" - -"There--there is a reminiscence of her--her head and general style." - -"Then your William would think that her head and general style must be -doosid good. Any sisters?" - -"I--I think not." - -"Are her people pleasant--do you get on with them?" - -"I don't know them." - -"Ah, Geoff, Geoff, why make me go on in this way? Don't you know me -well enough to be certain that I'm not asking all these questions for -impertinence and idle curiosity? Don't you see that I'm dragging bit by -bit out of you because I'm coming to the only point any of your friends -can care about? Is this girl a good girl; is she respectable; is she in -your own sphere of life; can you bring her home and tell the old lady -to throw her arms round her neck, and welcome her as a daughter? Can -you introduce her to that sweet sister of yours who was here when I -came in?" - -There came over Geoffrey Ludlow's face a dark shadow such as William -Bowker had never seen there before. He did not speak nor turn his eyes, -but sat fixed and rigid as a statue. - -"For God's sake think of all this, Geoff! Ive told you a thousand times -that you ought to be married; that there was no man more calculated to -make a woman happy, or to have his own happiness increased by a woman's -love. But then she must be of your own degree in life, and one of whom -you could be every where proud. I would not have you married to an ugly -woman or a drabby woman, or any thing that wasn't very nice; how much -less, then, to any one whom you would feel ashamed of, or who could -not be received by your dear ones at home! Geoff, dear old Geoff, for -heaven's sake think of all this before it is too late! Take warning by -my fatal error, and see what misery you would prepare for both of you." - -Geoffrey Ludlow still sat in the same attitude. He made no reply for -some minutes; then he said, dreamily, "Yes--yes, you're quite right, of -course,--quite right. But I don't think we'll continue the conversation -now. Another time, Bowker, please--another time." Then he ceased, and -Mr. Bowker rose and pressed his hand, and took his departure. As he -closed the door behind him, that worthy said to himself: "Well, I've -done my duty, and I know I've done right; but it's very little of -Geoff's mutton that your William will cut, and very little of Geoff's -wine that your William will drink, if that marriage comes off. For of -course he'll tell her all I've said, and _won't_ she love your William!" - -And for hours Geoffrey Ludlow sat before his easel, gazing at the -Scylla head, and revolving all the detail of Mr. Bowker's story in his -mind. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. -PLAYING THE FISH. - - -When did the giver of good, sound, unpalatable, wholesome advice -ever receive his due? Who does not possess, amongst the multitude of -acquaintances, a friend who says, "Such and such are my difficulties: -I come to you because I want advice;" and who, after having heard all -that, after a long struggle with yourself, you bring yourself to say, -wrings your hand, goes away thinking what an impertinent idiot you -are, and does exactly the opposite of all you have suggested? All men, -even the most self-opinionated and practical, are eager for advice. -None, even the most hesitating and diffident, take it, unless it agrees -with their own preconceived ideas. There are, of course, exceptions -by which this rule is proved; but there are two subjects on which no -man was ever yet known to take advice, and they are horses and women. -Depreciate your friend's purchase as delicately as Agag came unto -Saul; give every possible encomium to make and shape and breeding; but -hint, _per contra_, that the animal is scarcely up to his weight, or -that that cramped action looks like a possible blunder; suggest that -a little more slope in the shoulder, a little less cowiness in the -general build, might be desirable for riding purposes, and your friend -will smile, and shake his head, and canter away, convinced of the utter -shallowness of your equine knowledge. In the other matter it is much -worse. You must be very much indeed a man's friend if you can venture -to hint to him, even after his iterated requests for your honest candid -opinion, that the lady of his love is any thing but what he thinks -her. And though you iterate and reiterate, moralise as shrewdly as -Ecclesiasticus, bring chapter and verse to support your text, he must -be more or less than a man, and cast in very different clay from that -of which we poor ordinary mortals are composed, if he accepts one of -your arguments or gives way one atom before your elucidations. - -Did William Bowker's forlorn story, commingled with his earnest -passionate appeal, weigh one scruple with Geoffrey Ludlow? Not one. -Geoff was taken aback by the story. There was a grand human interest -in that laying bare before him of a man's heart, and of two persons' -wasted lives, which aroused his interest and his sympathy, made him -ponder over what might have been, had the principal actors in the -drama been kept asunder, and sent him into a fine drowsy state of -metaphysical dubiety. But while Bowker was pointing his moral, Geoff -was merely turning over the various salient points which had adorned -his tale. - -He certainly heard Bowker drawing a parallel between his own unhappy -passion and Geoff's regard for the original owner of that "Scylla -head;" but as the eminent speaker was arguing on hypothetical facts, -and drawing deductions from things of which he knew absolutely -nothing, too much reliance was not to be placed on his arguments. In -Bowker's case there had been a public scandal, a certain betrayal of -trust, which was the worst feature in the whole affair, a trial and -an _expose_, and a denunciation of the--well, the world used hard -words--the seducer; which--though Bowker was the best fellow in the -world, and had obviously a dreadful time of it--was only according -to English custom. Now, in his own case, Margaret (he had already -accustomed himself to think of her as Margaret) had been victimised by -a scoundrel, and the blame--for he supposed blame would, at least in -the minds of very strait-laced people, attach to her--was mitigated -by the facts. Besides--and here was his great thought--nothing would -be known of her former history. Her life, so far as any one in his -set could possibly know any thing about it, began on the night when -he and Charley Potts found her in the street. She was destitute and -starving, granted; but there was nothing criminal in destitution and -starvation, which indeed would, in the eyes of a great many weak and -good-natured (the terms are synonymous) persons, bind a kind of romance -to the story. And as to all that had gone before, what of that? How was -any thing of that love ever to become known? This Leonard Brookfield, -an army swell, a man who, under any circumstances, was never likely -to come across them, or to be mixed up in Geoff's artist-circle, had -vanished, and with him vanished the whole dark part of the story. -Vanished for ever and aye! Margaret's life would begin to date from the -time when she became his wife, when he brought her home to----Ah, by -the way, what was that Bowker said about her worthiness to associate -with his mother and sister? Why not? He would tell them all about it. -They were good women, who fully appreciated the grand doctrine of -forgiveness; and yet--He hesitated; he knew his mother to be a most -excellent church-going woman, bearing her "cross" womanfully, not to -say rather flaunting it than otherwise; but he doubted whether she -would appreciate an introduction to a Magdalen, however penitent. To -subscribe to a charity for "those poor creatures;" to talk pleasantly -and condescendingly to them, and to leave them a tract on visiting -a "Home" or a "Refuge," is one thing; to take them to your heart as -daughters-in-law is another. And his sister! Well, young girls didn't -understand this kind of thing, and would put a false construction on -it, and were always chattering, and a great deal of harm might be done -by Til's want of reticence; and so, perhaps, the best thing to be done -was to hold his tongue, decline to answer any questions about former -life, and leave matters to take their course. He had already arrived -at that state of mind that he felt, if any disagreements arose, he -was perfectly ready to leave mother and sister, and cleave to his -wife--that was to be. - -So Geoffrey Ludlow, tossing like a reed upon the waters, but ever, like -the same reed, drifting with the resistless current of his will, made -up his mind; and all the sage experience of William Bowker, illustrated -by the story of his life, failed in altering his determination. It is -questionable whether a younger man might not have been swayed by, or -frightened at, the council given to him. Youth is impressible in all -ways; and however people may talk of the headstrong passion of youth, -it is clear that--nowadays at least--there is a certain amount of -selfish forethought mingled with the heat and fervour; that love--like -the measles--though innocuo us in youth, is very dangerous when -taken in middle life; and Geoffrey Ludlow was as weak, and withal as -stubborn, an in-patient, as ever caught the disease. - -And yet?--and yet?--was the chain so strong, were the links already -so well riveted, as to defy every effort to break them? Or, in truth, -was it that the effort was wanting? An infatuation for a woman had -been painted in very black shadows by William Bowker; but it was a -great question to Geoff whether there was not infinite pleasure in the -mere fact of being infatuated. Since he had seen Margaret Dacre--at -all events, since he had been fascinated by her--not merely was he a -different man, so far as she was concerned, but all life was to him a -different and infinitely more pleasurable thing. That strange doubting -and hesitation which had been his bane through life seemed, if not -to have entirely vanished, at all events to be greatly modified; and -he had recently, in one or two matters, shown a decision which had -astonished the members of his little household. He felt that he had -at last--what he had wanted all through his life--a purpose; he felt -that there was something for him to live for; that by his love he had -learned something that he had never known before; that his soul was -opened, and the whole aspect of nature intensified and beautified; that -he might have said with Maud's lover in that exquisite poem of the -Laureate's, which so few really appreciate-- - - -"It seems that I am happy, that to me A livelier emerald twinkles in -the grass, A purer sapphire melts into the sea." - - -Then he sat down at his easel again, and worked away at the Scylla -head, which came out grandly, and soon grew all a-glow with Margaret -Dacre's peculiar expression; and then, after contemplating it long and -lovingly, the desire to see the original came madly upon him, and he -threw down his palette and brushes, and went out. - -He walked straight to Mrs. Flexor's, and, on his knocking, the door was -opened to him by that worthy dame, who announced to him, with awful -solemnity, that he'd "find a change upstairs." - -"A change!" cried Geoffrey, his heart thumping audibly, and his cheek -blanched; "a change!" - -"O, nothin' serious, Mr. Ludlows; but she have been a worritin' -herself, poor lamb, and a cryin' her very eyes out. But what it is I -can't make out, though statin' put your trust in one where trust is -doo, continual." - -"I don't follow you yet, Mrs. Flexor. Your lodger has been in low -spirits--is that it?" - -"Sperrits isn't the name for it, Mr. Ludlows, when downer than dumps is -what one would express. As queer as Dick's hatband have she been ever -since you went away yesterday; and I says to her at tea last evening--" - -"I can see her, I suppose?" - -"Of course you can, sir; which all I was doing was to prepare you -for the--" but here Mrs. Flexor, who had apparently taken something -stronger than usual with her dinner, broke down and became inarticulate. - -Geoffrey pushed past her, and, knocking at the parlour-door, entered -at once. He found Margaret standing, with her arms on the mantelshelf, -surveying herself in the wretched little scrap of looking-glass which -adorned the wall. Her hair was arranged in two large full bands, her -eyes were swollen, and her face was blurred and marked by tears. She -did not turn round at the opening of the door, nor, indeed, until she -had raised her head and seen in the glass Geoff's reflection; even then -she moved languidly, as though in pain, and her hand, when she placed -it in his, was dry with burning heat. - -"That chattering idiot down stairs was right after all," said Geoff, -looking alarmedly at her; "you are ill?" - -"No," she said, with a faint smile; "not ill, at all events not now. -I have been rather weak and silly; but I did not expect you yet. I -intended to remove all traces of such folly by the time you came. It -was fit I should, as I want to talk to you most seriously and soberly." - -"Do we not always talk so? did we not the last time I was -here--yesterday?" - -"Well, generally, perhaps; but not the last time--not yesterday. If I -could have thought so, I should have spared myself a night of agony and -a morning of remorse." - -Geoff's face grew clouded. - -"I am sorry for your agony, but much more sorry for your remorse, Miss -Dacre," said he. - -"Ah, Mr. Ludlow," cried Margaret, passionately, "don't _you_ be angry -with me; don't _you_ speak to me harshly, or I shall give way all -together! O, I watched every change of your face; and I saw what you -thought at once; but indeed, indeed it is not so. My remorse is not -for having told you all that I did yesterday; for what else could I do -to you who had been to me what you had? My remorse was for what I had -done--not for what I had said--for the wretched folly which prompted me -to yield to a wheedling tongue, and so ruin myself for ever." - -Her tears burst forth again as she said this, and she stamped her foot -upon the ground. - -"Ruin you for ever, Margaret!" said Geoffrey, stealing his arm round -her waist as she still stood by the mantelshelf; "O no, not ruin you, -dearest Margaret--" - -"Ah, Mr. Ludlow," she interrupted, neither withdrawing from nor -yielding to his arm, "have I not reason to say ruin? Can I fail to see -that you have taken an interest in me which--which--" - -"Which nothing you have told me can alter--which I shall preserve, -please God," said Geoff, in all simplicity and sincerity, "to the end -of my life." - -She looked at him as he said these words with a fixed regard, half of -wonder, half of real unfeigned earnest admiration. - -"I--I'm a very bad hand at talking, Margaret, and know I ought to say a -great deal for which I can't find words. You see," he continued, with a -grave smile, "I'm not a young man now, and I suppose one finds it more -difficult to express oneself about--about such matters. But I'm going -to ask you--to--to share my lot--to be my wife!" - -Her heart gave one great bound within her breast, and her face was -paler than ever, as she said: - -"Your wife! your wife! Do you know what you are saying, Mr. Ludlow? or -is it I who, as the worldling, must point out to you--" - -"I know all," said Geoffrey, raising his hand deprecatingly; but she -would not be silenced. - -"I must point out to you what you would bring upon yourself--what you -would have to endure. The story of my life is known to you and to you -alone; not another living soul has ever heard it. My mother died while -I was in Italy; and of--the other person--nothing has ever been heard -since his flight. So far, then, I do not fear that my--my shame--we -will use the accepted term--would be flung in your teeth, or that you -would be made to wince under any thing that might be said about me. But -you would know the facts yourself; you could not hide them from your -own heart; they would be ever present to you; and in introducing me to -your friends, your relatives, if you have any, you would feel that--" - -"I don't think we need go into that, Margaret. I see how right and how -honourable are your motives for saying all this; but I have thought it -over, and do not attach one grain of importance to it. If you say 'yes' -to me, we shall live for ourselves, and with a very few friends who -will appreciate us for ourselves. Ah, I was going to say that to you. -I'm not rich, Margaret, and your life would, I'm afraid, be dull. A -small income and a small house, and--" - -"It would be my home, and I should have you;" and for the first time -during the interview she gave him one of her long dreamy looks out of -her half-shut eyes. - -"Then you will say 'yes,' dearest?" asked Geoff passionately. - -"Ah, how can I refuse! how can I deny myself such happiness as you hold -out to me after the misery I have zone through!" - -"Ah, darling, you shall forget that--" - -"But you must not act rashly--must not do in a moment what you would -repent your life long. Take a week for consideration. Go over every -thing in your mind, and then come back to me and tell me the result." - -"I know it now. O, don't hesitate, Margaret; don't let me wait the -horrid week!" - -"It is right, and so we will do it. It will be more tedious to me than -to you, my--my Geoffrey." - -Ah, how caressingly she spoke, and what a look of love and passion -glowed in her deep-violet eyes! - -"And I am not to see you during this week?" - -"No; you shall be free from whatever little influence my presence may -possess. You shall go now. Goodbye." - -"God bless you, my darling!" He bent down and kissed her upturned -mouth, then was gone. She looked after him wistfully; then after some -time said softly to herself: "I did not believe there lived so good a -man." - - - - -CHAPTER XII. -UNDER THE HARROW. - - -Mr. Bowker was not the only one of Geoffrey Ludlow's friends to whom -that gentleman's intentions towards the lodger at Flexor's occasioned -much troubled thought. Charley Potts regarded his friend's intimacy -in that quarter with any thing but satisfaction; and an enormous -amount of bird's-eye tobacco was consumed by that rising young artist -in solemn cogitation over what was best to be done in the matter. -For though Geoffrey had reposed no confidence in his friend, and, -indeed, had never called upon him, and abstained as much as possible -from meeting him since the night of the adventure outside the Titian -Sketching-Club, yet Mr. Potts was pretty accurately informed of the -state of affairs, through the medium of Mr. Flexor, then perpetually -sitting for the final touches to Gil Bias; and having a tolerable -acquaintance with human nature,--or being, as he metaphorically -expressed it, "able to reckon how many blue beans made five,"--Mr. -Potts was enabled to arrive at a pretty accurate idea of how affairs -stood in Little Flotsam Street. And affairs, as they existed in Little -Flotsam Street, were by no means satisfactory to Mr. Charles Potts. -Had it been a year ago, he would have cared but little about it. A -man of the world, accustomed to take things as they were, without the -remotest idea of ever setting himself up to correct abuses, or protest -against a habitude of being not strictly in accordance with the views -of the most strait-laced, Charley Potts had floated down the stream -of life objecting to nothing, objected to by none. There were fifty -ladies of his acquaintance, passing as the wives of fifty men of his -acquaintance, pleasant genial creatures, capital punch-mixers,--women -in whose presence you might wear your hat, smoke, talk slang, chaff, -and sing; women who knew all the art-gossip, and entered into it; -whom one could take to the Derby, or who would be delighted with a -cheap-veal-and-ham-pie, beer-in-a-stone-jar, and bottle-of-hot-sherry -picnic in Bushey Park,--the copy of whose marriage-licenses Charley -never expected to see. It was nothing to him, he used to say. It might -or it might not be; but he didn't think that Joe's punch would be any -the stronger, or Tom's weeds any the better, or Bill's barytone voice -one atom more tuneful and chirpy, if the Archbishop of Canterbury had -given out the bans and performed the ceremony for the lot. There was -in it, he thought, a glorious phase of the _vie de Boheme_, a scorn of -the respectable conventionalities of society, a freedom of thought and -action possessing a peculiar charm of their own; and he looked upon the -persons who married and settled, and paid taxes and tradesmen's bills, -and had children, and went to bed before morning, and didn't smoke clay -pipes and sit in their shirt-sleeves, with that softened pity with -which the man bound for Epsom Downs regards the City clerk going to -business on the Clapham omnibus. - -But within the last few months Mr. Potts's ideas had very considerably -changed. It was not because he had attained the venerable age of -thirty, though he was at first inclined to ascribe the alteration to -that; it was not that his appetite for fun and pleasure had lost any -of its keenness, nor that he had become "awakened," or "enlightened," -or subjected to any of the preposterous revival influences of the -day. It was simply that he had, in the course of his intimacy with -Geoffrey Ludlow, seen a great deal of Geoffrey Ludlow's sister, Til; -and that the result of his acquaintance with that young lady was the -entire change of his ideas on various most important points. It was -astonishing, its effect on him: how, after an evening at Mrs. Ludlow's -tea-table--presided over, of course, by Miss Til--Charley Potts, going -somewhere out to supper among his old set, suddenly had his eyes -opened to Louie's blackened eyelids and Bella's painted cheeks; how -Georgie's _h_-slips smote with tenfold horror on his ear, and Carry's -cigarette-smoking made him wince with disgust. He had seen all these -things before, and rather liked them; it was the contrast that induced -the new feeling. Ah, those preachers and pedants,--well-meaning, -right-thinking men,--how utterly futile are the means which they use -for compassing their ends! In these sceptical times, their pulpit -denunciations, their frightful stories of wrath to come, are received -with polite shoulder-shrugs and grins of incredulity; their twopence -coloured pictures of the Scarlet Woman, their time-worn renderings of -the street-wanderer, are sneered at as utterly fictitious and untrue; -and meanwhile detached villas in St. John's Wood, and first-floors -in quiet Pimlico streets, command the most preposterous rents. Young -men will of course be young men; but the period of young-man-ism in -that sense narrows and contracts every year. The ranks of her Scarlet -Ladyship's army are now filled with very young boys who do not know -any better, or elderly men who cannot get into the new groove, and -who still think that to be gentlemanly it is necessary to be immoral. -Those writers who complain of the "levelling" tone of society, and -the "fast" manners of our young ladies, scarcely reflect upon the -improved morality of the age. Our girls--all the outcry about fastness -and selling themselves for money notwithstanding--are as good and as -domestic as when formed under the literary auspices of Mrs. Chapone; -and--granting the existence of Casinos and Anonymas--our young men are -infinitely more wholesome than the class for whose instruction Philip -Dormer Stanhope, Earl of Chesterfield, penned his delicious letters. - -So Mr. Charles Potts, glowing with newly-awakened ideas of -respectability, began to think that, after all, the _vie de Boheme_ was -perhaps a mistake, and not equal, in the average amount of happiness -derived from it, to the _vie de_ Camden Town. He began to think that to -pay rent and taxes and tradesmen's bills was very likely no dearer, and -certainly more satisfactory, than to invest in pensions for cast-off -mistresses and provisions for illegitimate children. He began to think, -in fact, that a snug little house in the suburbs, with his own Lares -and Penates about him, and Miss Matilda Ludlow, now looking over his -shoulder and encouraging him at his work, now confronting him at the -domestic dinner-table, was about the pleasantest thing which his fancy -could conjure up in his then frame of mind. - -Thinking all this, devoutly hoping it might so fall out, and being, -like most converts, infinitely more rabid in the cause of Virtue than -those who had served her with tolerable fidelity for a series of years, -Mr. Charley Potts heard with a dreadful amount of alarm and amazement -of Geoffrey Ludlow's close connection with a person whose antecedents -were not comeatable and siftable by a local committee of Grundys. A -year ago, and Charley would have laughed the whole business to scorn; -insisted that every man had a right to do as he liked; slashed at -the doubters; mocked their shaking heads and raised shoulders and -taken no heed of any thing that might have been sad. But matters were -different now. Not merely was Charley a recruit in the Grundy ranks, -having pinned the Grundy colours in his coat, and subscribed to the -Grundy oath; but the person about to be brought before the Grundy -_Fehmgericht_, or court-marshal, was one in whom, should his hopes be -realised, he would have the greatest interest. Though he had never -dared to express his hopes, though he had not the smallest actual -foundation for his little air-castle, Charles Potts naturally and -honestly regarded Matilda Ludlow as the purest and most honourable of -her sex--as does every young fellow regard the girl he loves; and the -idea that she should be associated, or intimately connected, with any -one under a moral taint, was to him terrible and loathsome. - -The moral taint, mind, was all hypothetical. Charles Potts had not -heard one syllable of Margaret Dacre's history, had been told nothing -about it, knew nothing of her except that he and Geoffrey had saved her -from starvation in the streets. But when people go in for the public -profession of virtue, it is astonishing to find how quickly they listen -to reports of the shortcomings and backslidings of those who are not -professedly in the same category. It seemed a bit of fatalism too, -that this acquaintance should have occurred immediately on Geoffrey's -selling his picture for a large sum to Mr. Stompff. Had he not done -this, there is no doubt that the other thing would have been heard -of by few, noticed by none; but in art, as in literature, and indeed -in most other professions, no crime is so heavily visited as that of -being successful. It is the sale of your picture, or the success of -your novel, that first makes people find out how you steal from other -people, how your characters are mere reproductions of your own personal -friends,--for which you ought to be shunned,--how laboured is your -pathos, and how poor your jokes. It is the repetition of your success -that induces the criticism; not merely that you are a singular instance -of the badness of the public taste, but that you have a red nose, a -decided cast in one eye, and that undoubtedly your grandmother had -hard labour for stealing a clock. Geoff Ludlow the struggling might -have done as he liked without comment; on Geoff Ludlow the possessor -of unlimited commissions from the great Stompff it was meet that every -vial of virtuous wrath should be poured. - -Although Charles Potts knew the loquacity of Mr. Flexor,--the story -of Geoff's adventure and fascination had gone the round of the -studios,--he did not think how much of what had occurred, or what was -likely to occur, was actually known, inasmuch as that most men, knowing -the close intimacy existing between him and Ludlow, had the decency to -hold their tongues in his presence. But one day he heard a good deal -more than every thing. He was painting on a fancy head which he called -"Diana Vernon," but which, in truth, was merely a portrait of Miss -Matilda Ludlow very slightly idealised (the "Gil Blas" had been sent -for acceptance or rejection by the Academy Committee), and Bowker was -sitting by smoking a sympathetic pipe, when there came a sharp tug at -the bell, and Bowker, getting up to open the door, returned with a very -rueful countenance, closely followed by little Tidd. Now little Tidd, -though small in stature, was a great ruffian. A soured, disappointed -little wretch himself, he made it the business of his life to go about -maligning every one who was successful, and endeavouring, when he -came across them personally, to put them out of conceit by hints and -innuendoes. He was a nasty-looking little man, with an always grimy -face and hands, a bald head, and a frizzled beard. He had a great -savage mouth with yellow tusks at either end of it; and he gave you, -generally, the sort of notion of a man that you would rather not drink -after. He had been contemporary with Geoffrey Ludlow at the Academy, -and had been used to say very frankly to him and others, "When I become -a great man, as I'm sure to do, I shall cut all you chaps;" and he -meant it. But years had passed, and Tidd had not become a great man -yet; on the contrary, he had subsided from yards of high-art canvas -into portrait-painting, and at that he seemed likely to remain. - -"Well, how do _you_ do, Potts?" said Mr. Tidd. "I said 'How do you -do?' to our friend Mr. Bowker at the door. Looks well, don't he? His -troubles seem to sit lightly on him." Here Mr. Bowker growled a bad -word, and seemed as if about to spring upon the speaker. - -"And what's this you're doing, Potts? A charming head! acharming--n-no! -not quite so charming when you get close to it; nose a little out of -drawing, and--rather spotty, eh? What do you say, Mr. Bowker?" - -"I say, Mr. Tidd, that if you could paint like that, you'd give one of -your ears." - -"Ah, yes--well, that's not complimentary, but--soured, poor man; sad -affair! Yes, well! you've sent your Gil Blas to the Academy, I suppose, -Potts?" - -"O yes; he's there, sir; very likely at this moment being held up by a -carpenter before the Fatal Three." - -"Ah! don't be surprised at its being kicked out." - -"I don't intend to be." - -"That's right; they're sending them back in shoals this year, I'm -told--in shoals. Have you heard any thing about the pictures?" - -"Nothing, except that Landseer's got something stunning." - -"Landseer, ah!" said Mr. Tidd. "When I think of that man, and the -prices he gets, my blood boils, sir--boils! That the British public -should care about and pay for a lot of stupid horses and cattle-pieces, -and be indifferent to real art, is--well, never mind!" and Mr. Tidd -gave himself a great blow in the chest, and asked, "What else?" - -"Nothing else--O yes! I heard from Rushworth, who's on the Council, -you know, that they had been tremendously struck by Geoff Ludlow's -pictures, and that one or two more of the same sort are safe to make -him an Associate." - -"What!" said Mr. Tidd, eagerly biting his nails. "What!--an Associate! -Geoffrey Ludlow an Associate!" - -"Ah, that seems strange to you, don't it, Tidd?" said Bowker, speaking -for the first time. "I recollect you and Geoff together drawing from -the life. You were going to do every thing in those days, Tidd; and old -Geoff was as quiet and as modest as--as he is now. It's the old case of -the hare and the tortoise; and you're the hare, Tidd;--though, to look -at you," added Mr. Bowker under his breath, "you're a d--d sight more -like the tortoise, by Jove!" - -"Geoffrey Ludlow an Associate!" repeated Mr. Tidd, ignoring Mr. -Bowker's remark, and still greedily biting his nails. "Well, I should -hardly have thought that; though you can't tell what they won't do down -in that infernal place in Trafalgar Square. Theyve treated me badly -enough; and it's quite like them to make a pet of him." - -"How have they treated you badly, Tidd?" asked Potts, in the hope of -turning the conversation away from Ludlow and his doings. - -"How!" screamed Tidd; "in a thousand ways! Theyve a personal hatred -of me, sir--that's what they have! Ive tried every dodge and painted -in every school, and they won't have me. The year after Smith made a -hit with that miserable picture 'Measuring Heights,' from the _Vicar -of Wakefield_, I sent in 'Mr. Burchell cries Fudge!'--kicked out! -The year after, Mr. Ford got great praise for his wretched daub of -'Dr. Johnson reading Goldsmith's Manuscript.' I sent in 'Goldsmith, -Johnson, and Bozzy at the Mitre Tavern'--kicked out!--a glorious bit -of humour, in which I'd represented all three in different stages of -drunkenness--kicked out!" - -"I suppose you've not been used worse than most of us, Tidd," growled -Mr. Bowker. "She's an unjust stepmother, is the R.A. of A. But she -snubs pretty nearly every body alike." - -"Not at all!" said Tidd. "Here's this Ludlow--" - -"What of him?" interposed Potts quickly. - -"Can any one say that his painting is--ah, well! poor devil! it's no -good saying any thing more about him; he'll have quite enough to bear -on his own shoulders soon." - -"What, when he's an Associate!" said Bowker, who inwardly was highly -delighted at Tidd's evident rage. - -"Associate!--stuff! I mean when he's married." - -"Married? Is Ludlow going to be married?" - -"Of course he is. Haven't you heard it? it's all over town." And indeed -it would have been strange if the story had not permeated all those -parts of the town which Mr. Tidd visited, as he himself had laboured -energetically for its circulation. "It's all over town--O, a horrible -thing! horrible thing!" - -Bowker looked across at Charley Potts, who said, "What do you mean by a -horrible thing, Tidd? Speak out and tell us; don't be hinting in that -way." - -"Well, then, Ludlow's going to marry some dreadful bad woman. O, it's a -fact; I know all about it. Ludlow was coming home from a dinner-party -one night, and he saw this woman, who was drunk, nearly run over by an -omnibus at the Regent Circus. He rushed into the road, and pulled her -out; and finding she was so drunk she couldn't speak, he got a room for -her at Flexor's and took her there, and has been to see her every day -since; and at last he's so madly in love with her that he's going to -marry her." - -"Ah!" said Mr. Bowker; "who is she? Where did she come from?" - -"Nobody knows where she came from; but she's a reg'lar bad 'un,--as -common as dirt. Pity too, ain't it? for Ive heard Ludlow's mother is a -nice old lady, and Ive seen his sister, who's stunnin'!" and Mr. Tidd -winked his eye. - -This last proceeding finished Charley Potts, and caused his wrath, -which had been long simmering, to boil over. "Look here, Mr. Tidd!" he -burst forth; "that story about Geoff Ludlow is all lies--all lies, do -you hear! And if I find that you're going about spreading it, or if you -ever mention Miss Ludlow as you did just now, I'll break your infernal -neck for you!" - -"Mr. Potts!" said Tidd,--"Mr. Potts, such language! Mr. Bowker, did you -hear what he said?" - -"I did," growled old Bowker over his pipe; "and from what I know of -him, I should think he was deuced likely to do it." - -Mr. Tidd seemed to be of the same opinion, for he moved towards the -door, and slunk out, muttering ominously. - -"There's a scoundrel for you!" said Charley, when the door shut -behind the retreating Tidd; "there's a ruffian for you! Ive not the -least doubt that vagabond got a sort of foundation smattering from -that blabbing Flexor, and invented all that about the omnibus and the -drunken state and the rest of it himself. If that story gets noised -about, it will do Geoff harm." - -"Of course it will," said Bowker; "and that's just what Tidd wants. -However, I think your threat of breaking his neck has stopped that -little brute's tongue. There are some fellows, by Jove! who'll go -on lying and libelling you, and who are only checked by the idea of -getting a licking, when they shut up like telescopes. I don't know -what's to be done about Geoff. He seems thoroughly determined and -infatuated." - -"I can't understand it." - -"_I_ can," said old Bowker, sadly; "if she's any thing like the head -he's painted in his second picture--and I think from his manner it must -be deuced like her--I can understand a man's doing any thing for such a -woman. Did she strike you as being very lovely?" - -"I couldn't see much of her that night, and she was deadly white and -ill; but I didn't think her as good-looking as--some that I know." - -"Geoff ought to know about this story that's afloat." - -"I think he ought," said Charley. "I'll walk up to his place in a day -or two, and see him about it." - -"See _him?_" said Bowker. "Ah, all right! Yesterday was not your -William's natal day." - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. -AT THE PRIVATE VIEW. - - -The grand epoch of the artistic year had arrived; the tremendous -Fehmgericht--appointed to decide on the merits of some hundreds of -struggling men, to stamp their efforts with approval or to blight them -with rejection--had issued their sentence. The Hanging-Committee had -gone through their labours and eaten their dinners; every inch of space -on the walls in Trafalgar Square was duly covered; the successful men -had received intimation of the "varnishing day," and to the rejected -had been despatched a comforting missive, stating that the amount -of space at the command of the Academy was so small, that, sooner -than place their works in an objectionable position, the Council had -determined to ask for their withdrawal. Out of this ordeal Geoffrey -Ludlow had come splendidly. There had always been a notion that he -would "do something;" but he had delayed so long--near the mark, but -never reaching it--that the original belief in his talents had nearly -faded out. Now, when realisation came, it came with tenfold force. The -old boys--men of accepted name and fame--rejoiced with extra delight -in his success because it was one in their own line, and without any -giving in to the doctrines of the new school, which they hated with all -their hearts. They liked the "Sic vos non vobis" best (for Geoffrey had -sternly held to his title, and refused all Mr. Stompff's entreaties -to give it a more popular character); they looked upon it as a more -thoroughly legitimate piece of work. They allowed the excellences of -the "Scylla and Charybdis," and, indeed, some of them were honest -enough to prefer it, as a bit of real excellence in painting; but -others objected to the pre-Raphaelite tendency to exalt the white face -and the dead-gold hair into a realisation of beauty. But all were -agreed that Geoffrey Ludlow had taken the grand step which was always -anticipated from him, and that he was, out and away, the most promising -man of the day: So Geoff was hung on the line, and received letters -from half-a-dozen great names congratulating him on his success, and -was in the seventh heaven of happiness, principally from the fact that -in all this he saw a prospect of excellent revenue, of the acquisition -of money and honour to be shared with a person then resident in Mr. -Flexor's lodgings, soon to be mistress of his own home. - -The kind Fates had also been propitious to Mr. Charles Potts, whose -picture of "Gil Blas and the Archbishop" had been well placed in the -North Room. Mr. Tidd's "Boadicea in her Chariot," ten feet by six, had -been rejected; but his portrait of W. Bagglehole, Esq., vestry-clerk of -St. Wabash, Little Britain, looked down from the ceiling of the large -room and terrified the beholders. - -So at length arrived that grand day of the year to the Academicians, -when they bid certain privileged persons to the private view of the -pictures previous to their public exhibition. The _profanum vulgus_, -who are odi'd and arceo'd, pine in vain hope of obtaining a ticket for -this great occasion. The public press, the members of the Legislature -carefully sifted, a set of old dowagers who never bought a sketch, and -who scarcely know a picture from a pipkin, and a few distinguished -artists,--these are the happy persons who are invited to enter the -sacred precincts on this eventful day. Geoffrey Ludlow never had been -inside the walls on such an occasion--never expected to be; but on -the evening before, as he was sitting in his studio smoking a pipe -and thinking that within twenty-four hours he would have Margaret's -final decision, looking back over his short acquaintance with her in -wonder, looking forward to his future life with her in hope, when a -mail-phaeton dashed up to the door, and in the strident tones, "Catch -hold, young 'un," shouted to the groom, Geoff recognised the voice of -Mr. Stompff, and looking out saw that great capitalist descending from -the vehicle. - -"Hallo, Ludlow!" said Mr. Stompff, entering the studio; "how are you? -Quiet pipe after the day's grind? That's your sort! What will I take, -you were going to say? Well, I think a little drop of sherry, if you've -got it pale and dry,--as, being a man of taste, of course you have. -Well, those duffers at the Academy have hung you well, you see! Of -course they have. You know how that's done, of course?" - -"I had hoped that the--" Geoff began to stutter directly it became a -personal question with him--"that the--I was going to say that the -pictures were good enough to--" - -"Pictures good enough!--all stuff! pickles! The pictures are good--no -use in denying that, and it would be deuced stupid in me, whove -bought 'em! But that's not why they're so well hung. My men all on -the Hanging-Committee--_twiggez-vous?_ Last year there were two of -Caniche's men, and a horrible fellow who paints religious dodges, which -no one buys: not one of my men on the line, and half of them turned out -I determined to set that right this year, and Ive done it. Just you -look where Caniche's men are to-morrow, that's all!" - -"To-morrow?" - -"O, ah! that's what brought me here; I forgot to tell you. Here's a -ticket for the private view. I think you ought to be there,--show -yourself, you know, and that kind of thing. And look here: if you see -me pointing you out to people, don't you be offended. Ive lived longer -in the world than you, and I know what's what. Besides, you're part -of my establishment just now, and I know the way to work the oracle. -So don't mind it, that's all. Very decent glass of sherry, Ludlow! I -say--excuse me, but if you _could_ wear a white waistcoat to-morrow, I -think I should like it. English gentleman, you know, and all that! Some -of Caniche's fellows are very seedy-looking duffers." - -Geoff smiled, took the ticket, and promised to come, terribly -uncomfortable at the prospect of notoriety which Mr. Stompff had opened -for him. But that worthy had not done with him yet. - -"After it's all over," said he, "you must come and dine with me at -Blackwall. Regular business of mine, sir. I take down my men and two -or three of the newspaper chaps, after the private view, and give 'em -as good a dinner as money can buy. No stint! I say to Lovegrove, 'You -know me! The best, and damn the expense!' and Lovegrove does it, and -it's all right! It would be difficult for a fellow to pitch into any -of my men with a recollection of my Moselle about him, and a hope that -it'll come again next year, eh? Well--won't detain you now; see you -to-morrow; and don't forget the dinner." - -Do you not know this kind of man, and does he not permeate English -society?--this coarse ruffian, whose apparent good-nature disarms your -nascent wrath, and yet whose good-nature you know to be merely vulgar -ostentatious self-assertion under the guise of _bonhomie_. I take the -character I have drawn, but I declare he belongs to all classes. I -have seen him as publisher to author, as attorney to young barrister, -as patron to struggler generally. Geoffrey Ludlow shrank before him, -but shrank in his old feeble hesitating way; he had not the pluck to -shake off the yoke, and bid his employer go to the devil. It was a new -phase of life for him--a phase which promised competence at a time -when competence was required; which, moreover, rid him of any doubt or -anxiety about the destination of his labour, which to a man of Ludlow's -temperament was all in all. How many of us are there who will sell such -wares as Providence has given us the power of producing at a much less -rate than we could otherwise obtain for them, and to most objectionable -people, so long as we are enabled to look for and to get a certain -price, and are absorbed from the ignominy of haggling, even though by -that haggling we should be tenfold enriched! So Geoffrey Ludlow took -Mr. Stompff's ticket, and gave him his pale sherry, and promised to -dine with him, and bowed him out; and then went back into his studio -and lit a fresh pipe and sat down to think calmly over all that was -about to befall him. - -What came into his mind first? His love, of course. There is no man, -as yet unanchored in the calm haven of marriage, who amidst contending -perplexities does not first think of what storms and shoals beset his -progress in that course. And who, so long as there he can see a bit -of blue sky, a tolerably clear passage, does not, to a great extent, -ignore the black clouds which he sees banking up to windward, the -heavy swell crested with a thin, dangerous, white line of wave, which -threatens his fortunes in another direction. Here Geoffrey Ludlow -thought himself tolerably secure. Margaret had told him all her story, -had made the worst of it, and had left him to act on her confession. -Did she love him? That was a difficult question for a man of Geoff's -diffidence to judge. But he thought he might unhesitatingly answer it -in the affirmative. It was her own proposition that nothing should be -done hurriedly; that he should take the week to calmly reflect over the -position, and see whether he held by his first avowal. And to-morrow -the week would be at an end, and he would have the right to ask for her -decision. - -That decision, if favourable, would at once settle his plans, and -necessitate an immediate communication to his mother. This was a phase -of the subject which Geoffrey characteristically had ignored, put by, -and refrained from thinking of as long as possible. But now there was -no help for it. Under any circumstances he would have endeavoured, on -marrying, to set up a separate establishment for himself; but situated -as he was, with Margaret Dacre as his intended wife, he saw that such -a step was inevitable. For though he loved his mother with all his -heart, he was not blind to her weaknesses and he knew that the "cross" -would never be more triumphantly brought forward, or more loudly -complained of, than when it took the form of a daughter-in-law,--a -daughter-in-law, moreover, whose antecedents were not held up for -the old lady's scrutinising inspection. And here, perhaps, was the -greatest tribute to the weird influence of the dead-gold hair, the -pallid face, and the deep-violet eyes. A year ago, and Geoff Ludlow -would have told you that nothing could ever have made him alter his -then style of life. It had continued too long, he would have told you; -he had settled down into a certain state of routine, living with the -old lady and Til: they understood his ways and wishes, and he thought -he should never change. And Mrs. Ludlow used to say that Geoffrey would -never marry now; he did not care for young chits of girls, who were -all giggle and nonsense, my dear; a man at his time of life looked -for something more than that, and where it was to come from she, for -one, did not know. Miss Matilda had indeed different views on the -subject; she thought that dear old Geoff would marry, but that it -would probably come about in this way. Some lovely female member of -the aristocracy, to whom Geoff had given drawing-lessons, or who had -seen his pictures, and become imbued with the spirit of poetry in them, -would say to her father, the haughty earl, "I pine for him; I cannot -live without him;" and to save his darling child's health, the earl -would give his consent, and bestow upon the happy couple estates of the -annual value of twenty thousand pounds. But then you see Miss Matilda -Ludlow was given to novel-reading, and though perfectly practical and -unromantic as regards herself and her career, was apt to look upon all -appertaining to her brother, whom she adored, through a surrounding -halo of circulating-library. - -How this great intelligence would, then, be received by his -home-tenants set Geoff thinking after Stompff's departure, and between -the puff of his pipe he turned the subject hither and thither in -his mind, and proposed to himself all kinds of ways for meeting the -difficulty; none of which, on reconsideration, appearing practicable -or judicious, he reverted to an old and favourite plan of his, that of -postponing any further deliberation until the next day, when, as he -argued with himself; he would have "slept upon it"--a most valuable -result when the subject is systematically ignored up to the time of -going to sleep, and after the hour of waking--he would have been to the -private view at the Academy--which had, of course, an immense deal to -do with it--and he would have received the final decision from Margaret -Dacre. O yes, it was useless to think any more of it that night. And -fully persuaded of this, Geoff turned in and fell fast asleep. - - -"And there won't be a more gentlemanly-looking man in the rooms than -our dear old Geoff!" - -"Stuff, Til! don't be absurd!" - -"No, I mean it; and you know it too, you vain old thing; else why are -you perpetually looking in the glass?" - -"No, but--Til, nonsense!--I suppose I'm all right, eh?" - -"All right!--you're charming, Geoff! I never saw you such a--I can't -help it you know--swell before! Don't frown, Geoff; there's no other -word that expresses it. One would think you were going to meet a lady -there. Does the Queen go, or any of the young princesses?" - -"How can you be so ridiculous, Til! Now, goodbye;" and Geoff gave his -sister a hearty kiss, and started off. Miss Matilda was right; he did -look perfectly gentlemanly in his dark-blue coat, white waistcoat, and -small-check trousers. Nature, which certainly had denied him personal -beauty or regularity of feature, had given him two or three marks -of distinction: his height, his bright earnest eyes, and a certain -indefinable odd expression, different from the ordinary ruck of -people--an expression which attracted attention, and invariably made -people ask who he was. - -It was three o'clock before Geoff arrived at the Academy, and the -rooms were crowded. The scene was new to him, and he stared round in -astonishment at the brilliancy of the _toilettes_, and what Charley -Potts would have called the "air of swelldom" which pervaded the place. -It is scarcely necessary to say that his first act was to glance at -the Catalogue to see where his pictures were placed; his second, to -proceed to them to see how they looked on the walls. Round each was a -little host of eager inspectors, and from what Geoff caught of their -conversation, the verdict was entirely favourable. But he was not long -left in doubt. As he was looking on, his arm was seized by Mr. Stompff, -who, scarcely waiting to carry him out of earshot, began, "Well! you've -done it up brown this time, my man, and no flies! Your pictures have -woke 'em up. They're talking of nothing else. Ive sold 'em both. Lord -Everton--that's him over there: little man with a double eyeglass, -brown coat and high velvet collar--he's bought the 'sic wos;' and Mr. -Shirtings of Manchester's got the other. The price has been good, sir; -I'm not above denyin' it. There's six dozen of Sham ready to go into -your cellar whenever you say the word: I ain't mean with my men like -some people. Power of nobs here to-day. There's the Prime Minister, -and the Chancellor of the Exchequer--that's him in the dirty white -hat and rumpled coat--and no end of bishops and old ladies of title. -That's Shirtings, that fat man in the black satin waistcoat. Wonderful -man, sir,--factory-boy in Manchester! Saved his shillin' a-week, and -is now worth two hundred thousand. Fine modern collection he's got! -That little man in the turn-down collar, with the gold pencil-case in -his hand, is Scrunch, the art-critic of the _Scourge_. A bitter little -beast; but Ive squared him. I gave him five-and-twenty pounds to write -a short account of the Punic War, which was given away with Bliff's -picture of 'Regulus,' and he's never pitched into any of my people -since. He's comin' to dinner to-day. O, by the bye, don't be late! I'll -drive you down." - -"Thank you," said Geoff; "I--Ive got somewhere to go to. I'll find my -own way to Blackwall." - -"Ha!" said Stompff, "then it is true, is it? Never mind; mum's the -word! I'm tiled! Look here: don't you mind me if you see me doing any -thing particular. It's all good for business." - -It may have been so, but it was undoubtedly trying. During the next two -hours Geoff was conscious of Mr. Stompff's perpetually hovering round -him, always acting as cicerone to some different man, to whom he would -point out Geoff with his forefinger, then whisper in his companion's -ear, indicate one of Geoff's pictures with his elbow, and finish by -promenading his friend just under Geoff's nose; the stranger making a -feeble pretence of looking at some highly-hung portrait, but obviously -swallowing Geoff with his eyes, from his hair to his boots. - -But he had also far more pleasurable experiences of his success. Three -or four of the leading members of the Academy, men of world-wide -fame, whom he had known by sight, and envied--so far as envy lay in -his gentle disposition--for years, came up to him, and introducing -themselves, spoke warmly of his picture, and complimented him in most -flattering terms. By one of these, the greatest of them all, Lord -Everton was subsequently brought up; and the kind old man, with that -courtesy which belongs only to the highest breeding, shook hands with -him, and expressed his delight at being the fortunate possessor of Mr. -Ludlow's admirable picture, and hoped to have the pleasure of receiving -him at Everton house, and showing him the gallery of old masters, in -whose footsteps he, Mr. Ludlow, was so swiftly following. - -And then, as Geoffrey was bowing his acknowledgments, he heard his name -pronounced, and turning round found himself close by Lord Caterham's -wheelchair, and had a hearty greeting from its occupant. - -"How do you do, Mr. Ludlow? You will recollect meeting me at Lady -Lilford's, I daresay. I have just been looking at your pictures, and I -congratulate you most earnestly upon them. No, I never flatter. They -appear to me very remarkable things, especially the evening-party -scene, where you seem to have given an actual spirit of motion to the -dancers in the background, so different from the ordinary stiff and -angular representation.--You can leave the chair here for a minute, -Stephens.--In such a crowd as this, Mr. Ludlow, it's refreshing--is it -not?--to get a long look at that sheltered pool surrounded by waving -trees, which Creswick has painted so charmingly. The young lady who -came with me has gone roving away to search for some favourite, whose -name she saw in the Catalogue; but if you don't mind waiting with me -a minute, she will be back, and I know she will be glad to see you, -as--ah! here she is!" - -As Geoffrey looked round, a tall young lady with brown eyes, a pert -inquisitive nose, an undulating figure, and a bright laughing mouth, -came hurriedly up, and without noticing Geoffrey, bent over Lord -Caterham's chair, and said, "I was quite right, Arthur; it is--" -then, in obedience to a glance from her companion, she looked up and -exclaimed, "What, Geoffrey!--Mr. Ludlow, I mean--O, how _do_ you do? -Why, you don't mean to say you don't recollect me?" - -Geoff was a bad courtier at any time, and now the expression of his -face at the warmth of this salutation showed how utterly he was puzzled. - -"You _have_ forgotten, then? And you don't recollect those days when--" - -"Stop!" he exclaimed, a sudden light breaking upon him; "little Annie -Maurice that used to live at Willesden Priory! My little fairy, that -I have sketched a thousand times. Well, I ought not to have forgotten -you, Miss Maurice, for I have studied your features often enough to -have impressed them on my memory. But how could I recognise my little -elf in such a dashing young lady?" - -Lord Caterham looked up at them out of the corners of his eyes as they -stood warmly shaking hands, and for a moment his face wore a pained -expression; but it passed away directly, and his voice was as cheery as -usual as he said, "_Et nos mutamur in illis_, eh, Mr. Ludlow? Little -fays grow into dashing young ladies, and indolent young sketchers -become the favourites of the Academy." - -"Ay," said Annie; "and the dear old Priory let to other people, and -many of those who made those times so pleasant are dead and gone. O, -Geoffrey--Mr. Ludlow, I mean--" - -"Yes," said Geoff, interrupting her; "and Geoffrey turned into Mr. -Ludlow, and Annie into Miss Maurice: there's another result of the -flight of time, and one which I, for my part, heartily object to." - -"Ah, but, Mr. Ludlow, I must bespeak a proper amount of veneration for -you on the part of this young lady," said Lord Caterham; "for I am -about to ask you to do me a personal favour in which she is involved." - -Geoff bowed absently; he was already thinking it was time for him to go -to Margaret. - -"Miss Maurice is good enough to stay with my family for the present, -Mr. Ludlow; and I am very anxious that she should avail herself of the -opportunity of cultivating a talent for drawing which she undoubtedly -possesses." - -"She used to sketch very nicely years ago," said Geoff, turning to her -with a smile; and her face was radiant with good humour as she said: - -"O, Geoffrey, do you recollect my attempts at cows?" - -"So, in order to give her this chance, and in the hope of making her -attempt at cows more creditable than it seems they used to be, I am -going to ask you, Mr. Ludlow, to undertake Miss Maurice's artistic -education, to give her as much of your time as you can spare, and, in -fact, to give what I think I may call her genius the right inclination." - -Geoffrey hesitated of course--it was his normal state--and he said -doubtingly: "You're very good; but I--I'm almost afraid--" - -"You are not bashful, I trust, Mr. Ludlow," said Lord Caterham; "I -have seen plenty of your work at Lady Lilford's, and I know you to be -perfectly competent." - -"It was scarcely that, my lord; I rather think that--" but when he got -thus far he looked up and saw Annie Maurice's brown eyes lifted to his -in such an appealing glance that he finished his sentence by saying: -"Well, I shall be very happy indeed to do all that I can--for old -acquaintance-sake, Annie;" and he held out his hand frankly to her. - -"You are both very good," she said; "and it will be a real pleasure to -me to recommence my lessons, and to try to prove to you, Geoffrey, that -I'm not so impatient or so stupid as I was. When shall we begin?" - -"The sooner the better, don't you think, Mr. Ludlow?" said Lord -Caterham. - -Geoff felt his face flush as he said: "I--I expect to be going out -of town for a week or two; but when I return I shall be delighted to -commence." - -"When you return we shall be delighted to see you. I can fully -understand how you long for a little rest and change after your hard -work, Mr. Ludlow. Now goodbye to you; I hope this is but the beginning -of an intimate acquaintance." And Lord Caterham, nodding to Geoffrey, -called Stephens and was wheeled away. - -"I like that man, Annie," said he, when they were out of earshot; "he -has a thoroughly good face, and the truth and honesty of his eyes -overbalance the weakness of the mouth, which is undecided, but not -shifty. His manner is honest, too; don't you think so?" - -He waited an instant for an answer, but Annie did not speak. - -"Didn't you hear sue, Annie? or am I not worth a reply?" - -"I--I beg your pardon, Arthur. I heard you perfectly; but I was -thinking. O yes, I should think Mr. Ludlow was as honest as the day." - -"But what made you _distraite?_ What were you thinking of?" - -"I was thinking what a wonderful difference a few years made. I was -thinking of my old ideas of Mr. Ludlow when he used to come out to dine -with papa, and sleep at our house; how he had long dark hair, which he -used to toss off his face, and poor papa used to laugh at him and call -him an enthusiast. I saw hundreds of silver threads in his hair just -now, and he seemed--well, I don't know--so much more constrained and -conventional than I recollect him." - -"You seem to forget that you had frocks and trousers and trundled a -hoop in those days, Annie. You were a little fay then; you are a Venus -now: in a few years you will be married, and then you must sit to Mr. -Ludlow for a Juno. It is only your pretty flowers that change so much; -your hollies and yews keep pretty much the same throughout the year." - -From the tone of voice in which Lord Caterham made this last remark, -Annie knew very well that he was in one of those bitter humours which, -when his malady was considered, came surprisingly seldom upon him, and -she knew that a reply would only have aggravated his temper, so she -forbore and walked silently by his side. - -No sooner did he find himself free than Geoffrey Ludlow hurried from -the Academy, and jumping into a cab, drove off at once to Little -Flotsam Street. Never since Margaret Dacre had been denizened at -Flexor's had Geoff approached the neighbourhood without a fluttering -at his heart, a sinking of his spirits, a general notion of fright and -something about to happen. But now, whether it was that his success -at the Academy and the kind words he had had from all his friends had -given him courage, it is impossible to say, but he certainly jumped out -of the hansom without the faintest feeling of disquietude, and walked -hurriedly perhaps, but by no means nervously, up to Flexor's door. - -Margaret was in, of course. He found her, the very perfection of -neatness, watering some flowers in her window which he had sent her. -She had on a tight-fitting cotton dress of a very small pattern, and -her hair was neatly braided over her ears. He had seen her look more -voluptuous, never more _piquante_ and irresistible. She came across the -room to him with outstretched hand and raised eyebrows. - -"You have come!" she said; "that's good of you, for I scarcely expected -you." - -Geoff stopped suddenly. "Scarcely expected me! Yet you must know that -to-day the week is ended." - -"I knew that well enough; but I heard from the woman of the house here -that to-day is the private view of the Academy, and I knew how much you -would be engaged." - -"And did you think that I should suffer any thing to keep me from -coming to you to-day?" - -She paused a minute, then looked him full in the face. "No; frankly and -honestly I did not. I was using conventionalisms and talking society to -you. I never will do so again. I knew you would come, and--and I longed -for your coming, to tell you my delight at what I hear is your glorious -success." - -"My greatest triumph is in your appreciation of it," said Geoff. -"Having said to you what I did a week ago, you must know perfectly that -the end and aim of all I think, of all I undertake, is connected with -you. And you must not keep me in suspense, Margaret, please. You must -tell me your decision." - -"My decision! Now did we not part, at my suggestion, for a week's -adjournment, during which you should turn over in your mind certain -positions which I had placed before you? And now, the week ended, you -ask for my decision! Surely rather I ought to put the question." - -"A week ago I said to you, 'Margaret, be my wife.' It was not very -romantically put, I confess; but I'm not a very romantic person. You -told me to wait a week, to think over all the circumstances of our -acquaintance, and to see whether my determination held good. The week -is over; Ive done all you said; and Ive come again to say, Margaret, be -my wife." - -It was rather a long speech this for Geoff; and as he uttered it his -dear old face glowed with honest fervour. - -"You have thoroughly made up your mind, considered every thing, and -decided?" - -"I have." - -"Mind, in telling you the story of my past life, I spoke out freely, -regardless of my own feelings and of yours. You owe me an equal -candour. You have thought of all?" - -"Of all." - -"And you still--" - -"I still repeat that one demand." - -"Then I say 'Yes,' frankly and freely. Geoffrey Ludlow, I will be your -wife; and by Heaven's help I will make your life happy, and atone for -my past. I--" - -And she did not say any more just then, for Geoff stopped her lips with -a kiss. - - -"What _can_ have become of Ludlow?" said Mr. Stompff for about the -twentieth time, as he came back into the dining-room, after craning -over the balcony and looking all round. - -"Giving himself airs on account of his success," said genial Mr. Bowie, -the art-critic. "I wouldn't wait any longer for him, Stompff." - -"I won't," said Stompff. "Dinner!" - -The dinner was excellent, the wine good and plentiful, the guests well -assorted, and the conversation as racy and salted as it usually is -when a hecatomb of absent friends is duly slaughtered by the company. -Each man said the direst things he could about his own personal -enemies; and there were but very few cases in which the rest of the -_convives_ did not join in chorus. It was during a pause in this kind -of conversation--much later in the evening, when the windows had been -thrown open, and most of the men were smoking in the balcony--that -little Tommy Smalt, who had done full justice to the claret, took his -cigar from his mouth, leaned lazily back, and looking up at the moonlit -sky, felt in such a happy state of repletion and tobacco as to be -momentarily charitable--the which feeling induced him to say: - -"I wish Ludlow had been with us!" - -"His own fault that he's not," said Mr. Stompff; "his own fault -entirely. However, he's missed a pleasant evening. I rather think we've -had the pull of him." - -Had Geoff missed a pleasant evening? He thought otherwise. He thought -he had, never had such an evening in his life; for the same cold -steel-blue rays of the early spring moon which fell upon the topers in -the Blackwall balcony came gleaming in through Mr. Flexor's first-floor -window, lighting up a pallid face set in a frame of dead-gold hair and -pillowed on Geoffrey Ludlow's breast. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. -THOSE TWAIN ONE FLESH. - - -So it was a settled thing between Margaret Dacre and Geoffrey Ludlow. -She had acceded to his earnest demand--demand thrice repeated--after -due consideration and delay, and she was to become his wife forthwith. -Indeed, their colloquy on that delicious moonlight evening would have -been brought to a conclusion much sooner than it was, had not Geoff -stalwartly declared and manfully held to his determination, spite of -every protest, not to go until they had settled upon a day on which to -be married. He did not see the use of waiting, he said; it would get -buzzed about by the Flexors; and all sorts of impertinent remarks and -congratulations would be made, which they could very well do without. -Of course, as regarded herself, Margaret would want a--what do you call -it?--outfit, _trousseau_, that was the word. But it appeared to him -that all he had to do was to give her the money, And all she had to do -was to go out and get the things she wanted, and that need not take any -time, or hinder them from naming a day--well, let us say in next week. -He himself had certain little arrangements to make; but he could very -well get through them all in that time. And what did Margaret say? - -Margaret did not say very much. She had been lying perfectly tranquil -in Geoffrey's arms; a position which, she said, first gave her -assurance that her new life had indeed begun. She should be able to -realise it more fully, she thought, when she commenced in a home of -her own, and in a fresh atmosphere; and as the prying curiosity of the -Flexors daily increased, and as Little Flotsam Street, with its normal -pavement of refuse and its high grim house-rows scarcely admitting any -light, was an objectionable residence, she could urge no reason for -delay. So a day at the end of the ensuing week was fixed upon; and -no sooner had it been finally determined than Geoff, looking round -at preparations which were absolutely necessary, was amazed at their -number and magnitude. - -He should be away a fortnight, he calculated, perhaps longer; and it -was necessary to apprise the families and the one or two "ladies' -colleges" in which he taught drawing of his absence. He would also let -Stompff know that he would not find him in his studio during the next -few days (for it was the habit of this great _entrepreneur_ to pay -frequent visits to his _proteges_, just to "give 'em a look-up," as -he said; but in reality to see that they were not doing work for any -opposition dealer); but he should simply tell Stompff that he was going -out of town for a little change, leaving that worthy to imagine that -he wanted rest after his hard work. And then came a point at which he -hitched up at once, and was metaphorically thrown on his beam-ends. -What was he to say to his mother and sister and to his intimate friends? - -To the last, of course, there was no actual necessity to say any thing, -save that he knew he must have some one to "give away" the bride, and -he would have preferred one of his old friends, even at the risk of -an explanation, to Flexor, hired for five shillings, and duly got up -in the costume of the old English gentleman. But to his mother and -sister it was absolutely necessary that some kind of notice should be -given. It was necessary they should know that the little household, -which, despite various small interruptions, had been carried on so -long in amity and affection, would be broken up, so far as he was -concerned; also necessary that they should know that his contribution -to the household income would remain exactly the same as though he -still partook of its benefits. He had to say all this; and he was as -frightened as a child. He thought of writing at first, and of leaving -a letter to be given to his mother after the ceremony was over; of -giving a bare history in a letter, and an amount of affection in the -postscript which would melt the stoniest maternal heart. But a little -reflection caused him to think better of this notion, and determined -him to seek an interview with his mother. It was due to her, and he -would go through with it. - -So one morning, when he had watched his sister Til safe off into a -prolonged diplomatic controversy with the cook, involving the reception -of divers ambassadors from the butcher and other tradespeople, Geoff -made his way into his mother's room, and found her knitting something -which might have been either an antimacassar for a giant or a -counterpane for a child, and at once intimated his pleasure at finding -her alone, as he had "something to say to her." - -This was an ominous beginning in Mrs. Ludlow's ears, and her "cross" -at once stood out visibly before her; Constantine himself had never -seen it plainer. The mere pronunciation of the phrase made her nervous; -she ought to have "dropped one and taken up two;" but her hands got -complicated, and she stopped with a knitting-needle in mid-air. - -"If you're alluding to the butcher's book, Geoffrey," she said, "I -hold myself blameless. It was understood, thoroughly understood, that -it should be eightpence a pound all round; and if Smithers chooses -to charge ninepence-halfpenny for lamb, and you allow it, I don't -hold myself responsible. I said to your sister at the time--I said, -'Matilda, I'm sure Geoffrey--'" - -"It's not that, mother, I want to talk to you about," said Geoff, with -a half-smile "it's a bigger subject than the price of butcher's meat. I -want to talk to you about myself--about my future life." - -"Very well, Geoffrey; that does not come upon me unawares. I am a -woman of the world. I ought to be, considering the time I had with -your poor father; and I suppose that now you're making a name, you'll -find it necessary to entertain. He did, poor fellow, though it's -little enough name or money he ever made! But if you want to see your -friends round you, there must be help in the kitchen. There are certain -things--jellies, and that like--that must come from the pastry-cook's; -but all the rest we can do very well at home with a little help in the -kitchen." - -"You don't comprehend me yet, mother. I--I'm going to leave you." - -"To leave us!--O, to live away! Very well, Geoffrey," said the old -lady, bridling up; "if you've grown too grand to live with your mother, -I can only say I'm sorry for you. Though I never saw my name in print -in the _Times_ newspaper, except among the marriages; and if that's to -be the effect it has upon me, I hope I never shall." - -"My dear mother, how _can_ you imagine any thing so absurd! The truth -is--" - -"O yes, Geoffrey, I understand. Ive not lived or sixty years in the -world for nothing. Not that there's been ever the least word said -about your friends coming pipe-smoking at all times of the night, or -hot water required for spirits when Emma was that dead with sleep she -could scarcely move; nor about young persons--female models you call -them--trolloping misses I say." - -It is worthy of remark that in all business matters Mrs. Ludlow was -accustomed to treat her son as a cipher, forgetting that two-thirds of -the income by which the house was supported were contributed by him. -There was no thought of this, however, in honest old Geoff's mind as he -said, - -"Mother, you won't hear me out! The fact is, I'm going to be married." - -"To be married, Geoffrey!" said the old lady, in a voice that was much -softer and rather tremulous; "to be married, my dear boy! Well, that is -news!" Her hands trembled as she laid them on his big shoulders and put -up her face to kiss him. "Well, well, to be sure! I never thought you'd -marry now, Geoffrey. I looked upon you as a confirmed old bachelor. And -who is it that has caught you at last? Not Miss Sanders, is it?" - -Geoffrey shook his head. - -"I thought not. No, that would never do. Nice kind of girl too; but -if we're to hold our heads so high when all our money comes out of -sugar-hogsheads in Thames Street, why where will be the end of it, I -should like to know? It isn't Miss Hall?" - -Geoffrey repeated his shake. - -"Well, I'm glad of it; not but what I'm very fond of Emily Hall; but -that half-pay father of hers! I shouldn't like some of the people about -here to know that we were related to a half-pay captain with a wooden -leg; and he'd be always clumping about the house, and be horrible -for the carpets! Well, if it isn't Minnie Beverley, I'll give it up; -for you'd never go marrying that tall Dickenson, who's more like a -dromedary than a woman!" - -"It is not Minnie Beverley, nor the young lady who's like a dromedary," -said Geoff, laughing. "The young lady I am going to marry is a stranger -to you; you have never even seen her." - -"Never seen her! O Geoff!" cried the old lady, with horror in her face, -"you're never going to marry one of those trolloping models, and bring -her home to live with us?" - -"No, no, mother; you need be under no alarm. This young lady, who is -from the country, is thoroughly ladylike and well educated. But I shall -not bring her home to you; we shall have a house of our own." - -"And what shall we do, Til and I? O, Geoffrey, I shall never have to go -into lodgings at my time of life, shall I, and after having kept house -and had my own plate and linen for so many years?" - -"Mother, do you imagine I should increase my own happiness at -the expense of yours? Of course you'll keep this house, and all -arrangements will go on just the same as usual, except that I sha'n't -be here to worry you." - -"You never worried me, my dear," said the old lady, as all his -generosity and noble unselfishness rose before her mind; "you never -worried me, but have been always the best of sons; and pray God that -you may be happy, for you deserve it." She put her arms round his neck -and kissed him fondly, while the tears trickled down her cheeks. "Ah, -here's Til," she continued, drying her eyes; "it would never do to let -her see me being so silly." - -"O, here you are at last!" said Miss Til, who, as they both noticed, -had a very high colour and was generally suffused about the face and -neck; "what have you been conspiring about? The Mater looks as guilty -as possible, doesn't she, Geoff? and you're not much better, sir. What -is the matter?" - -"I suspect you're simply attempting the authoritative to cover your own -confusion, Til. There's something--" - -"No, no! I won't be put off in that manner! What _is_ the matter?" - -"There's nothing the matter, my dear," said Mrs. Ludlow, who by this -time had recovered her composure; "though there is some great news. -Geoffrey's going to be married!" - -"What!" exclaimed Miss Til, and then made one spring into his arms. "O, -you darling old Geoff, you don't say so? O, how quiet you have kept it, -you horrible hypocrite, seeing us day after day and never breathing a -word about it! Now, who is it, at once? Stop, shall I guess? Is it any -one I know?" - -"No one that you know." - -"O, I am so glad! Do you know, I think I hate most people I -know--girls, I mean; and I'm sure none of them are nice enough for my -Geoff. Now, what's she like, Geoff?" - -"O, I don't know." - -"That's what men always say--so tiresome! Is she dark or fair?" - -"Well, fair, I suppose." - -"And what coloured hair and eyes?" - -"Eh? well, her hair is red, I think." - -"Red! Lor, Geoff! what they call carrots?" - -"No; deep-red, like red gold--" - -"O, Geoff, I know, I know! Like the Scylla in the picture. O, you worse -than fox, to deceive me in that way, telling me it was a model, and all -the rest of it. Well, if she's like that, she must be wonderful to look -at, and I'm dying to see her. What's her name?" - -"Margaret." - -"Margaret! That's very nice; I like Margaret very much. Of course -you'll never let yourself be sufficiently childishly spoony to let -it drop into Peggy, which is atrocious. I'm very glad she's got a -nice name; for, do all I could, I'm certain I never could like a -sister-in-law who was called Belinda or Keziah, or any thing dreadful." - -"Have you fixed your wedding-day, Geoffrey?" - -"Yes, mother; for Thursday next." - -"Thursday!" exclaimed Miss Til. "Thursday next? why there'll be no time -for me to get anything ready; for I suppose, as your sister, Geoff, I'm -to be one of the bridesmaids?" - -"There will be no bridesmaids, dear Til," said Geoffrey; "no company, -no breakfast. I have always thought that, if ever I married, I should -like to walk into the church with my bride, have the service gone -through, and walk out again, without the least attempt at show; and I'm -glad to find that Margaret thoroughly coincides with me." - -"But surely, Geoffrey," said Mrs. Ludlow, "your friends will--" - -"O my! Talking of friends," interrupted Miss Til, "I quite forgot -in all this flurry to tell you that Mr. Charles Potts is in the -drawing-room, waiting to see you, Geoffrey." - -"Dear me! is he indeed? ah, that accounts for a flushed face--" - -"Don't be absurd, Geoff! Shall I tell him to come here?" - -"You may if you like; but don't come back with him, as I want five -minutes' quiet talk with him." - -So Mrs. Ludlow and her daughter left the studio, and in a few minutes -Charley Potts arrived. As he walked up to Geoffrey and wrung his hand, -both men seemed under some little constraint. Geoff spoke first. - -"I'm glad you're here, Charley. I should have gone up to your place -if you hadn't looked in to-day. I have something to tell you, and -something to ask of you." - -"Tell away, old boy; and as for the asking, look upon it as -done,--unless it's tin, by the way; and there I'm no good just now." - -"Charley, I'm going to be married next Thursday to Margaret Dacre--the -girl we found fainting in the streets that night of the Titians." - -Geoff expected some exclamation, but his friend only nodded his head. - -"She has told me her whole life: insisted upon my hearing it before I -said a word to her; made me wait a week after I had asked her to be my -wife, on the chance that I should repent; behaved in the noblest way." - -Geoffrey again paused, and Mr. Potts again nodded. - -"We shall be married very quietly at the parish-church here; and there -will be nobody present but you. I want you to come; will you?" - -"Will I? Why, old man, we've been like brothers for years; and to think -that I'd desert you at a time like this! I--I didn't quite mean that, -you know; but if not, why not? You know what I do mean." - -"Thanks, Charley. One thing more: don't talk about it until after it's -over. I'm an awkward subject for chaff, particularly such chaff as this -would give rise to. You may tell old Bowker, if you like; but no one -else." - -And Mr. Potts went away without delivering that tremendous philippic -with which he had come charged. Perhaps it was his conversation with -Miss Til in the drawing-room which had softened his manners and -prevented him from being brutal. - -They were married on the following Thursday; Margaret looking perfectly -lovely in her brown-silk dress and white bonnet Charley Potts could not -believe her to be the haggard creature in whose rescue he had assisted; -and simple old William Bowker, peering out from between the curtains -of a high pew, was amazed at her strange weird beauty. The ceremony -was over; and Geoff, happy and proud, was leading his wife down the -steps of the church to the fly waiting for them, when a procession of -carriages, coachmen and footmen with white favours, and gaily-clad -company, all betokening another wedding, drove up to the door. The -bride and her bridesmaids had alighted, and the bridegroom's best-man, -who with his friend had just jumped out of his cabriolet, was bowing to -the bridesmaids as Geoff and Margaret passed. He was a pleasant airy -fellow, and seeing a pretty woman coming down the steps, he looked hard -at her. Their eyes met, and there was something in Margaret's glance -which stopped him in the act of raising his hand to his hat. Geoffrey -saw nothing of this; he was waving his hand to Bowker, who was standing -by; and they passed on to the fly. - -"Come on, Algy!" called out the impatient intended bridegroom; "they'll -be waiting for us in the church. What on earth are you staring at?" - -"Nothing, dear old boy!" said Algy Barford, who was the best man just -named,--"nothing but a resurrection!--only a resurrection; by Jove, -that's all!" - - - - - -Book the Second. - - - - -CHAPTER I. -NEW RELATIONS. - - -The fact of her having a daughter-in-law whom she had never seen, of -whose connections and antecedents she knew positively nothing, weighed -a good deal on Mrs. Ludlow's mind. "If she had been an Indian, my -dear," she said to her daughter Matilda, "at least, I don't mean an -Indian, not black you know; of course not--ridiculous; but one of -those young women who are sent out to India by their friends to pick -up husbands,--it would be a different matter. Of course, then I could -not have seen her until she came over to England; and as Geoff has -never been in India, I don't quite see how it could have happened; but -you know what I mean. But to think that she should have been living -in London, within the bills of thingummy--mortality, and Geoff never -to bring her to see me, is most extraordinary--most extraordinary! -However, it only goes to prove what Ive said--that I have a cross -to bear; and now my son's marrying himself in a most mysterious and -Arabian-nights-like manner is added to the short-weight which we always -get from the baker, and to the exceeding forwardness shown by that -young man with the pomatumed hair and the steel heart stuck into his -apron, whenever you go into the grocer's shop." - -And although Miss Matilda combated this idea with great resolution, -albeit by no means comfortable in her own mind as to Geoffrey's -proceedings, the old lady continued in a state of mind in which -indignation at a sense of what she imagined the slight put upon her -was only exceeded by her curiosity to catch a glimpse of her son's -intended: under the influence of which latter feeling she even proposed -to Til that they should attend the church on the occasion of the -marriage-ceremony. "I can put on my Maltese-lace veil, you know, my -dear: and if we gave the pew-opener sixpence, she'd put us into a place -in the gallery where we could hide behind a pillar, and be unseen -spectators of the proceedings." But this suggestion was received with -so much disfavour by her daughter that the old lady was compelled to -abandon it, together with an idea, which she subsequently broached, of -having Mr. Potts to supper,--giving him sprats, or tripe, or some of -those odd things that men like; and then, when he was having a glass -of spirits-and-water and smoking a pipe, getting him to tell us all -about it, and how it went off. So Mrs. Ludlow was obliged to content -herself with a line from Geoffrey,--received two or three days after -his marriage, saying that he was well and happy, and that his Margaret -sent her love ("She might have written that herself, I think!" said the -old lady; "it would have been only respectful; but perhaps she can't -write. Lord, Lord! to think we should have come to this!"),--and with a -short report from Mr. Potts, whom Til had met, accidentally of course, -walking one morning near the house, and who said that all had gone off -capitally, and that the bride had looked perfectly lovely. - -But there was balm in Gilead; and consolation came to old Mrs. Ludlow -in the shape of a letter from Geoffrey at the end of the first week of -his absence, requesting his mother and sister to see to the arrangement -of his new house, the furniture of which was all ordered, and would -be sent in on a certain day, when he wished Til and his mother to be -present. Now the taking of this new house, and all in connection with -it, had been a source of great disquietude and much conversation to -the old lady, who had speculated upon its situation, its size, shape, -conveniences, &c., with every one of her little circle of acquaintance. -"Might be in the moon, my dear, for all we know about it," she used to -say; "one would think that one's own son would mention where he was -going to live--to his mother, at least: but Geoff is that tenacious, -that--well, I suppose it's part of the cross of my life." But the -information had come at last, and the old lady was to have a hand, -however subordinate, in the arrangements; and she was proportionately -pleased. "And now, Til, where is it, once more! Just read the letter -again, will you?--for we're to be there the first thing to-morrow -morning, Geoff says. What?--O, the vans will be there the first thing -to-morrow morning! Yes, I know what the vans' first thing is--eleven -o'clock or thereabouts; and then the men to go out for dinner at -twelve, and not come back till half-past two, if somebody isn't there -to hunt them up! The Elm Lodge, Lowbar! Lowbar! Why, that's Holloway -and Whittington, and all that turn-again nonsense about the bells! -Well, I'm sure! Talk about the poles being asunder, my dear; they're -not more asunder than Brompton and Lowbar. O, of course that's done -that he needn't see more of us than he chooses, though there was no -occasion for that, I'm sure, at least so far as I'm concerned; I know -when I'm wanted fast enough, and act accordingly." - -"I don't think there was any such idea in Geoff's mind, mamma," said -Til; "he always had a wish to go to the other side of town, as he found -this too relaxing." - -"Other side of town, indeed, my dear?--other side of England, you mean! -This side has always been good enough for me; but then, you see, I -never was a public character. However, if we are to go, we'd better -have Brown's fly; it's no good our trapesing about in omnibuses that -distance, and perhaps taking the wrong one, and I don't know what." - -But the old lady's wrath (which, indeed, did not deserve the name of -wrath, but would be better described as a kind of perpetual grumble, -in which she delighted) melted away when, on the following morning, -Brown's fly, striking off to the left soon after it commenced ascending -the rise of Lowbar Hill, turned into a pretty country road, and -stopped before a charming little house, bearing the name "Elm Lodge" -on its gate-pillars. The house, which stood on a small eminence, was -approached by a little carriage-sweep; had a little lawn in front, on -which it opened from French windows, covered by a veranda, nestling -under climbing clematis and jasmine; had the prettiest little rustic -portico, floored with porcelain tiles; a cosy dining-room, a pretty -little drawing-room with the French windows before named, and a capital -painting-room. From the windows you had a splendid view over broad -fields leading to Hampstead, with Harrow church fringing the distant -horizon. Nobody could deny that it was a charming little place; and -Mrs. Ludlow admitted the fact at once. - -"Very nice, very nice indeed, my dear Til!" said she; "Geoffrey has -inherited my taste--that I will say for him. Rather earwiggy, I should -think, all that green stuff over the balcony; too much so for me; -however, I'm not going to live here, so it don't matter. Oh! the vans -have arrived! Well, my stars! all in suites! Walnut and green silk for -the drawing room, black oak and dark-brown velvet for the dining-room, -did you say, man? It's never--no, my dear, I thought not; it's _not_ -real velvet,--Utrecht, my dear; I just felt it. I thought Geoff would -never be so insane as to have real; though, as it is, it must have -cost a pretty penny. Well, he never gave us any thing of this sort at -Brompton; of course not." - -"O, mother, how can you talk so!" said Til; "Geoff has always been -nobly generous; but recollect he's only just beginning to make money." - -"Quite true, my dear, quite true; and he's been the best of sons. Only -I should have liked for once to have had the chance of showing my taste -in such matters. In your poor father's time every thing was so heavy -and clumsy compared to what it is nowadays, and--there! I would have -had none of your rubbishing Cupids like that, holding up those stupid -baskets." - -So the old lady chattered on, by no means allowing her energy to relax -by reason of her talk, but bustling about with determined vigour. -When she had tucked up her dress, and got a duster into her hand, she -was happy, flying at looking-glasses and picture-frames, and rubbing -off infinitesimal atoms of dirt; planting herself resolutely in every -body's way, and hunting up, or, as she termed it "hinching," the -upholsterer's men in the most determined manner. - -"I know 'em, my dear; a pack of lazy carpet-caps; do nothing unless you -hinch 'em;" and so she worried and nagged and hustled and drove the -men, until the pointed inquiry of one of them as to "who _was_ that -_h_old cat?" suggested to Miss Til the propriety of withdrawing her -mother from the scene of action. But she had done an immense deal of -good, and caused such progress to be made, that before they left, the -rooms had begun to assume something like a habitable appearance. They -went to take one more look round the house before getting into Brown's -fly; and it was while they were upstairs that Mrs. Ludlow opened a -door which she had not seen before--a door leading into a charming -little room, with light chintz paper and chintz hangings, with a maple -writing-table in the window, and a cosy lounge-chair and a _prie-dieu_; -and niches on either side the fireplace occupied by little bookcases, -into which the foreman of the upholsterers was placing a number of -handsomely-bound books, which he took from a box on the floor. - -"Why, good Lord! what's this?" said the old lady, as soon as she -recovered her breath. - -"This is the budwaw, mum," said the foreman, thinking he had been -addressed. - -"The what, man? What does he say, Matilda?" - -"The budwaw, mum; Mrs. Ludlow's own room as is to be. Mr. Ludlow was -most partickler about this room, mum; saw all the furniture for it -before he went away, mum; and give special directions as to where it -was to be put." - -"Ah, well, it's all right, I daresay. Come along, my dear." - -But Brown's horse had scarcely been persuaded by his driver to -comprehend that he was required to start off homewards with Brown's -fly, when the old lady turned round to her daughter, and said solemnly: - -"You mark my words, Matilda, and after I'm dead and gone don't you -forget 'em--your brother's going to make a fool of himself with this -wife of his. I don't care if she were an angel, he'd spoil her. -Boudoir, indeed!--room all to herself, with such a light chintz as -that, and maple too; there's not one woman in ten thousand could stand -it; and Geoffrey's building up a pretty nest for himself, you mark my -words." - -Two days later a letter was received from Geoffrey to say that they -had arrived home, and that by the end of the week the house would -be sufficiently in order, and Margaret sufficiently rested from her -fatigue, to receive them, if they would come over to Elm Lodge to -lunch. As the note was read aloud by Til, this last word struck upon -old Mrs. Ludlow's ear, and roused her in an instant. - -"To what, my dear?" she asked. "I beg your pardon, I didn't catch the -word." - -"To lunch, mamma." - -"O, indeed; then I did catch the word, and it wasn't your mumbling tone -that deceived me. To lunch, eh? Well, upon my word! I know I'm a stupid -old woman, and I begin to think I live in heathenish times; but I know -in my day that a son would no more have thought of asking his mother to -lunch than--well, it's good enough for us, I suppose." - -"Mamma, how _can_ you say such things! They're scarcely settled yet, -and don't know any thing about their cook; and no doubt Margaret's a -little frightened at first--I'm sure I should be, going into such a -house as that." - -"Well, my dear, different people are differently constituted. I -shouldn't feel frightened to walk into Buckingham Palace as mistress -to-morrow. However, I daresay you're right;" and then Mrs. Ludlow -went into the momentous question of "what she was to go in." It was -lucky that in this matter she had Til at her elbow; for whatever the -old lady's taste may have been in houses and furniture, it was very -curious in dress, leaning towards wild stripes and checks and large -green leaves, with veins like caterpillars, spread over brown grounds; -towards portentous bonnets, bearing cockades and bows of ribbon where -such things were never seen before; to puce-coloured gloves, and -parasols rescued at an alarming sacrifice from a cheap draper's sale. -But under Til's supervision Mrs. Ludlow was relegated to a black-silk -dress, and the bonnet which Geoffrey had presented to her on her -birthday, and which Til had chosen; and to a pair of lavender gloves -which fitted her exactly, and had not those caverns at the tips of the -fingers and that wrinkled bagginess in the thumbs which were usually -to be found in the old lady's hand-coverings; and as she took her seat -in Brown's fly, the neighbours on either side, with their noses firmly -pressed against their parlour-windows, were envious of her personal -appearance, though both of them declared afterwards that she wanted a -"little more lighting-up." - -When the fly was nearing its destination, Mrs. Ludlow began to grow -very nervous, a state which was exhibited by her continually tugging at -her bonnet-strings and shaking out the skirt of her dress, requesting -to be informed whether she was "quite straight," and endeavouring to -catch the reflection of herself in the front glasses of the fly. These -performances were scarcely over before the fly stopped at the gate, and -Mrs. Ludlow descending was received into her son's strong arms. The -old lady's maternal feelings were strongly excited at that moment, for -she never uttered a word of complaint or remonstrance, though Geoff -squeezed up all the silk skirt which she had taken such pains to shake -out, and hugged her until her bonnet was all displaced. Then, after -giving Til a hearty embrace, Geoff took his mother's hand and led her -across the little lawn to the French window, at which Margaret was -waiting to receive her. - -Naturally enough, old Mrs. Ludlow had thought very much over this -interview, and had pictured it to herself in anticipation a score of -times. She had never taken any notice of the allusions to the likeness -between her daughter-in-law that was to be and the Scylla-head which -Geoff had painted; but had drawn entirely upon her own imagination for -the sort of person who was to be presented to her. This ideal personage -had at various times undergone a good deal of change. At one time she -would appear as a slight girl with long fair hair and blue eyes ("what -I call a wax-doll beauty," the old lady would think); then she would -have large black eyes, long black hair, and languishing manners; then -she would be rather plain, but with a finely-developed figure, Mrs. -Ludlow having a theory that most artists thought of figure more than -face; but in any case she would be some little chit of a girl, just the -one to catch such a man as our Geoff, who stuck to his paintings, and -had seen so little of the world. - -So much for Mrs. Ludlow's ideal; the realisation was this. On the step -immediately outside the window stood Margaret, a slight rose-flush -tinting her usually pale cheeks just under her eyes; her deep-violet -eyes wider open than usual, but still soft and dreamy; her red-gold -hair in bands round her face, but twisted up at the back into one -large knot at the top of her head. She was dressed in a bright-blue -cambric dress, which fell naturally and gracefully round her, neither -bulging out with excess of crinoline, nor sticking limply to her like a -bathing-gown; across her shoulders was a large white muslin-cape, such -as that which Marie Antoinette is represented as wearing in Delaroche's -splendid picture; muslin-cuffs and a muslin-apron. A gleam of sun shone -upon her, bathing her in light; and as the old lady stood staring at -her in amazement, a recollection came across her of something which she -had not seen for more than forty years, nor ever thought of since,--a -reminiscence of a stained-glass figure of the Virgin in some old -Belgian cathedral, pointed out to her by her husband in her honeymoon. - -As this idea passed through her mind, the tears rose into Mrs. -Ludlow's eyes. She was an excitable old lady and easily touched; and -simultaneously with the painted figure she thought of the husband -pointing it out,--the young husband then so brave and handsome, now -for so many years at rest,--and she only dimly saw Margaret coming -forward to meet her. But remembering that tears would be a bad omen -for such an introduction, she brushed them hastily away, and looked up -in undisguised admiration at the handsome creature moving gracefully -towards her. Geoffrey, in a whirl of stuttering doubt, said, "My -mother, Margaret; mother, this is--Margaret--my wife;" and each woman -moved forward a little, and neither knew what to do. Should they -shake hands or kiss? and from whom should the suggestion come? It -came eventually from the old lady, who said simply, "I'm glad to see -you, my dear;" and putting one hand on Margaret's shoulder, kissed -her affectionately. There was no need of introduction between the -others. Til's bright eyes were sparkling with admiration and delight; -and Margaret, seeing the expression in them, reciprocated it at once, -saying, "And this is Til!" and then they embraced, as warmly as girls -under such circumstances always do. Then they went into the house, Mrs. -Ludlow leaning on her son's arm, and Til and Margaret following. - -"Now, mother," said Geoff, as they passed through the little hall, -"Margaret will take you upstairs. You'll find things much more settled -than when you were here last." And upstairs the women went accordingly. - -When they were in the bedroom, Mrs. Ludlow seated herself comfortably -in a chair, with her back to the light, and said to Margaret: - -"Now, my dear, come here and let me have a quiet look at you. Ive -thought of you a thousand times, and wondered what you were like; but I -never thought of any thing like this." - -"You--you are not disappointed, I hope," said Margaret. She knew it was -a dull remark, and she made it in a constrained manner. But what else -was she to say? - -"Disappointed! no, indeed, my dear. But I won't flatter you; you'll -have quite enough of that from Geoffrey. I shall always think of you -in future as a saint; you're so like the pictures of the saints in the -churches abroad." - -"You see you flatter me at once." - -"No, my dear, I don't. For you are like them, I'm sure; not that you're -to wear horsehair next your skin, or be chopped up into little pieces, -or made to walk on hot iron, or any thing of that sort, you know; but I -can see by your face that you're a good girl, and will make my Geoff a -good wife." - -"I will try to do so, Mrs. Ludlow," said Margaret, earnestly. - -"And you'll succeed, my dear. I knew I could always trust Geoff for -that; he might marry a silly girl, one that hadn't any proper notions -of keeping house or managing those nuisances of servants but I knew he -would choose a good one. And don't call me 'Mrs. Ludlow,' please, my -dear. I'm your mother now; and with such a daughter-in-law I'm proud of -the title!" This little speech was sealed with a kiss, which drove away -the cloud that was gathering on Margaret's brow, and they all went down -to lunch together. The meal passed off without any particular incident -to be recorded. Margaret was self-possessed, and did the honours of -her table gracefully, paying particular attention to her guests, and -generally conducting herself infinitely better than Geoff, who was in -a flurry of nervous excitement, and was called to order by his mother -several times for jumping up to fetch things when he ought to have rung -the bell. "A habit that I trust you'll soon break him of, Margaret, my -dear; for nothing goes to spoil a servant so quickly; and calling over -the bannisters for what he wants is another trick, as though servants' -legs weren't given them to answer bells." But Mrs. Ludlow did not -talk much, being engaged, during the intervals of eating, in mentally -appraising the articles on the table, in quietly trying the weight of -the spoons, and in administering interrogative taps to the cow on the -top of the butter-dish to find if she were silver or plated, in private -speculations as to which quality of Romford ale Geoffrey had ordered -and what he paid for it, and various other little domestic whereto -her experience as a household manager prompted her. Geoffrey too was -silent; but the conversation, though not loud, was very brisk between -Margaret and Til, who seemed, to Geoff's intense delight, to have taken -a great fancy for each other. - -It was not until late in the afternoon, when the hour at which Brown's -fly had been ordered was rapidly approaching, and they were all seated -in the veranda enjoying the distant view, the calm stillness, and the -fresh air, that the old lady, who had been looking with a full heart at -Geoffrey--who, seated close behind Margaret, was playing with the ends -of her hair as she still kept up her conversation with Til--said: - -"Well, Geoffrey, I don't think I ought to leave you to-night without -saying how much I am pleased with my new daughter. O, I don't mind her -hearing me; she's too good a girl to be upset by a little truthful -praise--ain't you, my dear? Come and sit by me for a minute and give -me your hand, Margaret; and you, Geoff, on the other side. God bless -you both, my children, and make you happy in one another! You're -strange to one another, and you'll have some little worries at first; -but you'll soon settle down into happiness. And that's the blessing of -your both being young and fresh. I'm very glad you didn't marry poor -Joe Telford's widow, Geoff, as we thought you would, ten years ago. -I don't think, if I had been a man, I should have liked marrying a -widow. Of course every one has their little love-affairs before they -marry, but that's nothing; but with a widow it's different, you know; -and she'd be always comparing you with the other one, and perhaps the -comparison might not be flattering. No; it's much better to begin life -both together, with no past memories to--why, Geoffrey, how your hand -shakes, my dear! What's the matter? it can't be the cold, for Margaret -is as steady as a rock." - -Geoffrey muttered something about "a sudden shiver," and just at -that moment the fly appeared at the gate So they parted with renewed -embraces and promises of meeting again very shortly; Geoffrey was to -bring Margaret over to Brompton, and the next time they came to Elm -Lodge they must spend a long day, and perhaps sleep there; and it was -not until Brown's fly turned the corner which shut the house out of -sight that Mrs. Ludlow ceased stretching her head out of the window and -nodding violently. Then she burst out at once with her long-pent-up -questioning. - -"Well, Matilda, and what do you think of your new relation? I'm sure -you've been as quiet as quiet; there's been no getting a word out of -you. But I suppose you don't mind telling your mother. What _do_ you -think of her?" - -"She is very handsome, mamma, and seems very kind, and very fond of -Geoff." - -"Handsome, my dear! She's really splendid! There's a kind of _je ne -sais quoi_ about her that--and tall too, like a duchess! Well, I don't -think the Wilkinsons in the Crescent will crow any longer. Why, that -girl that Alfred Wilkinson married the other day, and that they all -went on so about, isn't a patch upon Margaret. Did you notice her cape -and cuffs, Matilda? Rather Frenchified, I thought; rather like that -nurse that the Dixons brought from Boulogne last year, but very pretty. -I hope she'll wear them when she comes to spend the day with us, and -that some of those odious people in the Crescent will come to call. -Their cook seems to have a light hand at pie-crust; and _did_ you taste -the jelly, my dear? I wonder if it was made at home; if so, the cook's -a treasure, and dirt-cheap at seventeen and every thing found except -beer, which Margaret tells me is all she gives! I see they didn't like -my arrangement of the furniture; theyve pulled the grand-piano away -from the wall, and put the ottoman in its place: nice for the people -who sit on it to rub the new paper with their greasy heads!" - -And so the old lady chattered on until she felt sleepy, and stumbled -out at her own door in an exhausted state, from which the delicious -refreshment of a little cold brandy-and-water and a particularly hard -and raspy biscuit did not rouse her. But just as Til was stepping into -bed her mother came into the room, perfectly bright and preternaturally -sharp, to say, "Do you know, my dear, I think, after all, Geoffrey was -very fond of Joe Telford's widow? You were too young then to recollect -her; for when I was speaking about her to-night, and saying how much -better it was that both husband and wife should come fresh to each -other, Geoff s hand shook like an aspen-leaf, and his face was as pale -as death." - - - - -CHAPTER II. -MARGARET. - - -Margaret had carried out what she knew would be the first part of the -new programme of her life. During their short honeymoon, Geoffrey had -talked so much of his mother and sister, and of his anxiety that they -should be favourably impressed with her, that she had determined to -put forth all the strength and tact she had to make that first meeting -an agreeable one to them. That she had done so, that she had succeeded -in her self-imposed task, was evident. Mrs. Ludlow, in her parting -words, had expressed herself delighted with her new daughter-in-law; -but by her manner, much more than by any thing she had said, Geoff knew -that his mother's strong sympathies had been enlisted, if her heart -had not been entirely won. For though the old lady so far gave in to -the prejudices of the world as to observe a decent reticence towards -objects of her displeasure--though she never compromised herself by -outraging social decency in verbal attacks or disparaging remarks--a -long experience had given her son a thorough appreciation of, and power -of translating, certain bits of facial pantomime of a depreciatory -nature, which never varied; notably among them, the uplifted eyebrow -of astonishment, the prolonged stare of "wonder at her insolence," -the shoulder-shrug of "I don't understand such things," and the sniff -of unmitigated disgust. All these Geoff had seen brought to bear -on various subjects quite often enough to rate them at their exact -value; and it was, therefore, with genuine pleasure that he found them -conspicuous by their absence on the occasion of his mother's first -visit to Elm Lodge. - -For although Geoff was not particularly apt as a student of human -nature,--his want of self-confidence, and the quiet life he had -pursued, being great obstacles to any such study,--he must, -nevertheless, have had something of the faculty originally implanted -in him, inasmuch as he had contrived completely, and almost without -knowing it himself, to make himself master of the key to the characters -of the two people with whom his life had been passed. It was this -knowledge of his mother that made him originally propose that the -first meeting between her and Margaret should take place at Brompton, -where he could take his wife over as a visitor. He thought that very -likely any little latent jealousy which the old lady might feel by -reason of her deposition, not merely from the foremost place in her -son's affections, but from the head of his table and the rulership -of his house,--and it is undeniable that with the very best women -these latter items jar quite as unpleasantly as the former,--whatever -little jealousy Mrs. Ludlow may have felt on these accounts would be -heightened by the sight of the new house and furniture in which it had -pleased Geoff to have his new divinity enshrined. There is a point -at which the female nature rebels; and though Geoff neither knew, -nor professed to know, much about female nature, he was perfectly -certain that as a young woman is naturally more likely to "take up -with" another who is her inferior in personal attractions, so Mrs. -Ludlow would undoubtedly be more likely to look favourably on a -daughter-in-law whose _status_, artificially or otherwise, should -not appear greater than her own. It was Margaret who dissuaded Geoff -from his original intention, pitting against her husband's special -acquaintance with his mother's foibles her ordinary woman's cleverness, -which told her that, properly managed, the new house and furniture, and -all their little luxury, could be utilised for, instead of against, -them with the old lady, making her part and parcel of themselves, and -speaking of all the surroundings as component parts of a common stock, -in which with them she had a common interest. This scheme, talked over -in a long desultory lovers' ramble over the green cliffs at Niton -in the ever-lovely Isle of Wight, resulted in the letter requesting -Mrs. Ludlow to superintend the furniture-people, of which mention has -already been made, and in the meeting taking place at Elm Lodge, as -just described. - -This first successful stroke, which Geoff perhaps unduly appreciated -(but any thing in which his mother was involved had great weight with -him), originated by Margaret and carried out by her aid, had great -effect on Geoffrey Ludlow, and brought the woman whom he had married -before him in quite a new light. The phrase "the woman he had married" -is purposely chosen, because the fact of having a wife, in its largest -and most legitimate sense, had not yet dawned upon him. We read in -works of fiction of how men weigh and balance before committing -matrimony,--carefully calculate this recommendation, calmly dissect -that defect; we have essay-writers, political economists, and others, -who are good enough to explain these calculations, and to show us -why it ought to be, and how it is to be done; but, spite of certain -of my brother-fictionists and these last-named social teachers, I -maintain that, in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, a man who is a -man, "with blood, bones, passion, marrow, feeling," as Byron says, -marries a girl because he is smitten with the charms either of her -person or her manner--because there is something _simpatico_, as the -Italians call it, between them--because he is "in love with her," as -the good old English phrase runs; but without having paid any thing -but the most cursory attention to her disposition and idiosyncrasy. -Is it so, or is it not? Such a state of things leads, I am perfectly -aware, to the acceptance of stone for bread and scorpions for fish; -but it exists, hath existed, and will continue to exist. Brown now -helplessly acknowledges Mrs. B.'s "devil of a temper;" but even if he -had had proof positive of it, he would have laughed it away merrily -enough that summer at Margate, when Mrs. B. was Emily Clark, and he was -under the thrall of her black eyes. Jones suffers under his wife's "low -fits," and Robinson under Mrs. Robinson's religion, which she takes -very hot and strong, with a great deal of groaning and anathematising; -but though these peculiarities of both ladies might have been learned -"on application" to any of the various swains who had been rejected -by them, no inquiry was ever made by the more fortunate men who took -them honestly on trust, and on account of their visible personal -attractions: And though these instances seem drawn from a lower class -of life, I contend that the axiom holds good in all states of society, -save, of course, in the case of purely mercenary marriages, which, -however, are by no means so common in occurrence, or at all events so -fatal in their results, as many of our novel-writers wish us to believe. - -It was undoubtedly the case with Geoffrey Ludlow. He was a man as free -from gross passions, as unlikely to take a sudden caprice, or to give -the reins to his will, as any of his kind. His intimates would as soon -have thought of the bronze statue of Achilles "committing" itself as -Geoff Ludlow; and yet it was for the dead-gold hair, the deep-violet -eyes, and the pallid face, that he had married Margaret Dacre; and on -her mental attributes he had not bestowed one single thought. He had -not had much time, certainly; but however long his courtship might -have been, I doubt whether he would have penetrated very far into -the mysteries of her idiosyncrasy. He had a certain theory that she -was "artistic;" a word which, with him, took the place of "romantic" -with other people, as opposed to "practical." Geoff hated "practical" -people; perhaps because he had suffered from an over-dose of -practicality in his own home. He would far sooner that his wife should -_not_ have been able to make pies and puddings, and cut-out baby-linen, -than that she should have excelled in those notable domestic virtues. -But none of these things had entered his head when he asked Margaret -Dacre to join her lot with his,--save, perhaps, an undefined notion -that no woman with such hair and such eyes could be so constituted. You -would have looked in vain in Guinevere for the characteristics of Mrs. -Rundell, or Miss Acton. - -He had thought of her as his peerless beauty, as his realisation -of a thousand waking dreams; and that for the time was enough. But -when he found her entering into and giving shape and colour to his -schemes, he regarded her with worship increased a hundredfold. -Constitutionally inert and adverse to thinking and deciding for -himself,--with a wholesome doubt, moreover, of the efficacy of his -own powers of judgment,--it was only the wide diversity of opinion -which on nearly every subject existed between his mother and himself -that had prevented him from long ago giving himself up entirely to -the old lady's direction. But he now saw, readily enough, that he had -found one whose guiding hand he could accept, who satisfied both his -inclinations and his judgment; and he surrendered himself with more -than resignation--with delight, to Margaret's control. - -And she? It is paying her no great compliment to say that she was -equal to the task; it is making no strong accusation against her to -say that she had expected and accepted the position from the first. -I am at a loss how exactly to set forth this woman's character as I -feel it, fearful of enlarging on defects without showing something -in their palliation--more fearful of omitting some mental ingredient -which might serve to explain the twofold workings of her mind. When -she left her home it was under the influence of love and pride; wild -girlish adoration of the "swell:" the man with the thick moustache, -the white hands, the soft voice, the well-made boots; the man so -different in every respect from any thing she had previously known; -and girlish pride in enslaving one in social rank far beyond the -railway-clerks, merchants' book-keepers, and Custom-House agents, who -were marked down as game by her friends and compeers. The step once -taken, she was a girl no more; her own natural hardihood came to her -aid, and enabled her to hold her own wherever she went. The man her -companion,--a man of society simply from mixing with society, but -naturally sheepish and stupid,--was amazed at her wondrous calmness and -self-possession under all sorts of circumstances. It was an odd sort of -_camaraderie_ in which they mixed, both at home and abroad; one where -the _laissez-aller_ spirit was always predominant, and where those who -said and did as they liked were generally most appreciated; but there -was a something in Margaret Dacre which compelled a kind of respect -even from the wildest. Where she was, the drink never degenerated into -an orgie; and though the _cancans_ and _doubles entendres_ might ring -round the room, all outward signs of decency were preserved. In the -wild crew with which she was mixed she stood apart, sometimes riding -the whirlwind with them, but always directing the storm; and while -invariably showing herself the superior, so tempering her superiority -as to gain the obedience and respect, if not the regard, of all those -among whom she was thrown. How did this come about? Hear it in one -sentence--that she was as cold as ice, and as heartless as a stone. -She loved the man who had betrayed her with all the passion which had -been vouchsafed to her. She loved him, as I have said, at first, from -his difference to all her hitherto surroundings; then she loved him -for having made her love him and yield to him. She had not sufficient -mental power to analyse her own feelings; but she recognised that -she had not much heart, was not easily moved; and therefore she gave -extraordinary credit, which he did not deserve, to him who had had the -power to turn her as he listed. - -But still, on him, her whole powers of loving stopped--spent, used-up. -Her devotion to him--inexplicable to herself--was spaniel-like in -its nature. She took his reproaches, his threats, at the last his -desertion, and loved him still. During the time they were together she -had temptation on every side; but not merely did she continue faithful, -but her fidelity was never shaken even in thought. Although in that -shady _demi-monde_ there is a queer kind of honour-code extant among -the Lovelaces and the Juans, far stricter than they think themselves -called upon to exercise when out of their own territory, there are of -course exceptions, who hold the temptation of their friend's mistress -but little less _piquante_ than the seduction of their friend's wife; -but none of these had the smallest chance with Margaret. What in such -circles is systematically known by the name of a _caprice_ never -entered her mind. Even at the last, when she found herself deserted, -penniless, she knew that a word would restore her to a position -equivalent, apparently, to that she had occupied; but she would not -have spoken that word to have saved her from the death which she was so -nearly meeting. - -In those very jaws of death, from which she had just been rescued, -a new feeling dawned upon her. As she lay back in the arm-chair in -Flexor's parlour, dimly sounding in her ears, at first like the -monotonous surging of the waves, afterwards shaping itself into words, -but always calm and grave and kind, came Geoff's voice. She could -scarcely make out what was said, but she knew what was meant from the -modulation and the tone. Then, when Mr. Potts had gone to fetch Dr. -Rollit, she knew that she was left alone with the owner of the voice, -and she brought all her strength together to raise her eyelids and -look at him. She saw the quiet earnest face, she marked the intense -gaze, and she let her light fingers fall on the outstretched hand, -and muttered her "Bless you!--saved me!" with a gratitude which was -not merely an expression of grateful feeling for his rescuing her -from death, but partook more of the cynic's definition of the word--a -recognition of benefits to come. - -It sprung up in her mind like a flame. It did more towards effecting -her cure, even in the outset, than all the stimulants and nourishment -which Dr. Rollit administered. It was with her while consciousness -remained, and flashed across her the instant consciousness returned. A -home, the chances of a home--nothing but that--somewhere, with walls, -and a fire, and a roof to keep off the pelting of the bitter rain. -Walls with pictures and a floor with carpets; not a workhouse, not such -places as she had spent the night in on her weary desolate tramp; but -such as she had been accustomed to. And some one to care for her--no -low whisperings, and pressed hands, and averted glances, and flight; -but a shoulder to rest her head against, a strong arm round her to -save her from--O God!--those awful black pitiless streets. Rest, only -rest,--that was her craving. Let her once more be restored to ordinary -strength, and then let her rest until she died. Ah, had she not had -more than the ordinary share of trouble and disquietude, and could not -a haven be found for her at last? She recollected how, in the first -flush of her wildness, she had pitied all her old companions soberly -settling down in life; and now how gladly would she change lots with -them! Was it come? was the chance at hand? Had she drifted through the -storm long enough, and was the sun now breaking through the clouds? -She thought so, even as she lay nearer death than life, and through -the shimmering of her eyelids caught a fleeting glimpse of Geoff -Ludlow's face, and heard his voice as in a dream; she knew so after the -second time of his calling on her in her convalescence; knew she might -tell him the story of her life, which would only bind a man of his -disposition more strongly to her; knew that such a feeling engendered -in such a man at his time of life was deep and true and lasting, and -that once taken to his heart, her position was secure for ever. - -And what was her feeling for him who thus rose up out of the darkness, -and was to give her all for which her soul had been pining? Love? Not -one particle. She had no love left. She had not been by any means -bounteously provided with that article at the outset, and all that she -had she had expended on one person. Of love, of what we know by love, -of love as he himself understood it, she had not one particle for -Geoffrey. But there was a feeling which she could hardly explain to -herself. It would have been respect, respect for his noble heart, his -thorough uprightness, and strict sense of honour; but this respect was -diluted by an appreciation of his dubiety, his vacillation, his utter -impotency of saying a harsh word or doing a harsh thing; and diluted in -a way which invested the cold feeling of respect with a warmer hue, and -rendered him, if less perfect, certainly more interesting in her eyes. -Never, even for an instant, had she thought of him with love-passion; -not when she gazed dreamily at him out of the voluptuous depths of her -deep-violet eyes; not when, on that night when all had been arranged -between them, she had lain on his breast in the steel-blue rays of the -spring moon. She had--well, feigned it, if you like,--though she would -scarcely avow that, deeming rather that she had accepted the devotion -which he had offered her without repelling it. _Il y a toujours l'un -qui baise, l'autre qui tend la joue_. That axiom, unromantic, but -true in most cases, was strictly fulfilled in the present instance. -Margaret proffered no love, but accepted, if not willingly, at least -with a thorough show of graciousness, all that was proffered to her. -And in the heartfelt worship of Geoffrey Ludlow there was something -inexplicably attractive to her. Attractive, probably, because of its -entire novelty and utter unselfishness. She could compare it with -nothing she had ever seen or known. To her first lover there had been -the attraction of enchaining the first love of a very young girl, the -romance of stolen meetings and secret interviews, the enchantment of -an elopement, which was looked upon as a great sin by those whom he -scorned, and a great triumph by those whose applause he envied; the -gratification of creating the jealousy of his compeers, and of being -talked about as an example to be shunned by those whom he despised. He -had the satisfaction of flaunting her beauty through the world, and of -gaining that world's applause for his success in having made it succumb -to him. But how was it with Geoffrey? The very opposite, in every -way. At the very best her early history must be shrouded in doubt and -obscurity. If known it might act prejudicially against her husband with -his patrons, and those on whom he was dependent for his livelihood. -Even her beauty could not afford him much source of gratification, save -to himself; he could seldom or never enjoy that reflected pleasure -which a sensible man feels at the world's admiration of his wife; for -had he not himself told her that their life would be of the quietest, -and that they would mix with very few people? - -No! if ever earnest, true, and unselfish love existed in the world, it -was now, she felt, bestowed upon her. What in the depths of her despair -she had faintly hoped for, had come to her with treble measure. Her -course lay plain and straight before her. It was not a very brilliant -course, but it was quiet and peaceful and safe. So away all thoughts of -the past! drop the curtain on the feverish excitement, the wild dream -of hectic pleasure! Shut it out; and with it the dead dull heartache, -the keen sense of wrong, the desperate struggle for bare life. - -So Margaret dropped that curtain on her wedding-day, with the full -intention of never raising it again. - - - - -CHAPTER III. -ANNIE. - - -Lord Caterham's suggestion that Annie Maurice should cultivate her -drawing-talent was made after due reflection. He saw, with his usual -quickness of perception, that the girl's life was fretting away within -her; that the conventional round of duties which fell to her lot as his -mother's companion was discharged honestly enough, but without interest -or concern. He never knew why Lady Beauport wanted a companion. So long -as he had powers of judging character, he had never known her have -an intimate friend; and when, at the death of the old clergyman with -whom Annie had so long been domesticated, it was proposed to receive -her into the mansion at St. Barnabas Square, Lord Caterham had been -struck with astonishment, and could not possibly imagine what duties -she would be called upon to fulfil. He heard that the lady henceforth -to form a part of their establishment was young, and that mere fact -was in itself a cause for wonder. There was no youth there, and it -was a quality which was generally openly tabooed. Lady Beauport's -woman was about fifty, a thorough mistress of her art, an artist in -complexion before whom Madame Rachel might have bowed; a cunning and -skilled labourer in all matters appertaining to the hair; a person -whose anatomical knowledge exceeded that of many medical students, and -who produced effects undreamt of by the most daring sculptors. There -were no nephews or nieces to come on visits, to break up the usual -solemnity reigning throughout the house, with young voices and such -laughter as is only heard in youth, to tempt the old people into a -temporary forgetfulness of self, and into a remembrance of days when -they had hopes and fears and human interest in matters passing around -them. There were sons--yes! Caterham himself, who had never had one -youthful thought or one youthful aspiration, whose playmate had been -the physician, whose toys the wheelchair in which he sat and the irons -by which his wrecked frame was supported, who had been precocious at -six and a man at twelve; and Lionel--but though of the family, Lionel -was not of the house; he never used to enter it when he could make any -possible excuse; and long before his final disappearance his visits had -been restricted to those occasions when he thought his father could be -bled or his mother cajoled. What was a girl of two-and-twenty to do in -such a household, Caterham asked; but got no answer. It had been Lady -Beauport's plan, who knew that Lord Beauport had been in the habit of -contributing a yearly something towards Miss Maurice's support; and -she thought that it would be at least no extra expense to have the -young woman in the house, where she might make herself useful with her -needle, and could generally sit with Mrs. Parkins the housekeeper. - -But Lord Beauport would not have this. Treated as a lady, as a member -of his own family in his house, or properly provided for out of it, -should Annie Maurice be: my lady's companion, but my cousin always. No -companionship with Mrs. Parkins, no set task or suggested assistance. -Her own room, her invariable presence when the rest of the family meet -together, if you please. Lady Beauport did not please at first; but -Lord Beauport was firm, firm as George Brakespere used to be in the old -days; and Lady Beauport succumbed with a good grace, and was glad of it -ever after. For Annie Maurice not merely had the sweetest temper and -the most winning ways,--not merely read in the softest voice, and had -the taste to choose the most charming "bits," over which Lady Beauport -would hum first with approval and then with sleep,--not merely played -and sung delightfully, without ever being hoarse or disinclined,--not -merely could ride with her back to the horses, and dress for the Park -exactly as Lady Beauport wished--neither dowdy nor swell,--but she -brought old-fashioned receipts for quaint country dishes with which -she won Mrs. Parkins's heart, and she taught Hodgson, Lady Beauport's -maid, a new way of _gauffreing_ which broke down all that Abigail's -icy spleen. Her bright eyes, her white teeth, her sunny smile, did all -the rest for her throughout the household: the big footmen moved more -quickly for her than for their mistress; the coachman, with whom she -must have interchanged confidential communications, told the groom -she "knowed the p'ints of an 'oss as well as he did--spotted them -wind-galls in Jack's off 'ind leg, and says, 'a cold-water bandage -for them,' she says;" the women-servants, more likely than any of the -others to take offence, were won by the silence of her bell and her -independence of toilette assistance. - -Lord Caterham saw all this, and understood her popularity; but he saw -too that with it all Annie Maurice was any thing but happy. Reiteration -of conventionality,--the reception of the callers and the paying of the -calls, the morning concerts and afternoon botanical promenades, the -occasional Opera-goings, and the set dinner-parties at home,--these -weighed heavily on her. She felt that her life was artificial, that she -had nothing in common with the people with whom it was passed, save -when she escaped to Lord Caterham's room. He was at least natural; she -need talk or act no conventionality with him; might read, or work, or -chat with him as she liked. But she wanted some purpose in life--that -Caterham saw, and saw almost with horror; for that purpose might tend -to take her away; and if she left him, he felt as though the only -bright portion of his life would leave him too. - -Yes; he had begun to acknowledge this to himself. He had fought against -the idea, tried to laugh it off, but it had always recurred to him. -For the first time in his life, he had moments of happy expectancy -of an interview that was to come, hours of happy reflection over an -interview that was past. Of course the Carry-Chesterton times came -up in his mind; but these were very different. Then he was in a wild -state of excitement and tremor, of flushed cheeks and beating heart -and trembling lips; he thrilled at the sound of her voice; his blood, -usually so calm, coursed through his veins at the touch of her hand; -his passion was a delirium as alarming as it was intoxicating. The -love of to-day had nothing in common with that bygone time. There was -no similarity between Carry Chesterton's dash and _aplomb_ and Annie -Maurice's quiet domestic ways. The one scorched him with a glance; -the other soothed him with a word. How sweet it was to lie back in -his chair with half-shut eyes, as in a dream, and watch her moving -quietly about, setting every thing in order, putting fresh flowers in -his vases, dusting his writing-table, laughingly upbraiding the absent -Algy Barford, and taxing him with the delinquency of a half-smoked -cigar on the mantelpiece, and a pile of cigar-ash on the carpet. -Then he would bid her finish her house-work, and she would wheel his -chair to the table and read the newspapers to him, and listen to his -quaint, shrewd, generally sarcastic comments on all she read. And he -would sit, listening to the music of her voice, looking at the quiet -charms of her simply-banded glossy dark-brown hair, at the play of -feature illustrating every thing she read. It was a brother's love -he told himself at first, and fully believed it; a brother's love -for a favourite sister. He thought so until he pictured to himself -her departure to some friend's or other, until he imagined the house -without her, himself without her, and--and she with some one else. And -then Lord Caterham confessed to himself that he loved Annie Maurice -with all his soul, and simultaneously swore that by no act or word of -his should she or any one else ever know it. - -The Carry-Chesterton love-fever had been so sharp in its symptoms, -and so prostrating in its results, that this second attack fell with -comparative mildness on the sufferer. He had no night-watches now, no -long feverish tossings to and fro waiting for the daylight, no wild -remembrance of parting words and farewell hand-clasps. She was there; -her "goodnight" had rung out sweetly and steadily without a break in -the situation; her sweet smile had lit up her face; her last words -had been of some projected reading or work for the morrow. It was all -friend and friend or brother and sister to every one but him. The very -first night after Miss Chesterton had been presented to Lady Beauport, -the latter, seeing with a woman's quickness the position of affairs, -had spoken of the young lady from Homersham as "that dreadful person," -"that terribly-forward young woman," and thereby goaded Lord Caterham -into worse love-madness. Now both father and mother were perpetually -congratulating themselves and him on having found some one who seemed -to be able to enter into and appreciate their eldest son's "odd ways." -This immunity from parental worry and supervision was pleasant, -doubtless; but did it not prove that to eyes that were not blinded by -love-passion there was nothing in Miss Maurice's regard for her cousin -more than was compatible with cousinly affection, and with pity for one -so circumstanced? So Lord Caterham had it; and who shall say that his -extreme sensitiveness had deceived him? - -It was the height of the London season, and Lady Beauport was fairly -in the whirl. So was Annie Maurice, whose position was already as -clearly defined amongst the set as if she had been duly ticketed -with birth, parentage, education, and present employment. Hitherto -her experience had decidedly been pleasant, and she had found that -all the companion-life, as set forth in fashionable novels, had been -ridiculously exaggerated. From no one had she received any thing -approaching a slight, any thing approaching an insult. The great ladies -mostly ignored her, though some made a point of special politeness; -the men received her as a gentlewoman, with whom flirtation might -be possible on an emergency, though unremunerative as a rule. Her -perpetual attendance on Lady Beauport had prevented her seeing as much -as usual of Lord Caterham; and it was with a sense of relief that she -found a morning at her disposal, and sent Stephens to intimate her -coming to his master. - -She found him as usual, sitting listlessly in his wheelchair, the -newspaper folded ready to his hand, but unfolded and unread. He -looked up, and smiled as she entered the room, and said: "At last, -Annie at last! Ah, I knew such a nice little girl who came here -from Ricksborough, and lightened my solitary hours; but we've had a -fashionable lady here lately, who is always at concerts or operas, or -eating ices at Gunter's, or crushing into horticultural marquees, or--" - -"Arthur, you ought to be ashamed of yourself! You know, however, I -won't stoop to argue with you, sir. I'll only say that the little girl -from Ricksborough has come back again, and that the fashionable lady -has got a holiday and gone away." - -"That's good; but I say, just stand in the light, Annie." - -"Well, what's the matter now?" - -"What has the little girl from Ricksborough done with all her colour? -Where's the brightness of her eyes?" - -"Ah, you don't expect every thing at once, do you, sir? Her natural -colour has gone; but she has ordered a box from Bond Street; and as for -the brightness of her eyes--" - -"O, there's enough left; there is indeed, especially when she fires up -in that way. But you're not looking well, Annie. I'm afraid my lady's -doing too much with you." - -"She's very kind, and wishes me to be always with her." - -"Yes; but she forgets that the vicarage of Ricksborough was scarcely -good training-ground for the races in which she has entered you, -however kindly you take to the running." He paused a minute as he -caught Annie's upturned gaze, and said: "I don't mean that, dear Annie. -I know well enough you hate it all; and I was only trying to put the -best face on the matter. What else can I do?" - -"I know that, Arthur; nor is it Lady Beauport's fault that she does -not exactly comprehend how a series of gaieties can be any thing but -agreeable to a country-bred young woman. There are hundreds of girls -who would give any thing to be 'brought out' under such chaperonage and -in such a manner." - -"You are very sweet and good to say so, Annie, and to look at it -in that light, but I would give any thing to get you more time to -yourself." - -"That proves more plainly than any thing, Arthur, that you don't -consider me one of the aristocracy; for their greatest object in life -appears to me to prevent their having any time to themselves." - -"Miss Maurice," said Lord Caterham with an assumption of gravity, -"these sentiments are really horrible. I thought I missed my _Mill -on Liberty_ from the bookshelves. I am afraid, madame, you have been -studying the doctrines of a man who has had the frightful audacity to -think for himself." - -"No, indeed, Arthur; nothing of the sort. I did take down the -book--though of course you had never missed it; but it seemed a dreary -old thing, and so I put it back again. No, I haven't a radical thought -or feeling in me--except sometimes." - -"And when is the malignant influence at work, pray?" - -"When I see those footmen dressed up in that ridiculous costume, -with powder in their heads, I confess then to being struck with -wonder at a society which permits such monstrosity, and degrades its -fellow-creatures to such a level." - -"O, for a stump!" cried Caterham, shaking in his chair and with the -tears running down his cheeks; "this display of virtuous indignation is -quite a new and hitherto undiscovered feature in the little girl from -Ricksborough; though of course you are quite wrong in your logic. Your -fault should be found with the creatures who permit themselves to be so -reduced. That 'dreary old thing,' Mr. Mill, would tell you that if the -supply ceased, the demand would cease likewise. But don't let us talk -about politics, for heaven's sake, even in fun. Let us revert to our -original topic." - -"What was that?" - -"What was that! Why you, of course! Don't you recollect that we decided -that you should have some drawing-lessons?" - -"I recollect you were good enough to--" - -"Annie! Annie! I thought it was fully understood that my goodness was -a tabooed subject. No; you remember we arranged, on the private-view -day of the Exhibition, with that man who had those two capital -pictures--what's his name?--Ludlow, to give you some lessons." - -"Yes; but Mr. Ludlow himself told us that he could not come for some -little time; he was going out of town." - -"Ive had a letter from him this morning, explaining the continuance of -his absence. What do you think is the reason?" - -"He was knocked up, and wanted rest?" - -"N-no; apparently not." - -"He's not ill? O, Arthur, he's not ill?" - -"Not in the least, Annie,--there's not the least occasion for you to -manifest any uneasiness." Lord Caterham's voice was becoming very hard -and his face very rigid. "Mr. Ludlow's return to town was delayed in -order that he might enjoy the pleasures of his honeymoon in the Isle of -Wight." - -"His what?" - -"His honeymoon; he informs me that he is just married." - -"Married? Geoff married? Who to? What a very extraordinary thing! Who -is he married to?" - -"He has not reposed sufficient confidence in me to acquaint me with -the lady's name, probably guessing rightly that I was not in the least -curious upon the point, and that to know it would not have afforded me -the slightest satisfaction." - -"No, of course not; how very odd!" That was all Annie Maurice said, her -chin resting on her hand, her eyes looking straight before her. - -"What is very odd?" said Caterham, in a harsh voice. "That Mr. Ludlow -should get married? Upon my honour I can't see the eccentricity. It is -not, surely, his extreme youth that should provoke astonishment, nor -his advanced age, for the matter of that. He's not endowed with more -wisdom than most of us to prevent his making a fool of himself. What -there is odd about the fact of his marriage I cannot understand." - -"No, Arthur," said Annie, very quietly, utterly ignoring the querulous -tone of Caterham's remarks; "very likely you can't understand it, -because Mr. Ludlow is a stranger to you, and you judge him as you would -any other stranger. But if you'd known him in the old days when he used -to come up to us at Willesden, and papa was always teasing him about -being in love with the French teacher at Minerva House, a tall old -lady with a moustache; or with the vicar's daughter, a sandy-haired -girl in spectacles; and then poor papa would laugh,--O, how he would -laugh!--and declare that Mr. Ludlow would be a bachelor to the end of -his days. And now he's married, you say? How very, very strange!" - -If Lord Caterham had been going to make any further unpleasant remark, -he checked himself abruptly, and looking into Annie's upturned -pondering face, said, in his usual tone, - -"Well, married or not married, he won't throw us over; he will hold to -his engagement with us. His letter tells me he will be back in town at -the end of the week, and will then settle times with us; so that we -shall have our drawing-lessons after all." - -But Annie, evidently thoroughly preoccupied, only answered -methodically, "Yes--of course--thank you--yes." So Lord Caterham was -left to chew the cud of his own reflections, which, from the manner in -which he frowned to himself, and sat blankly drumming with his fingers -on the desk before him, was evidently no pleasant mental pabulum. So -that he was not displeased when there came a sonorous tap at the door, -to which, recognising it at once, he called out, "Come in!" - - - - -CHAPTER IV. -ALGY BARFORD'S NEWS. - - -It was the Honourable Algy Barford who opened the door, and came in -with his usual light and airy swing, stopping the minute he saw a lady -present, to remove his hat and to give an easy bow. He recognised Annie -at once, and, as she and he were great allies, he went up to her and -shook hands. - -"Charmed to see you, Miss Maurice. This is delightful--give -you my word! Come to see this dear old boy here--how are you, -Caterham, my dear fellow?--and find you in his den, lighting it up -like--like--like--I'm regularly basketed, by Jove! You know what you -light it up like, Miss Maurice." - -Annie laughed as she said, "O, of course I know, Mr. Barford; but I'm -sorry to say the illumination is about immediately to be extinguished, -as I must run away. So goodbye; goodbye, Arthur. I shall see you -to-morrow." And she waved her hand, and tripped lightly away. - -"Gad, what a good-natured charming girl that is!" said Algy Barford, -looking after her. "I always fancy that if ever I could have settled -down--but I never could--impossible! I'm without exception the most -horrible scoundrel that--what's the matter, Caterham, dear old boy? you -seem very down this morning, floundered, by Jove, so far as flatness is -concerned. What is it?" - -"I--oh, I don't know, Algy; a little bored, perhaps, this -morning--hipped, you know." - -"Know! I should think I did. I'm up to my watch-guard myself--think -I'll take a sherry peg, just to keep myself up. This is a dull world, -sir; a very wearying orb. Gad, sometimes I think my cousin, poor Jack -Hamilton, was right, after all." - -"What did he say?" asked Caterham, not caring a bit, but for the sake -of keeping up the conversation. - -"Say! well, not much; he wasn't a talker, poor Jack; but what he -did say was to the purpose. He was a very lazy kind of bird, and -frightfully easily bored; so one day he got up, and then he wrote a -letter saying that he'd lived for thirty years, and that the trouble of -dressing himself every morning and undressing himself every night was -so infernal that le couldn't stand it any longer; and then he blew his -brains out." - -"Ah," said Lord Caterham; "he got tired of himself, you see; and when -you once do that, there's nobody you get so tired of." - -"I daresay, dear old boy, though it's a terrific notion. Can't say I'm -tired of myself quite yet, though there are times when I have a very -low opinion of myself, and think seriously of cutting myself the next -time we meet. What's the news with you, my dear Caterham?" - -"News! what should be the news with me, Algy? Shut up in this place, -like a rat in a cage, scarcely seeing any one but the doctor." - -"Couldn't see a better fellow for news, my dear old boy. Doctors were -always the fellows for news,--and barbers!--Figaro he and Figaro la, -and all that infernal rubbish that people laugh at when Ronconi sings -it, always makes me deuced melancholy, by Jove. Well, since you've no -news for me, let me think what I heard at the Club. Deuced nice club -we've got now; best we've ever had since that dear old Velvet Cushion was -done up." - -"What's it called?" - -"The Pelham; nothing to do with the Newcastle people or any thing of -that sort; called after some fellow who wrote a book about swells; or -was the hero of a book about swells, or something. Deuced nice place, -snug and cosy; a little overdone with Aldershot, perhaps, and, to a -critical mind, there might be a thought too much Plunger; but I can -stand the animal tolerably well." - -"I know it; at least Ive heard of it," said Caterham. "They play very -high, don't they?" - -"O, of course you've heard it, I forgot; dear old Lionel belonged to -it. Play! n-no, I don't think so. You can if you like, you know, of -course. For instance, Lampeter--Lamb Lampeter they call him; he's such -a mild-looking party--won two thousand of Westonhanger the night before -last at _ecarte_--two thousand pounds, sir, in crisp bank-notes All -fair and above board too. They had a corner table at first; but when -Westonhanger was dropping his money and began doubling the stakes, -Lampeter said, 'All right, my lord; I'm with you as far as you like to -go; but when so much money's in question, it perhaps might be advisable -to take one of the tables in the middle of the room, where any one can -stand round and see the play.' They did, and Westonhanger's estate is -worse by two thou'." - -"As you say, that does not look at all as if they played there." - -"What I meant was that I didn't think dear old Lionel ever dropped -much there. I don't know, though; I rather think Gamson had him one -night. Wonderful little fellow, Gamson!--tremendously good-looking -boy!--temporary extra-clerk at two guineas a-week in the Check and -Countercheck Office; hasn't got another regular rap in the world -besides his pay, and plays any stakes you like to name. Seems to keep -luck in a tube, like you do scent, and squeezes it out whenever he -wants it. I am not a playing man myself; but I don't fancy it's very -hard to win at the Pelham. These Plungers and fellows up from the Camp, -they always will play; and as theyve had a very heavy dinner and a big -drink afterwards, it stands to reason that any fellow with a clear head -and a knowledge of the game can pick them up at once, without any sharp -practice." - -"Yes," said Lord Caterham, "it seems a very charming place. I suppose -wheelchairs are not admitted? How sorry I am! I should have so enjoyed -mixing with the delightful society which you describe, Algy. And what -news had Mr. Gamson and the other gentlemen?" - -"Tell you what it is, Caterham, old boy, you've got a regular -wire-drawing fit on to-day. Let's see; what news had I to tell -you?--not from Gamson, of course, or any of those hairy Yahoos from -Aldershot, who are always tumbling about the place. O, I know! Dick -French has just come up from Denne,--the next place, you know, to -Eversfield, your old uncle Ampthill's house; and he says the old boy's -frightfully ill--clear case of hooks, you know; and I thought it might -be advisable that your people should know, in case any thing might be -done towards working the testamentary oracle. The old gentleman used to -be very spoony on Lionel, years ago, I think Ive heard him say." - -"Well, what then?" - -"Gad, you catch a fellow up like the Snapping-Turtle, Caterham. I -don't know what then; but I thought if the thing were properly put to -him--if there was any body to go down to Eversfield and square it with -old Ampthill, he might leave his money--and there's no end of it, I -hear--or some of it at least, to poor old Lionel." - -"And suppose he did. Do you think, Algy Barford, after what has -happened, that Lionel Brakespere could show his face in town? Do you -think that a man of Lionel's spirit could face-out the cutting which -he'd receive from every one?--and rightly too; I'm not denying that. I -only ask you if you think he could do it?" - -"My dear old Caterham, you are a perfect child!--coral and bells and -blue sash, and all that sort of thing, by Jove! If Lionel came back -at this instant, there are very few men who'd remember his escapade, -unless he stood in their way; then, I grant you, they would bring it -up as unpleasantly as they could. But if he were to appear in society -as old Ampthill's heir, there's not a man in his old set that wouldn't -welcome him; no, by George, not a woman of his acquaintance that -wouldn't try and hook him for self or daughter, as the case might be." - -"I'm sorry to hear it," was all Caterham said in reply. - - -What did Lord Caterham think of when his friend was gone? What effect -had the communication about Mr. Ampthill's probable legacy had on him? -But one thing crossed his mind. If Lionel returned free, prosperous, -and happy, would he not fall in love with Annie Maurice? His experience -in such matters had been but limited; but judging by his own feelings, -Lord Caterham could imagine nothing more likely. - - - - -CHAPTER V. -SETTLING DOWN. - - -It was not likely that a man of Geoffrey Ludlow's temperament would -for long keep himself from falling into what was to be the ordinary -tenor of his life, even had his newly-espoused wife been the most -exacting of brides, and delighted in showing her power by keeping him -in perpetual attendance upon her. It is almost needless to say that -Margaret was guilty of no weakness of this kind. If the dread truth -must be told, she took far too little interest in the life to which -she had devoted herself to busy herself about it in detail. She had a -general notion that her whole future was to be intensely respectable; -and in the minds of all those persons with whom she had hitherto been -associated, respectability meant duless of the most appalling kind; -meant two-o'clock-shoulder-of-mutton-and-weak-Romford-ale dinner, five -o'clock tea, knitting, prayers and a glass of cold water before going -to bed; meant district-visiting and tract-distributing, poke bonnets -and limp skirts, a class on Sunday afternoons, and a visit to the -Crystal Palace with the school-children on a summer's day. She did not -think it would be quite as bad as this in her case; indeed, she had -several times been amused--so far as it lay in her now to be amused--by -hearing Geoffrey speak of himself, with a kind of elephantine -liveliness, as a roisterer and a Bohemian. But she was perfectly -prepared to accept whatever happened; and when Geoff told her, the day -after his mother's visit, that he must begin work again and go on as -usual, she took it as a matter of course. - -So Geoff arranged his new studio, and found out his best light, and got -his easel into position; and Flexor arrived with the lay-figure which -had been passing its vacation in Little Flotsam Street; and the great -model recognised Mrs. Geoffrey Ludlow, who happened to look in, with a -deferential bow, and, with what seemed best under the circumstances, a -look of extreme astonishment, as though he had never seen her before, -and expected to find quite a different person. - -Gradually and one by one all the old accessories of Geoff's daily life -seemed closing round him. A feeble ring, heard while he and his wife -were at breakfast, would be followed by the servant's announcement -of "the young person, sir, a-waitin' in the stujo;" and the young -person--a model--would be found objurgating the distance from town, and -yet appreciative of the beauty of the spot when arrived at. - -And Mr. Stompff had come; of course he had. No sooner did he get -Geoff's letter announcing his return than he put himself into a hansom -cab, and went up to Elm Lodge. For Mr. Stompff was a man of business. -His weak point was, that he judged other men by his own standard; -and knowing perfectly well that if any other man had had the success -which Geoffrey Ludlow had achieved that year, he (Stompff) would have -worked heaven and earth to get him into his clutches, he fancied that -Caniche, and all the other dealers, would be equally voracious, and -that the best thing he could do would be to strike the iron while it -was hot, and secure Ludlow for himself. He thought too that this was -rather a good opportunity for such a proceeding, as Ludlow's exchequer -was likely to be low, and he could the more easily be won over. So the -hansom made its way to Elm Lodge; and its fare, under the title of "a -strange gentleman, sir!" was ushered into Geoff's studio. - -"Well, and how are you, Ludlow! What did she say, 'a strange -gentleman'? Yes, Mary, my love! I am a strange gentleman, as you'll -find out before I've done with you." Mr. Stompff laid his finger to -his nose, and winked with exquisite facetiousness. "Well, and how are -you? safe and sound, and all the rest of it! And how's Mrs. L.? Must -introduce me before I go. And what are you about now, eh? What's this?" - -He stopped before the canvas on the easel, and began examining it -attentively. - -"That's nothing!" said Geoffrey; "merely an outline of a notion I -had of the Esplanade at Brighton. I don't think it would make a bad -subject. You see, here I get the invalids in Bath-chairs, the regular -London swells promenading it, the boatmen; the Indian-Mutiny man, -with his bandaged foot and his arm in a sling and his big beard; some -excursionists with their baskets and bottles; some Jews, and--" - -"Capital! nothing could be better! Hits the taste of the day, my boy; -shoots folly, and no flies, as the man said. That's your ticket! Any -body else seen that!" - -"Well, literally not a soul. It's only just begun, and no one has been -here since I returned." - -"That's all right! Now what's the figure? You're going to open your -mouth, I know; you fellows always do when you've made a little success." - -"Well, you see," began old Geoff, in his usual hesitating diffident -manner, "it's a larger canvas than I've worked on hitherto, and there -are a good many more figures, and--" - -"Will five hundred suit you?" - -"Ye-es! Five hundred would be a good price, for--" - -"All right! shake hands on it! I'll give you five hundred for the -copyright--right and away, mind!--sketch, picture, and right of -engraving. We'll get it to some winter-gallery, and you'll have another -ready for the Academy. Nothing like that, my boy! I know the world, -and you don't. What the public likes, you give them as much of as you -can. Don't you believe in over-stocking the market with Ludlows; that's -all stuff! Let 'em have the Ludlows while they want 'em. In a year or -two they'll fight like devils to get a Jones or a Robinson, and wonder -how the deuce any body could have spent their money on such a dauber -as Ludlow. Don't you be offended, my boy; I'm only speakin' the truth. -I buy you because the public wants you; and I turn an honest penny in -sellin' you again; not that I'm any peculiar nuts on you myself, either -one way or t'other. Come, let's wet this bargain, Ludlow, my boy; some -of that dry sherry you pulled out when I saw you last at Brompton, eh?" - -Geoffrey rang the bell; the sherry was produced, and Mr. Stompff -enjoyed it with great gusto. - -"Very neat glass of sherry as ever I drank. Well, Ludlow, success to -our bargain! Give it a good name, mind; that's half the battle; and, I -say, I wouldn't do too much about the Jews, eh? You know what I mean; -none of that d--d nose-trick, you know. There's first-rate customers -among the Jews, though they know more about pictures than most people, -and won't be palmed off like your Manchester coves but when they do -like a thing, they will have it; and tough they always insist upon -discount, yet even then, with the price one asks for a picture, it -pays. Well, you'll be able to finish that and two others--O, how do you -do, mam?" - -This last to Margaret, who, not knowing that her husband had any one -with him was entering the studio. She bowed, and was about to withdraw; -but Geoff called her back, and presented Mr. Stompff to her. - -"Very glad to make your acquaintance, mam," said that worthy, seizing -her hand; "heard of you often, and recognise the picture of Scyllum -and Something in an instant. Enjoyed yourself in the country, I 'ope. -That's all right. But nothing like London; that's the place to pick up -the dibs. I've been telling our friend here he must stick to it, now -he's a wife to provide for; for we know what's what, don't we, Mrs. -Ludlow? Three pictures a year, my boy, and good-sized 'uns too; no -small canvases: that's what we must have out of you." - -Geoffrey laughed as he said, "Well, no; not quite so much as that. -Recollect, I intend to take my wife out occasionally; and besides, I've -promised to give some drawing lessons." - -"What!" shrieked Mr. Stompff; "drawing-lessons! a man in your position -give drawing-lessons! I never heard such madness! You musn't do that, -Ludlow." - -The words were spoken so decidedly that Margaret bit her lips, and -turned to look at her husband, whose face flushed a deep red, and whose -voice stuttered tremendously as he gasped out, "B-but I shall! D-don't -you say 'must,' please, to me, Mr. Stompff; because I don't like it; -and I don't know what the d-deuce you mean by using such a word!" - -Mr. Stompff glanced at Margaret, whose face expressed the deepest -disgust; so clearly perceiving the mistake he had made, he said, "Well, -of course I only spoke as a friend; and when one does that he needn't -be in much doubt as to his reward. When I said 'must,' which seems to -have riled you so, Ludlow, I said it for your own sake. However, you -and I sha'n't fall out about that. Don't you give your pictures to any -one else, and we shall keep square enough. Where are you going to give -drawing-lessons, if one may be bold enough to ask?" - -"In St. Barnabas Square, to a young lady, a very old friend of mine, -and a _protegee_ of Lord Caterham's," said Geoffrey, whose momentary -ire had died out. - -"O, Lord Caterham's! that queer little deformed chap. Good little -fellow, too, they say he is; sharp, and all that kind of thing. Well, -there's no harm in that. I thought you were going on the philanthropic -dodge--to schools and working-men, and that lay. There's one rule in -life,--you never lose any thing by being civil to a bigwig; and this -little chap, I daresay, has influence in his way. By the way, you might -ask him to give a look in at my gallery, if he's passing by. Never does -any harm, that kind of thing. Well, I can't stay here all day. Men of -business must always be pushing on, Mrs. Ludlow. Good day to you; and, -I say, when--hem! there's any thing to renounce the world, the flesh, -and the--hey, you understand? any body wanted to promise and vow, -you know,--I'm ready; send for me. I've got my eye on a silver thug -already. Goodbye, Ludlow; see you next week. Three before next May, -recollect, and all for me. Ta-ta!" and Mr. Stompff stepped into his -cab, and drove off, kissing his fat pudgy little hands, with a great -belief in Geoffrey Ludlow and a holy horror of his wife. - - -In the course of the next few days Geoffrey wrote to Lord Caterham, -telling him that he was quite ready to commence Miss Maurice's -instruction; and shortly afterwards received an answer naming a day for -the lessons to commence. On arriving at the house Geoff was shown into -Lord Caterham's room, and there found Annie waiting to receive him. -Geoff advanced, and shook hands warmly; but he thought Miss Maurice's -manner was a little more reserved than on the last occasion of their -meeting. - -"Lord Caterham bade me make his excuses to you, Mr. Ludlow," said she. -"He hopes to see you before you go; but he is not very well just now, -and does not leave his room till later in the day." - -Geoff was a little hurt at the "Mr. Ludlow." Like all shy men, he -was absurdly sensitive; and at once thought that he saw in this mode -of address a desire on Annie's part to show him his position as -drawing-master. So he merely said he was "sorry for the cause of Lord -Caterham's absence;" and they proceeded at once to Work. - -But the ice on either side very soon melted away. Geoff had brought -with him an old sketch-book, filled with scraps of landscape and -figures, quaint _bizarre_ caricatures, and little bits of every-day -life, all drawn at Willesden Priory or in its neighbourhood, all having -some little history of their own appealing to Annie's love of those -old days and that happy home. And as she looked over them, she began -to talk about the old times; and very speedily it was, "O, Geoff, -don't you remember?" and "O, Geoff, will you ever forget?" and so on; -and they went on sketching and talking until, to Annie at least, the -present and the intervening time faded away, and she was again the -petted little romp, and he was dear old Geoff, her best playmate, her -earliest friend, whom she used to drive round the gravel-paths in her -skipping-rope harness, and whose great shock head of hair used to cause -her such infinite wonder and amusement. - -As she sat watching him bending over the drawing, she remembered with -what anxiety she used to await his coming at the Priory, and with -what perfect good-humour he bore all her childish whims and vagaries. -She remembered how he had always been her champion when her papa had -been _brusque_ or angry with her, saying, "Fairy was too small to be -scolded;" how when just before that horrible bankruptcy took place and -all the household were busy with their own cares she, suffering under -some little childish illness, was nursed by Geoff, then staying in -the house with a vague idea of being able to help Mr. Maurice in his -trouble; how he carried her in his arms to and fro, to and fro, during -the whole of one long night, and hushed her to sleep with the soft -tenderness of a woman. She had thought of him often and often during -her life at Ricksborough Vicarage, always with the same feelings of -clinging regard and perfect trust; and now she had found him. Well, no, -not him exactly; she doubted very much whether Mr. Ludlow the rising -artist was the same as the "dear old Geoff" of the Willesden-Priory -days. There was--and then, as she was thinking all this, Geoff raised -his eyes from the drawing, and smiled his dear old happy smile, and -put his pencil between his teeth, and slowly rubbed his hands while -he looked over his sketch, so exactly as he used to do fifteen years -before that she felt more than ever annoyed at that news which Arthur -had told tier a few days ago about Mr. Ludlow being married. - -Yes, it was annoyance she felt! there was no other word for it. In the -old days he had belonged entirely to her, and why should he not now? -Her papa had always said that it was impossible Geoff could ever be any -thing but an old bachelor, and an old bachelor he should have remained. -What a ridiculous thing for a man at his time of life to import a new -element into it by marriage! It would have been so pleasant to have -had him then, just in the old way; to have talked to him and teased -him, and looked up to him just as she used to do, and now--O, no! it -could not be the same! no married man is ever the same with the friends -of his bachelorhood, especially female friends, as he was before. And -Mrs. Ludlow, what was she like? what could have induced Geoff to marry -her? While Geoff's head was bent over the drawing, Annie revolved all -this rapidly in her mind, and came to the conclusion that it must have -been for money that Geoff plunged into matrimony, and that Mrs. Ludlow -was either a widow with a comfortable jointure, in which case Annie -pictured her to herself as short, stout, and red-faced, with black -hair in bands and a perpetual black-silk dress; or a small heiress of -uncertain age, thin, with hollow cheeks and a pointed nose, ringlets of -dust-coloured hair, a pinched waist, and a soured temper. And to think -of Geoff's going and throwing away the rest of his life on a person of -this sort, when he might have been so happy in his old bachelor way! - -The more she thought of this the more she hated it. Why had he not -announced to them that he was going to be married, when she first met -him after that long lapse of years? To be sure, the rooms at the Royal -Academy were scarcely the place in which to enter on such a matter; but -then--who could she be? what was she like? It was so long since Geoff -had been intimate with any one; she knew that of course his range of -acquaintance might have been changed a hundred times and she not know -one of them. How very strange that he did not say any thing about it -now! He had been here an hour sketching and pottering about, and yet -had not breathed a word about it. O, she would soon settle that! - -So the next time Geoff looked up from his sketch, she said to him: -"Are you longing to be gone, Geoffrey? Getting fearfully bored? Is a -horrible _heimweh_ settling down upon your soul? I suppose under the -circumstances it ought to be, if it isn't." - -"Under what circumstances, Annie? I'm not bored a bit, nor longing to -be gone. What makes you think so?" - -"Only my knowledge of a fact which I've learned, though not from -you--your marriage, Geoffrey." - -"Not from me! Pardon me, Annie; I begged Lord Caterham, to whom I -announced it, specially to name it to you. And, if you must know, -little child, I wondered you had said nothing to me about it." - -He looked at her earnestly as he said this; and there was a dash of -disappointment in his honest eyes. - -"I'm so sorry, Geoff--so sorry! But I didn't understand it so; really I -didn't," said Annie, already half-penitent. "Lord Caterham told me of -the fact, but as from himself; not from you; and--and I thought it odd -that, considering all our old intimacy, you hadn't--" - -"Odd! why, God bless my soul! Annie, you don't think that I shouldn't; -but, you see, it was all so--At all events, I'm certain I told Lord -Caterham to tell you." - -Geoff was in a fix here. His best chance of repudiating the idea that -he had willfully neglected informing Annie of his intended marriage -was the true reason, that the marriage itself was, up to within the -shortest time of its fulfilment, so unlooked for; but this would throw -a kind of slur on his wife; at all events, would prompt inquiries; so -he got through it as best he could with the stuttering excuses above -recorded. - -They seemed to avail with Annie Maurice; for she only said, "O, yes; -I daresay it was some bungle of yours. You always used to make the -most horrible mistakes, Geoff, I've heard poor papa say a thousand -times, and get out of it in the lamest manner." Then, after a moment, -she said, "You must introduce me to your wife, Geoffrey;" and, almost -against her inclination, added, "What is she like?" - -"Introduce you, little child? Why, of course I will, and tell her -how long I have known you, and how you used to sit on my knee, and -be my little pet," said old Geoff, in a transport of delight. "O, I -think you'll like her, Annie. She is--yes, I may say so--she is very -beautiful, and--and very quiet and good." - -Geoff's ignorance of the world is painfully manifested in this speech. -No Woman could possibly be pleased to hear of her husband having been -in the habit Of having any little pet on his knee; and in advancing her -being "very beautiful" as a reason for liking his wife, Geoff showed -innocence which was absolutely refreshing. - -Very beautiful! Was that mere conjugal blindness or real fact? Taken in -conjunction with "very quiet and good," it looked like the former; but -then where beauty was concerned Geoff had always been a stern judge; -and it was scarcely likely that he would suffer his judgment, founded -on the strictest abstract principles to be warped by any whim or fancy. -Very beautiful!--the quietude and goodness came into account,--very -beautiful! - -"O, yes; I must come and see Mrs. Ludlow, please. You will name a day -before you go?" - -"Name a day! What for, Annie?" - -Lord Caterham was the speaker, sitting in his chair, and being wheeled -in from his bedroom by Stephens. Ins tone was a little harsh; his -temper a little sharp. He had all along determined that Annie and Geoff -should not be left alone together on the occasion of her first lesson. -But _l'homme propose et Dieu dispose_; and Caterham had been unable to -raise his head from his pillow, with one of those fearful neuralgic -headaches which occasionally affected him. - -"What for! Why, to be introduced to Mrs. Ludlow! By the way, you seem -to have left your eyes in the other room, Arthur. You have not seen Mr. -Ludlow before, have you?" - -"I beg Mr. Ludlow a thousand pardons!" said Caterham, who had -forgotten the announcement of Geoffrey's marriage, and who hailed the -recalling of the past with intense gratification. "I'm delighted to -see you, Mr. Ludlow; and very grateful to you for coming to fill up so -agreeably some of our young lady's blank time. If I thought you were -a conventional man, I should make you a pretty Conventional speech of -gratulation on your marriage; but as I'm sure you're something much -better, I leave that to be inferred." - -"You are very good," said Geoff. "Annie was just saying that I should -introduce My wife to her, and--" - -"Of course, of course!" said Caterham, a little dashed by the -familiarity of the "Annie." "I hope, to see Mrs. Ludlow here; not -merely as a visitor to a wretched bachelor like myself; but I'm sure my -mother would be very pleased to welcome her, and will, if you please, -do herself the honour of calling on Mrs. Ludlow. - -"Thank you, Arthur; you are very kind, and I appreciate it," said -Annie, in a low voice, crossing to his chair; "but my going will be a -different thing; I mean, as an old friend of Geoff's, _I_ may go and -see his wife." - -An old friend of Geoff's! Still the same bond between them, in which he -had no part--an intimacy with which he had nothing to do. - -"Of course," said he; "nothing could be more natural." - - -"Little Annie coming to be introduced to Margaret!" thought Geoff, as -he walked homeward, the lesson over. This, then, was to be Margaret's -first introduction to his old friend. Not much fear of their not -getting on together. And yet, on reflection, Geoff was not so sure of -that, after all. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. -AT HOME. - - -The people of Lowbar, lusty citizens with suburban residences--lawyers, -proctors, and merchants, all warm people in money matters--did -not think much of the advent into their midst of a man following -an unrecognised profession, which had no ledger-and-day-book -responsibility, employed no clerks, and ministered to no absolute want. -It was not the first time indeed that they had heard of an artist being -encamped among them; for in the summer several brethren of the brush -were tempted to make a temporary sojourn in the immediate vicinity -of the broad meadows and suburban prettinesses. But these were mere -birds of passage, who took lodgings over some shop in the High Street, -and who were never seen save by marauding schoolboys or wandering -lovers, who would come suddenly upon a bearded man smoking a pipe, and -sketching away under the shade of a big white umbrella. To wear a beard -and, in addition to that enormity, to smoke a pipe, were in themselves -sufficient, in the eyes of the worthy inhabitants of Lowbar, to prove -that a man was on the high-road to destruction; but they consoled -themselves with the reflection that the evil-doer was but a sojourner -amongst them. Now, however, had arrived a man in the person of Geoffrey -Ludlow, who not merely wore a beard and smoked a pipe, but further flew -in the face of all decently-constituted society by having a beautiful -wife. And this man had not come into lodgings, but had regularly -established himself in poor Mrs. Pierce's house, which he had had all -done up and painted and papered and furnished in a manner--so at least -Mr. Brandram the doctor said--that might be described as gorgeous. - -Now, as the pretty suburb of Lowbar is still a good score of years -behind the world, its inhabitants could not understand this at all, -and the majority of them were rather scandalised than otherwise, when -they found that the vicar and his wife had called on the newcomers. -Mr. Brandram the doctor had called too; but that was natural. He was -a pushing man was Brandram, and a worldly man, so unlike Priestley, -the other doctor, who was a retiring gentleman. So at least said -Priestley's friends and Brandram's enemies. Brandram was a little man -of between fifty and sixty, neat, and a little horsy in his dress, -cheerful in his manner, fond of recommending good living, and fond of -taking his own prescription. He was a little "fast" for Lowbar, going -to the theatre once or twice in the year, and insisting upon having -novels for the Book-Society; whereas Priestley's greatest dissipation -was attending a "humorous lecture" at the Mechanics' Institute, and his -lightest reading a book of Antipodean travel. Brandram called at Elm -Lodge, of course, and saw both Geoff and Margaret, and talked of the -Academy pictures,--which he had carefully got up from the catalogue -and the newspaper-notices,--and on going away, left Mrs. Brandram's -card. For three weeks afterwards, that visit supplied the doctor -with interesting discourse for his patients: he described all the -alterations which had been made in the house since Mrs. Pierce's death; -he knew the patterns of the carpets, the colours of the curtains, the -style of the furniture. Finally, he pronounced upon the newcomers; -described Geoff as a healthy man of a sanguineous temperament, not much -cut out for the Lowbar folk; and his wife as a beautiful woman, but -lymphatic. - -These last were scarcely the details which the Lowbar folk wanted to -know. They wanted to know all about the _menage_; in what style the -newcomers lived; whether they kept much or any company; whether they -agreed well together. This last was a point of special curiosity; for, -in common with numberless other worthy, commonplace, stupid people, the -Lowbar folk imagined that the private lives of "odd persons"--under -which heading they included all professors of literature and art of any -kind--were passed in dissipation and wrangling. How the information was -to be obtained was the great point, for they knew that nothing would -be extracted from the vicar, even if he had been brimful of remarks -upon his new parishioners, which, indeed, he was not, as they neither -of them happened to be at home when he called. It would be something -to be well assured about their personal appearance, especially _her_ -personal appearance; to see whether there were really any grounds for -this boast of beauty which Dr. Brandram went talking about in such a -ridiculous way. The church was the first happy hunting-ground pitched -upon; and during the first Sunday after Geoff's and Margaret's arrival -the excitement during divine service was intense; the worshippers in -the middle and side aisles, whose pews all faced the pulpit, and whose -backs were consequently turned to the entrance-door, regarding with -intense envy their friends whose pews confronted each other between -the pulpit and the altar, and who, consequently, while chanting the -responses or listening to the lesson, could steal furtive glances on -every occasion of the door's opening, without outraging propriety. But -when it was found that the newcomers did not attend either morning -or evening service,--and unquestionably a great many members of the -congregation had their dinner of cold meat and salad (it was considered -sinful in Lowbar to have hot dinners on Sunday) at an abnormally early -hour for the purpose of attending evening service on the chance of -seeing the new arrivals,--it was considered necessary to take more -urgent measures; and so the little Misses Coverdale--two dried-up -little chips of spinsters with corkscrew ringlets and black-lace -mittens, who kept house for their brother, old Coverdale, the -red-faced, white-headed proctor, Geoffrey's next-door neighbour--had -quite a little gathering the next day, the supposed object of which -was to take tea and walk in the garden, but the real object to peep -furtively over the wall and try and catch a glimpse of her who was -already sarcastically known as "Dr. Brandram's beauty." Some of the -visitors, acquainted with the peculiarities of the garden, knowing -what mound to stand on and what position to take up, were successful -in catching a glimpse of the top of Margaret's hair--"all taken off -her face like a schoolgirl's, and leaving her cheeks as bare as bare," -as they afterwards reported--as she wandered listlessly round the -garden, stooping now and then to smell or gather a flower. One or -two others were also rewarded by the sight of Geoffrey in his velvet -painting-coat; among them, Letty Coverdale, who pronounced him a -splendid man, and, O, so romantic-looking! for all ideas of matrimony -had not yet left Miss Letty Coverdale, and the noun-substantive Man -yet caused her heart to beat with an extra throb in her flat little -chest; whereas Miss Matty Coverdale, who had a face like a horse, and -who loudly boasted that she had never had an offer of marriage in her -life, snorted out her wonder that Geoff did not wear a surtout like a -Christian and her belief that he'd be all the cleaner after a visit to -Mr. Ball, who was the Lowbar barber. - -But bit by bit the personal appearance of both of them grew -sufficiently familiar to many of the inhabitants, some of the most -courageous of whom had actually screwed themselves up to that pitch of -boldness necessary for the accomplishment of calling and leaving cards -on strangers pursuing a profession unnamed in the _Directory_, and -certainly not one of the three described in _Mangnall's Questions_. The -calls were returned, and in some cases were succeeded by invitations -to dinner. But Geoffrey cared little for these, and Margaret earnestly -begged they might be declined. If she found her life insupportably -dull and slow, this was not the kind of relief for which she prayed. -A suburban dinner-party would be but a dull parody on what she had -known; would give her trouble to dress for, without the smallest -compensating amusement; would leave her at the mercy of stupid people, -among whom she would probably be the only stranger, the only resource -for staring eyes and questioning tongues. That they would have stared -and questioned, there is little doubt; but they certainly intended -hospitality. The "odd" feeling about the Ludlows prevalent on their -first coming had worn off, and now the tide seemed setting the other -way. Whether it was that the tradesmen's books were regularly paid, -that the lights at Elm Lodge were seldom or never burning after eleven -o'clock, that Geoffrey's name had been seen in the _Times_, as having -been present at a dinner given by Lord Everton, a very grand dinner, -where he was the only untitled man among the company, or for whatever -other reason, there was a decided disposition to be civil to them. -No doubt Margaret's beauty had a great deal to do with it, so far as -the men were concerned. Old Mr. Coverdale, who had been portentously -respectable for half a century, but concerning whom there was a -floating legend of "Jolly dog-ism" In his youth, declared he had seen -nothing like her since the Princess Charlotte; and Abbott, known as -Captain Abbott, from having once been in the Commissariat, who always -wore a chin-tip and a tightly-buttoned blue frock-coat and pipe-clayed -buckskin gloves, made an especial point of walking past Elm Lodge -every afternoon, and bestowing on Margaret, whenever he saw her, a -peculiar leer which had done frightful execution amongst the nursemaids -of Islington. Mrs. Abbott, a mild meek little woman, who practised -potichomanie, delcomanie the art of making wax-flowers, any thing -whereby to make money to pay the tradespeople and supply varnish for -her husband's boots and pocket-money for his _menus plaisirs_, was not, -it is needless to say, informed of these vagaries on the captain's part. - -They were discussed every where: at the Ladies' Clothing-Club, where -one need scarcely say that the opinions concerning Margaret's beauty -were a little less fervid in expression; and at the Gentlemen's -Book-Society, where a proposition to invite Geoff to be of their -number, started by the vicar and seconded by old Mr. Coverdale, was -opposed by Mr. Bryant (of Bryant and Martin, coach-builders, Long -Acre), On the ground that the first Of the rules stated that this -should be an association of gentlemen; and who could I say what would -be done next if artists was to be received? The discussion on this -point waxed very warm, and during it Mr. Cremer the curate incurred Mr. -Bryant's deepest hatred for calling out to him, on his again attempting -to address the meeting, "Spoke, spoke!" which Mr. Bryant looked upon -as a sneer at his trade, and remembered bitterly when the subscription -was got up in the parish for presenting Mr. Cremer with the silver -teapot and two hundred sovereigns, with which (the teapot at least) -he proceeded to the rectory of Steeple Bumstead, in a distant part of -the country. They were discussed by the regulars in the nine-o'clock -omnibus, most of whom, as they passed by Elm Lodge and saw Geoff -through the big window just commencing to set his palette, pitied him -for having to work at home, and rejoiced in their own freedom from the -possibility of conjugal inroad; or, catching a glimpse of Margaret, -poked each other in the ribs and told each other what a fine woman -she was. They were discussed by the schoolboys going to school, who -had a low opinion of art, and for the most part confined the remarks -about Geoffrey to his having a "stunnin' beard," and about Margaret -to her being a "regular carrots," the youthful taste being strongly -anti-pre-Raffaellitic, and worshipping the raven tresses and straight -noses so dear to the old romancers. - -And while all these discussions and speculations were rife, the persons -speculated on and discussed were leading their lives without a thought -of what people were saying of them. Geoff knew that he was doing good -work; he felt that intuitively as every man does feel it, quite as -intuitively as when he is producing rubbish; and he knew it further -from the not-too-laudatorily-inclined Mr. Stompff, who came up from -time to time, and could not refuse his commendation to the progress -of the pictures. And then Geoff was happy--at least, well, Margaret -might have been a little more lively perhaps; but then--O, no; he was -thoroughly happy! and Margaret--existed! The curtain had dropped on her -wedding-day, and she had been groping in darkness ever since. - - -Time went on, as he does to all of us, whatever our appreciation of -him may be, according to the mood we may happen to be in: swiftly to -the happy and the old, slowly to the young and the wearied. There is -that blessed compensation which pervades all human things, even in the -flight of time. No matter how pleasant, how varied, how completely -filled is the time of the young, it hangs on them somehow; they do -not feel it rush past them nor melt away, the hours swallowed up in -days, the days in years, as do the elder people, who have no special -excitement, no particular delight. The fact still remains that the -young want time to fly, the old want him to crawl; and that, fulfilling -the wishes of neither, he speeds on _aquo pale_, grumbled at by both. - -The time went on. So Margaret knew by the rising and setting of the -sun, by the usual meals, her own getting up and going to bed, and all -the usual domestic routine. But by what else? Nothing. She had been -married now nearly six months, and from that experience she thought -she might deduce something like an epitome of her life. What was it? -She had a husband who doated on her; who lavished on her comforts, -superfluities, luxuries; who seemed never so happy as when toiling at -his easel, and who brought the products of his work to her to dispose -of as she pleased. A husband who up to that hour of her thought had -never in the smallest degree failed to fulfil her earliest expectations -of him,--generous to a degree, kind-hearted, weak, and easily led. -Weak! weak as water.--Yes, and O yes! What you, like, my dear! What -you think best, my child! That is for your decision, Margaret. I--I -don't know; I scarcely like to give an opinion. Don't you think you had -better settle it? I'll leave it all to you, please, dearest.--Good God! -if he would only say _something_--as opposed to her ideas as possible, -the more opposed the better--some assertion of self, some trumpet-note -of argument, some sign of his having a will of his own, or at least -an idea from which a will might spring. Here was the man who in his -own art was working out the most admirable genius, showing that he had -within him more of the divine afflatus than is given to nine hundred -and ninety-nine in every thousand amongst us--a man who was rapidly -lifting his name for the wonder and the envy of the best portion of -the civilised world, incapable of saying "no" even to a proposition of -hashed mutton for dinner, shirking the responsibility of a decision on -the question of the proper place for a chair. - -Indeed, I fear that, so far as I have stated, the sympathies of women -will go against old Geoff, who must, I fancy, have been what they are -in the habit of calling "very trying." You see he brought with him to -the altar a big generous old heart, full of love and adoration of his -intended wife, full of resolution, in his old blunt way, to stand by -her through evil and good report, and to do his duty by her in all -honour and affection. He was any thing but a self-reliant man; but he -knew that his love was sterling coin, truly unalloyed; and he thought -that it might be taken as compensation for numerous deficiencies, the -existence of which he readily allowed. You see he discovered his power -of loving simultaneously almost with his power of painting; and I think -that this may perhaps account for a kind of feeling that, as the latter -was accepted by the world, so would the former be by the person to whom -it was addressed. When he sent out the picture which first attracted -Mr. Stompff's attention, he had no idea that it was better than a -score others which he had painted, during the course of his life; when -he first saw Margaret Dacre, he could not tell that the instinctive -admiration would lead to any thing more than the admiration which he -had already silently paid to half-a-hundred pretty faces. But both had -come to a successful issue; and he was only to paint his pictures with -all the talent of his head and hand, and to love his wife with all the -affection of his heart, to discharge his duty in life. - -He did this; he worshipped her with all his heart. Whatever she did -was right, whatever ought to have been discussed she was called upon -to settle. They were very small affairs, as I have said,--of hashed -mutton and jams of the colour of a ribbon, or the fashion of a bonnet. -Was there never to be any thing further than this? Was life to consist -in her getting up and struggling through the day and going to bed at -Elm Lodge? The short breakfast, when Geoff was evidently dying to be -off into the painting-room; the long, long day,--composed of servants -instruction, newspaper, lunch, sleep, little walk, toilette, dinner, -utterly feeble conversation, yawns and head-droppings, and finally -bed. She had pictured to herself something quiet, tranquil, without -excitement, without much change; but nothing like this. - -Friends?--relations? O yes! old Mrs. Ludlow came to see her now and -then; and she had been several times to Brompton. The old lady was -very kind in her pottering stupid way, and her daughter Matilda was -kind also, but as once gushing and prudish; so Margaret thought. -And they both treated her as if she were a girl; the old lady -perpetually haranguing her with good advice and feeble suggestion, and -Matilda--who, of course, like all girls, had, it was perfectly evident, -some silly love-affair on with some youth who had not as yet declared -himself--wanting to make her half-confidences, and half-asking for -advice, which she never intended to take. A girl? O yes, of course, she -must play out that farce, and support that terribly vague story which -old Geoff; pushed into a corner on a sudden, and without any one to -help him at the instant, had fabricated concerning her parentage and -belongings. And she must listen to the old lady's praises of Geoff, -and how she thought it not improbable, if things went on as they were -going, that the happiest dream of her life would be fulfilled--that she -should ride in her son's carriage. "It would be yours, of course, my -dear; I know that well enough; but you'd let me ride in it sometimes, -just for the honour and glory of the thing." And they talked like -this to her: the old lady of the glory of a carriage; Matilda of some -hawbuck wretch for whom she had a liking;--to her! who had sat on the -box-seat of a drag a score of times, with half-a-score of the best men -in England sitting behind her, all eager for a word or a smile. - -She saw them now, frequently, whenever she came over to Brompton,--all -the actors in that bygone drama of her life, save the hero himself. -It was the play of _Hamlet_ with Hamlet left out, indeed. But what -vast proportions did she then assume compared to what she had been -lately! There were Rosencrantz and Guildenstern,--the one in his -mail-phaeton, the other on his matchless hack; there was old Polonius -in the high-collared bottle-green coat of thirty years back, guiding -his clever cob in and out among the courtiers; there was the Honourable -Osric, simpering and fooling among the fops. She hurried across the -Drive or the Row on her way to or from Brompton, and stood up, a little -distance off, gazing at these comrades of old times. She would press -her hands to her head, and wonder whether it was all true or a dream -whether she was going back to the dull solemnity of Elm Lodge, when a -dozen words would put her into that mail-phaeton--on to that horse! -How often had Rosencrantz ogled! and was it not Guildenstern's billet -that, after reading, she tore up and threw in his face? It was an awful -temptation; and she was obliged, as an antidote, to picture to herself -the tortures she had suffered from cold and want and starvation, to -bring her round at all to a sensible line of thought. - -Some one else had called upon her two or three times. O yes, a Miss -Maurice, who came in a coroneted carriage, and to whom she had taken a -peculiar detestation; not from any airs she had given herself--O no; -there was nothing of that kind about her. She was one of those persons, -don't you know, who have known your husband before his marriage, and -take an interest in him, and must like you for his sake; one of those -persons who are so open and honest and above-board, that you take an -immediate distrust of them at first sight, which you never get over. O -no, Margaret was perfectly certain she should never like Annie Maurice. - -Music she had, and books; but she was not very fond of the first, -and only played desultorily. Geoff was most passionately fond of -music; and sometimes after dinner he would ask for "a tune," and then -Margaret would sit down at the piano and let her fingers wander over -the keys, gradually finding them straying into some of the brilliant -dance-music of Auber and Musard, of Jullien and Koenig, with which -she had been familiarised during her Continental experience. And -as she played, the forms familiarly associated with the music came -trooping out of the mist--Henri, so grand in the _Cavalier seul_, Jules -and Eulalie, so unapproachable in the _En avant deux_. There they -whirled in the hot summer evenings; the _parterre_, illuminated with -a thousand lamps glittering like fireflies, the sensuous strains of -the orchestra soaring up to the great yellow-faced moon looking down -upon it; and then the cosy little supper, the sparkling iced drink, -the--"Time for bed, eh, dear?" from old Geoff, already nodding with -premature sleep; and away flew the bright vision at the rattle of the -chamber-candlestick. - -Books! yes, no lack of them. Geoff subscribed for her to the library, -and every week came the due supply of novels. These Margasightret read, -some in wonder, some in scorn. There was a great run upon the Magdalen -just then in that style of literature; writers were beginning to be -what is called "outspoken;" and young ladies familiarised with the -outward life of the species, as exhibited in the Park and at the Opera, -read with avidity of their diamonds and their ponies, of the interior -of the _menage_, and of their spirited conversations with the cream -of the male aristocracy. A deference to British virtue, and a desire -to stand well with the librarian's subscribers, compelled an amount -of repentance in the third volume which Margaret scarcely believed -to be in accordance with truth. The remembrance of childhood's days, -which made the ponies pall, and rendered the diamonds disgusting,--the -inherent natural goodness, which took to eschewing of crinoline -and the adoption of serge, which swamped the colonel in a storm of -virtuous indignation, and brought the curate safely riding over the -billows,--were agreeable incidents, but scarcely, she thought, founded -on fact. Her own experience at least had taught her otherwise; but it -might be so after all. - -So her life wore drearily on. Would there never be any change in it? -Yes, one change at least Time brought in his flight. Dr. Brandram's -visits were now regular; and one morning a shrill cry resounded through -the house, and the doctor placed in its father's arms a strong healthy -boy. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. -WHAT THEIR FRIENDS THOUGHT. - - -Geoffrey Ludlow had married and settled himself in a not-too-accessible -suburb, but he had not given up such of his old companions as were on -a footing of undeniable intimacy with him. These were few in number; -for although Geoff was a general favourite from his urbanity and the -absence of any thing like pretentiousness in his disposition, he was -considered slow by most of the bolder spirits among the artist-band. -He was older than many of them certainly, but that was scarcely the -reason; for there were jolly old dogs whose presence never caused the -smallest reticence of song or story--gray and bald-headed old boys, -who held their own in scurrility and slang, and were among the latest -sitters and the deepest drinkers of the set. It is needless to say that -in all their popularity--and they were popular after a fashion--there -was not mingled one single grain of respect; while Geoffrey was -respected as much as he was liked. But his shyness, his quiet domestic -habits, and his perpetual hard work gave him little time for the -cultivation of acquaintance, and he had only two really intimate -friends, who were Charley Potts and William Bowker. - -Charley Potts had been "best man" at the marriage, and Geoffrey had -caught a glimpse of old Bowker in hiding behind a pillar of the church. -It was meet, then, that they--old companions of his former life--should -see him under his altered circumstances, should know and be received -by his wife, and should have the opportunity, if they wished for it, -of keeping up at least a portion of the _camaraderie_ of old days. -Therefore after his return to London, and when he and his wife were -settled down in Elm Lodge, Geoffrey wrote to each of his old friends, -and said how glad he would be to see them in his new house. - -This note found Mr. Charles Potts intent upon a representation of -Mr. Tennyson's "Dora," sitting with the child in the cornfield, a -commission which he had received from Mr. Caniche, and which was to -be paid for by no less a sum than a hundred and fifty pounds. The -"Gil Bias" had proved a great success in the Academy, and had been -purchased by a country rector, who had won a hundred-pound prize in -the Art-Union; so that Charley was altogether in very high feather and -pecuniary triumph. He had not made much alteration in the style of his -living or in the furniture of his apartment; but he had cleared off a -long score for beer and grog standing against him in the books kept -by Caroline of signal fame; he had presented Caroline herself with a -cheap black-lace shawl, which had produced something like an effect at -Rosherville Gardens! and he had sent a ten-pound note to the old aunt -who had taken care of him after his mother's death, and who wept tears -of gratified joy on its receipt, and told all Sevenoaks of the talent -and the goodness of her nephew. He had paid off some other debts also, -and lent a pound or two here and there among his friends, and was even -after that a capitalist to the extent of having some twenty pounds in -the stomach of a china sailor, originally intended as a receptacle for -tobacco. His success had taken effect on Charley. He had begun to think -that there was really something in him, after all; that life was, as -the working-man observed, "not all beer and skittles;" and that if he -worked honestly on, he might yet be able to realise a vision which had -occasionally loomed through clouds of tobacco-smoke curling round his -head; a vision of a pleasant cottage out at Kilburn, or better still -at Cricklewood; with a bit of green lawn and a little conservatory, -and two or three healthy children tumbling about; while their mother, -uncommonly like Matilda Ludlow, looked on from the ivy-covered porch; -and their father, uncommonly like himself, was finishing in the studio -that great work which was to necessitate his election into the Academy. -This vision had a peculiar charm for him; he worked away like a horse; -the telegraphic signals to Caroline and the consequent supply of beer -became far less frequent; he began to eschew late nights, which he -found led to late mornings; and the "Dora" was growing under his hand -day by day. - -He was hard at work and had apparently worked himself into a knot, for -he was standing a little distance from his easel, gazing vacantly at -the picture and twirling his moustache with great vigour,--a sure sign -of worry with him,--when the "tugging, of the trotter" was heard, and -on his opening the door, Mr. Bowker presented himself and walked in. - -"'Tis I! Bowker the undaunted! Ha, Ha!" and Mr. Bowker gave two short -stamps, and lunged with his walking-stick at his friend. "Give your -William drink; he is athirst. What! nothing of a damp nature about? -Potts, virtue and industry are good things; and your William has been -glad to observe that of late you have been endeavouring to practise -both; but industry is not incompatible with pale ale, and nimble -fingers are oft allied to a dry palate. That sounds like one of the -headings of the pages from Maunders' _Treasury of Knowledge_.--Send for -some beer!" - -The usual pantomime was gone through by Mr. Potts, and while it was in -process, Bowker filled a pipe and walked towards the easel. "Very good, -Charley; very good indeed. Nice fresh look in that gal--not the usual -burnt-umber rusticity; but something--not quite--like the real ruddy -peasant bronze. Child not bad either; looks as if it had got its feet -in boxing-gloves, though; you must alter that; and don't make its eyes -quite so much like willow-pattern saucers. What's that on the child's -head?" - -"Hair, of course." - -"And what stuff's that the girl's sitting in?" - -"Corn! cornfield--wheat, you know, and that kind of stuff. What do you -mean? why do you ask?" - -"Only because it seems to your William that both substances are exactly -alike. If it's hair, then the girl is sitting in a hair-field; if it's -corn, then the child has got corn growing on its head." - -"It'll have it growing on its feet some day, I suppose," growled Mr. -Potts, with a grin. "You're quite right, though, old man; we'll alter -that at once.--Well, what's new with you?" - -"New? Nothing! I hear nothing, see nothing, and know nobody. I might be -a hermit-crab, only I shall never creep into any body else's shell; my -own--five feet ten by two feet six--will be ready quite soon enough for -me. Stop! what stuff I'm talking! I very nearly forgot the object of my -coming round to you this morning. Your William is asked into society! -Look; here's a letter I received last night from our Geoff, asking me -to come up to see his new house and be introduced to his wife." - -"I had a similar one this morning." - -"I thought that was on the cards, so I came round to see what you were -going to do." - -"Do? I shall go, of course. So will you, won't you?" - -"Well, Charley, I don't know. I'm a queer old skittle, that has been -knocked about in all manner of ways, and that has had no women's -society for many years. So much the better, perhaps. I'm not pretty to -look at; and I couldn't talk the stuff women like to have talked to -them, and I should be horribly bored if I had to listen to it. So--and -yet--God forgive me for growling so!--there are times when I'd give -any thing for a word of counsel and comfort in a woman's voice, for -the knowledge that there was any woman--good woman, mind!--no matter -what--mother, sister, wife--who had an interest in what I did. There! -never mind that." - -Mr. Bowker stopped abruptly. Charley Potts waited for a minute; then -putting his hand affectionately on his friend's shoulder, said: "But -our William will make an exception for our Geoff. You've known him so -long, and you're so fond of him." - -"Fond of him! God bless him! No one could know Geoff without loving -him, at least no one whose love was worth having. But you see there's -the wife to be taken into account now." - -"You surely wouldn't doubt your reception by her? The mere fact of your -being an old friend of her husband's would be sufficient to make you -welcome." - -"O, Mr. Potts, Mr. Potts! you are as innocent as a sucking-dove, dear -Mr. Potts, though you have painted a decent picture! To have known -a man before his marriage is to be the natural enemy of his wife. -However, I'll chance that, and go and see our Geoff." - -"So shall I," said Potts, "though I'm rather doubtful about _my_ -reception. You see I was with Geoff that night,--you know, when we met -the--his wife, you know." - -"So you were. Haven't you seen her since?" - -"Only at the wedding, and that all in a hurry--just an introduction; -that was all." - -"Did she seem at all confused when she recognised you?" - -"She couldn't have recognised me, because when we found her she was -senseless, and hadn't come-to when we left. But of course Geoff had -told her who I was, and she didn't seem in the least confused." - -"Not she, if there's any truth in physiognomy," muttered old Bowker; -"well, if she showed no annoyance at first meeting you, she's not -likely to do so now, and you'll be received sweetly enough, no doubt. -We may as well go together, eh?" - -To this proposition Mr. Potts consented with great alacrity, for though -a leader of men in his own set, he was marvellously timid, silent, -and ill at ease in the society of ladies. The mere notion of having -to spend a portion of time, however short, in company with members of -the other sex above the rank of Caroline, and with whom he could not -exchange that free and pleasant _badinage_ of which he was so great a -master, inflicted torture on him sufficient to render him an object of -compassion. So on a day agreed upon, the artistic pair set out to pay -their visit to Mrs. Geoffrey Ludlow. - -Their visit took place at about the time when public opinion in Lowbar -was unsettled as to the propriety of knowing the Ludlows; and the -dilatoriness of some of the inhabitants in accepting the position of -the newcomers may probably be ascribed to the fact of the visitors -having been encountered in the village. It is undeniable that the -appearance of Mr. Potts and of Mr. Bowker was not calculated to impress -the beholder with a feeling of respect, or a sense of their position -in society. Holding this to be a gala-day, Mr. Potts had extracted a -bank-note from the stomach of the china sailor, and expended it at -the "emporium" of an outfitter in Oxford Street, in the purchase of a -striking, but particularly ill-fitting, suit of checked clothes--coat, -waistcoat, and trousers to match. His boots, of an unyielding leather, -had very thick clump soles, which emitted curious wheezings and -groanings as he walked; and his puce-coloured gloves were baggy at all -the fingers' ends, and utterly impenetrable as regarded the thumbs. His -white hat was a little on one side, and his moustaches were twisted -with a ferocity which, however fascinating to the maid-servants at the -kitchen-windows, failed to please the ruralising cits and citizenesses, -who were accustomed to regard a white hat as the distinctive badge -of card-sharpers, and a moustache as the outward and visible sign -of swindling. Mr. Bowker had made little difference in his ordinary -attire. He wore a loose shapeless brown garment which was more like a -cloth dressing-gown than a paletot; a black waistcoat frayed at the -pockets from constant contact with his pipe-stem, and so much too short -that the ends of his white-cotton braces were in full view; also a -pair of gray trousers of the cut which had been in fashion when their -owner was in fashion--made very full over the boot, and having broad -leather straps. Mr. Bowker also wore a soft black wideawake hat, and -perfumed the fragrant air with strong cavendish tobacco, fragments of -which decorated his beard. The two created a sensation as they strode -up the quiet High Street; and when they rang at Elm Lodge Geoffrey's -pretty servant-maid was ready to drop between admiration at Mr. Potts's -appearance and a sudden apprehension that Mr. Bowker had come after the -plate. - -She had, however, little time for the indulgence of either feeling; -for Geoffrey, who had been expecting the arrival of hi friends, with a -degree of nervousness unintelligible to himself, no sooner heard the -bell than he rushed out from his studio and received his old comrades -with great cordiality. He shook hands heartily with Charley Potts; but -a certain hesitation mingled with the warmth of his greeting of Bowker; -and his talk rattled on from broken sentence to broken sentence, as -though he were desirous of preventing his friend from speaking until he -himself had had his say. - -"How d'ye do, Charley? so glad to see you; and you, Bowker, my good -old friend: it is thoroughly kind of you to come out here; and--long -way, you know, and out of your usual beat, I know. Well, so you see -Ive joined the noble army of martyrs,--not that I mean that of course; -but--eh, you didn't expect I would do it, did you? I couldn't say, like -the girl in the Scotch song, 'I'm owre young to marry yet,' could I? -However, thank God, I think you'll say my wife is--what a fellow I am! -keeping you fellows out here in this broiling sun; and you haven't--at -least you, Bowker, haven't been introduced to her. Come along--come in!" - -He preceded them to the drawing-room, where Margaret was waiting to -receive them. It was a hot staring day in the middle of a hot staring -summer. The turf was burnt brown; the fields spreading between Elm -Lodge and Hampstead, usually so cool and verdant, were now arid wastes; -the outside blinds of the house were closed to exclude the scorching -light, and there was no sound save the loud chirping of grasshoppers. -A great weariness was on Margaret that day; she had tried to rouse -herself, but found it impossible, so had sat all through the morning -staring vacantly before her, busy with old memories. Between her past -and her present life there was so little in common, that these memories -were seldom roused by associations. The dull never-changing domestic -day, and the pretty respectability of Elm Lodge, did not recal the wild -Parisian revels, the rough pleasant Bohemianism of garrison-lodgings, -the sumptuous luxury of the Florentine villa. But there was something -in the weather to-day--in the bright fierce glare of the sun, in the -solemn utterly-unbroken stillness--which brought back to her mind one -when she and Leonard and some others were cruising off the Devonshire -coast in Tom Marshall's yacht; a day on which, with scarcely a breath -of air to be felt, they lay becalmed in Babbicombe Bay; under an -awning, of course, over which the men from time to time worked the -fire-hose; and how absurdly funny Tom Marshall was when the ice ran -short. Leonard said--The gate-bell rang, and her husband's voice was -heard in hearty welcome of his friends. - -In welcome of his friends! Yes, there at least she could do her duty; -there she could give pleasure to her husband. She could not give him -her love; she had tried, and found it utterly impossible; but equally -impossible was it to withhold from him her respect. Day by day she -honoured him more and more; as she watched his patient honesty, his -indomitable energy, his thorough helplessness; as she learned--in spite -of herself as it were--more of himself; for Geoff had always thought -one of the chiefest pleasures of matrimony must be to have some one -capable of receiving all one's confidences. As she, with a certain -love of psychological analysis possessed by some women went through -his character, and discovered loyalty and truth in every thought and -every deed, she felt half angry with herself for her inability to -regard him with that love which his qualities ought to have inspired. -She had been accustomed to tell herself, and half-believed, that she -had no conscience; but this theory, which she had maintained during -nearly all the earlier portion of her life vanished as she learned to -know and to appreciate her husband. She had a conscience, and she felt -it; under its influence she made some struggles, ineffectual indeed, -but greater than she at one time would have attempted. What was it -that prevented her from giving this man his due, her heart's love? His -appearance? No he was not a "girl's man" certainly, not the delicious -military vision which sets throbbing the hearts of sweet seventeen: -by no means romantic-looking, but a thoroughly manly gentleman--big, -strong, and well-mannered. Had he been dwarfed or deformed, vulgar, -dirty--and even in the present days of tubbing and Turkish baths, -there are men who possess genius and are afraid it may come off in hot -water,--had he been "common," an expressive word meaning something -almost as bad as dirt and vulgarity,--Margaret could have satisfied her -newly-found conscience, or at least accounted for her feelings. But he -was none of these, and she admitted it; and so at the conclusion of her -self-examination fell back, not without a feeling of semi-complacency, -to the conviction that it was not he, but she herself who was in fault; -that she did not give him her heart simply because she had no heart to -give; that she had lived and loved, but that, however long she might -yet live, she could never love again. - -These thoughts passed rapidly through her mind, not for the first, nor -even for the hundredth time, as she sat down upon the sofa and took -up the first book which came to hand, not even making a pretence of -reading it, but allowing it to lie listlessly on her lap. Geoffrey came -first, closely followed by Charley Potts, who advanced in a sheepish -way, holding out his hand. Margaret smiled slightly and gave him her -hand with no particular expression, a little dignified perhaps, but -even that scarcely noticeable. Then Bowker, who had kept his keen eyes -upon her from the moment he entered the room, and whom she had seen and -examined while exchanging civilities with Potts, was brought forward -by Geoffrey, and introduced as "one of my oldest and dearest friends." -Margaret advanced as Bowker approached, her face flushed a little, and -her eyes wore their most earnest expression, as she said, "I am very -glad to see you, Mr. Bowker. I have heard of you from Geoffrey. I am -sure we shall be very good friends." She gripped his hand and looked -him straight in the face as she said this, and in that instant William -Bowker divined that Margaret had heard of, and knew and sympathised -with, the story of his life. - -She seemed tacitly to acknowledge that there was a bond of union -between them. She was as polite as could be expected of her to -Charley Potts; but she addressed herself especially to Bowker when -any point for discussion arose. These were not very frequent, for the -conversation carried on was of a very ordinary kind. How they liked -their new house, and whether they had seen much of the people of -the neighbourhood; how they had enjoyed their honeymoon in the Isle -of Wight; and trivialities of a similar character. Charley Potts, -prevented by force of circumstances from indulging in his peculiar -humour, and incapable from sheer ignorance of bearing his share of -general conversation when a lady was present, had several times -attempted to introduce the one subject, which, in any society, he could -discuss at his ease, art--"shop;" but on each occasion had found his -proposition rigorously ignored both by Margaret and Bowker, who seemed -to consider it out of place, and who were sufficiently interested -in their own talk. So Charley fell back Upon Geoff, who, although -delighted at seeing how well his wife was getting on with his friend, -yet had sufficient kindness of heart to step in to Charley's rescue, -and to discuss with him the impossibility of accounting for the high -price obtained by Smudge; the certainty that Scumble's popularity -would be merely evanescent; the disgraceful favouritism displayed by -certain men "on the council;" in short, all that kind of talk which -is so popular and so unfailing in the simple kindly members of the -art-world. So on throughout lunch; and, indeed, until the mention of -Geoffrey's pictures then in progress necessitated the generalising -of the conversation, and they went away (Margaret with them) to the -studio. Arrived within those walls, Mr. Potts, temporarily oblivious -of the presence of a lady, became himself again. The mingled smell of -turpentine and tobacco, the sight of the pictures on the easels, and -Of Geoff's pipe-rack on the wall, a general air of carelessness and -discomfort, all came gratefully to Mr. Potts who opened his chest, -spread out his arms, shook himself as does a dog just emerged from -the water--probably in his case to get rid of any clinging vestige of -respectability--and said in a very hungry tone: - -"Now, Geoff, let's have a smoke, old boy." - -"You might as well wait until you knew whether Mrs. Ludlow made any -objection, Charley," said Bowker, in a low tone. - -"I beg Mrs. Ludlow's pardon," said Potts, scarlet all over; "I had no -notion that she--" - -"Pray don't apologise, Mr. Potts; I am thoroughly accustomed to smoke; -have been for--" - -"Yes, of course; ever since you married Geoff you have been thoroughly -smoke-dried," interrupted Bowker, at whom Margaret shot a short quick -glance, half of interrogation, half of gratitude. - -They said no more on the smoke subject just then, but proceeded to a -thorough examination of the picture which Charley Potts pronounced -"regularly stunning," and which Mr. Bowker criticised in a much less -explosive manner. He praised the drawing, the painting, the general -arrangement; he allowed that Geoffrey was doing every thing requisite -to obtain for himself name, fame, and wealth in the present day; but -he very much doubted whether that was all that was needed. With the -French judge he would very much have doubted the necessity of living, -if to live implied the abnegation of the first grand principles of art, -its humanising and elevated influence. Bowker saw no trace of these -in the undeniable cleverness of the Brighton Esplanade; and though -he was by no means sparing of his praise, his lack of enthusiasm, as -compared with the full-flavoured ecstasy of Charley Potts, struck upon -Margaret's ear. Shortly afterwards, while Geoffrey and Potts were deep -in a discussion on colour, she turned to Mr. Bowker, and said abruptly: - -"You are not satisfied with Geoffrey's picture?" - -He smiled somewhat grimly as he said, "Satisfied is a very strong word, -Mrs. Ludlow. There are some of us in the world who have sufficient good -sense not to be satisfied with what we do ourselves--" - -"That's true, Heaven knows," she interrupted involuntarily. - -"And are consequently not particularly likely to be content with what's -done by other people. I think Geoff's picture good, very good of its -sort; but I don't--I candidly confess--like its sort. He is a man full -of appreciation of nature, character, and sentiment; a min who, in the -expression of his own art, is as capable of rendering poetic feeling -as--By Jove, now why didn't he think of that subject that Charley Potts -has got under weigh just now? That would have suited Geoff exactly." - -"What is it?" - -"Dora--Tennyson's Dora, you know." Margaret bowed in acquiescence. -"There's a fine subject, if you like. Charley's painting it very well, -so far as it goes; but he doesn't feel it. Now Geoff would. A man must -have something more than facile manipulation; he must have the soul of -a poet before he could depict the expression which must necessarily be -on such a face. There are few who could understand, fewer still who -could interpret to others, such heart-feelings of that most beautiful -of Tennyson's creations as would undoubtedly show themselves in her -face; the patient endurance of unrequited love, which 'loves on through -all ills, and loves on till she dies;' which neither the contempt nor -the death of its object can extinguish, but which then flows, in as -pure, if not as strong, a current towards his widow and his child." - -Margaret had spoken at first, partly for the sake of saying something, -partly because her feeling for her husband admitted of great pride in -his talent, which she thought Bowker had somewhat slighted. But now -she was thoroughly roused, her eyes bright, her hair pushed back off -her face, listening intently to him. When he ceased, she looked up -strangely, and said: - -"Do you believe in the existence of such love?" - -"O yes," he replied; "it's rare, of course. Especially rare is the -faculty of loving hopelessly without the least chance of return--loving -stedfastly and honestly as Dora did, I mean. With most people -unrequited love turns into particularly bitter hatred, or into that -sentimental maudlin state of 'broken heart,' which is so comforting -to its possessor and so wearying to his friends. But there _are_ -exceptional cases where such love exists, and in these, no matter how -fought against, it can never be extinguished." - -"I suppose you are right," said Margaret; "there must be such -instances." - -Bowker looked hard at her, but she had risen from her seat and was -rejoining the others. - - -"What's your opinion of Mrs. Ludlow, William?" asked Charley Potts, -as they walked away puffing their pipes in the calm summer night air. -"Handsome woman, isn't she?" - -"Very handsome!" replied Bowker; "wondrously handsome!" Then -reflectively--"It's a long time since your William has seen any thing -like that. All in all--face, figure, manner--wondrously perfect! She -walks like a Spaniard, and--" - -"Yes, Geoff's in luck; at least I suppose he is. There's something -about her which is not quite to my taste. I think I like a British -element, which is not to be found in her. I don't know what it is--only -something--well, something less of the duchess about her. I don't think -she's quite in our line--is she, Bowker, old boy?" - -"That's because you're very young in the world's ways, Charley, -and also because Geoff's wife is not very like Geoff's sister, I'm -thinking." Whereat Mr. Potts grew very red, told his friend to "shut -up!" and changed the subject. - -"That night Mr. Bowker sat on the edge of his truckle-bed in his garret -in Hart Street, Bloomsbury, holding in his left hand a faded portrait -in a worn morocco case. He looked at it long and earnestly, while his -right hand wafted aside the thick clouds of tobacco-smoke pouring over -it from his pipe. He knew every line of it, every touch of colour in -it; but he sat gazing at it this night as though it were an entire -novelty, studying it with a new interest. - -"Yes," said he at length, "she's very like you, my darling, very like -you,--hair, eyes, shape, all alike; and she seems to have that same -clinging, undying love which you had, my darling--that same resistless, -unquenchable, undying love. But that love is not for Geoff; God help -him, dear fellow! that love is not for Geoff!" - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. -MARGARET AND ANNIE. - - -The meeting between Margaret and Annie Maurice, which Geoffrey had so -anxiously desired, had taken place, but could scarcely be said to have -been successful in its result. With the best intention possible, and -indeed with a very earnest wish that these two women should like each -other very much, Geoff had said so much about the other to each, as -to beget a mutual distrust and dislike before they became acquainted. -Margaret could not be jealous of Geoffrey; her regard for him was not -sufficiently acute to admit any such feeling. But she rebelled secretly -against the constant encomiastic mention of Annie, and grew wearied at -and annoyed with the perpetually-iterated stories of Miss Maurice's -goodness with which Geoffrey regaled her. A good daughter! Well, -what of that? She herself had been a good daughter until temptation -assailed her, and probably Miss Maurice had never been tempted.--So -simple, honest, and straightforward! Yes, she detested women of that -kind; behind the mask of innocence and virtue they frequently carried -on the most daring schemes. Annie in her turn thought she had heard -quite enough about Mrs. Ludlow's hair and eyes, and wondered Geoff had -never said any thing about his wife's character or disposition. It -was quite right, of course, that he, an artist, should marry a pretty -person; but he was essentially a man who would require something more -than mere beauty in his life's companion, and as yet he had not hinted -at any accomplishments which his wife possessed. There was a something -in Lord Caterham's tone, when speaking to and of Geoffrey Ludlow, -which had often jarred upon Annie's ear, and which she now called to -mind in connection with these thoughts--a certain tinge of pity more -akin to contempt than to love. Annie had noticed that Caterham never -assumed this tone when he was talking to Geoffrey about his art; then -he listened deferentially or argued with spirit; but when matters of -ordinary life formed the topics of conversation her cousin seemed to -regard Geoffrey as a kind of large-hearted boy, very generous very -impulsive, but thoroughly inexperienced. Could Arthur Caterham's -reading of Geoffrey Ludlow's character be the correct one? Was he, -out of his art, so weak, vacillating, and easily led? and had he been -caught by mere beauty of face? and had he settled himself down to pass -his life with a woman of whose disposition he knew nothing? Annie -Maurice put this question to herself with a full conviction that she -would be able to answer it after her introduction to Mrs. Ludlow. - -About a week after Geoffrey had given his first drawing-lesson in St. -Barnabas Square, Annie drove off one afternoon to Elm Lodge in Lady -Beauport's barouche. She had begged hard to be allowed to go in a cab, -but Lord Caterham would not hear of it; and as Lady Beauport had had -a touch of neuralgia (there were very few illnesses she permitted to -attack her, and those only of an aristocratic nature), and had been -confined to the house, no objection was made. So the barouche, with -the curly-wigged coachman and silver-headed footmen on the box, went -spinning through Camden and Kentish Towns, where the coachman pointed -with his whip to rows of small houses bordering the roadside, and -wondered what sort of people could live "in such little 'oles;" and -the footman expressed his belief that the denizens were "clerks and -poor coves of that kind," The children of the neighbourhood ran out in -admiration of the whole turn-out, and especially of the footman's hair, -which afforded them subject-matter for discussion during the evening, -some contending that his head had been snowed upon; some insisting -that it "grew so;" and others propounding a belief that he was a very -old man, and that his white hair was merely natural. When the carriage -dashed up to the gates of Elm Lodge, the Misses Coverdale next door -were, as they afterwards described themselves, "in a perfect twitter of -excitement;" because, though good carriages and handsome horses were by -no means rare in the pretty suburb, no one had as yet ventured to ask -his servant to wear hair-powder; and the coronet, immediately spied on -the panels, had a wonderful effect. - -The visit was not unexpected by either Margaret or Geoffrey; but the -latter was at the moment closely engaged with Mr. Stompff, who had -come up to make an apparently advantageous proposition; so that when -Annie Maurice was shown into the drawing-room, she found Margaret there -alone. At sight of her, Annie paused in sheer admiration. Margaret was -dressed in a light striped muslin; her hair taken off her face and -twisted into a large roll behind; her only ornaments a pair of long -gold earrings. At the announcement of Miss Maurice's name, a slight -flush came across her face, heightening its beauty. She rose without -the smallest sign of hurry, grandly and calmly, and advanced a few -paces. She saw the effect she had produced and did not intend that it -should be lessened. It was Annie who spoke first, and Annie's hand was -the first outstretched. - -"I must introduce myself, Mrs. Ludlow," said she, "though I suppose you -have heard of me from your husband. He and I are very old friends." - -"O, Miss Maurice?" said Margaret, as though half doubtful to whom she -was talking. "O yes; Geoffrey has mentioned your name several times. -Pray sit down." - -All this in the coldest tone and with the stiffest manner. Prejudiced -originally, Margaret, in rising, had caught a glimpse through the -blinds of the carriage, and regarded it as an assertion of dignity and -superiority on her visitor's part, which must be at once counteracted. - -"I should have come to see you long before, Mrs. Ludlow, but my time is -not my own, as you probably know; and--" - -"Yes, Mr. Ludlow told me you were Lady Beauport's companion." A hit at -the carriage there. - -"Yes," continued Annie with perfect composure, though she felt the -blow, "I am Lady Beauport's companion, and consequently not a free -agent, or, as I said, I should have called on you long ago." - -Margaret had expected a hit in exchange for her own, which she saw had -taken effect. A little mollified by her adversary's tolerance, she said: - -"I should have been very glad to see you, Miss Maurice; and in saying -so I pay no compliment; for I should have been very glad to see any -body to break this fearful monotony." - -"You find it dull here?" - -"I find it dreary in the extreme." - -"And I was only thinking how perfectly charming it is. This sense of -thorough quiet is of all things the most pleasant to me. It reminds -me of the place where the happiest days in my life have been passed; -and now, after the fever and excitement of London, it seems doubly -grateful. But perhaps you have been accustomed to gaiety." - -"Yes; at least, if not to gaiety, to excitement; to having every hour -of the day filled up with something to do; to finding the time flown -before I scarcely knew it had arrived, instead of watching the clock -and wondering that it was not later in the day." - -"Ah, then of course you feel the change very greatly at first; but I -think you will find it wear off. One's views of life alter so after -we have tried the new phase for a little time. It seems strange my -speaking to you in this way, Mrs. Ludlow; but I have had a certain -amount of experience. There was my own dear home; and then I lived with -my uncle at a little country parsonage, and kept house for him; and -then I became--Lady Beauport's companion." - -A bright red patch burned on Margaret's cheek as Annie said these -words. Was it shame? Was the quiet earnestness, the simple courtesy and -candour of this frank, bright-eyed girl getting over her? - -"That was very difficult at first, I confess," Annie continued; "every -thing was so strange to me, just as it may be to you here, but I had -come from the quietude to the gaiety; and I thought at one time it -would be impossible for me to continue there. But I held on, and I -manage to get on quite comfortably now. They are all very kind to me; -and the sight of Mr. Ludlow occasionally insures my never forgetting -the old days." - -"It would be strange if they were not kind to you," said Margaret, -looking fixedly at her. "I understand now what Geoffrey has told me -about you. We shall be friends, shall we not?" suddenly extending her -hand. - -"The very best of friends!" said Annie, returning the pressure; "and, -dear Mrs. Ludlow, you will soon get over this feeling of dulness. These -horrible household duties, which are so annoying at first, become a -regular part of the day's business, and, unconsciously to ourselves, we -owe a great deal to them for helping us through the day. And then you -must come out with me whenever I can get the carriage,--O, Ive brought -Lady Beaupores card, and she is coming herself as soon as she gets out -again,--and we'll go for a drive in the Park. I can quite picture to -myself the sensation you would make." - -Margaret smiled--a strange hard smile--but said nothing. - -"And then you must be fond of reading; and I don't know whether Mr. -Ludlow has changed, but there was nothing he used to like so much as -being read to while he was at work. Whenever he came to the Priory, -papa and I used to sit in the little room where he painted and take it -in turns to read to him. I daresay he hasn't liked to ask you, fearing -it might bore you; and you haven't liked to suggest it, from an idea -that you might interrupt his work." - -"O yes, Ive no doubt it will come right," said Margaret, indisposed -to enter into detail; "and I know I can rely on your help; only one -thing--don't mention what I have said to Geoffrey, please; it might -annoy him; and he is so good, that I would not do that for the world." - -"He will not hear a word of it from me. It would annoy him dreadfully, -I know. He is so thoroughly wrapped up in you, that to think you were -not completely happy would cause him great pain. Yes, he is good. Papa -used to say he did not know so good a man, and--" - -The door opened as she spoke, and Geoff entered the room. His eyes -brightened as he saw the two women together in close conversation; and -he said with a gay laugh: - -"Well, little Annie you've managed to find us out, have you?--come away -from the marble halls, and brought 'vassals and serfs by your side,' -and all the king's horses and all the king's men, up to our little -hut. And you introduced yourself to Margaret, and you're beginning to -understand one another, eh?" - -"I think we understand each other perfectly; and what nonsense you talk -about the vassals and king's horses, and all that! They would make me -have the carriage; and no one but a horrible democrat like you would -see any harm in using it." - -"Democrat?--I?--the stanchest supporter of our aristocracy and our -old institutions. I intend to have a card printed, with 'Instruction -in drawing to the youthful nobility and gentry. References kindly -permitted to the Earl of B., Lord C., &c.'--Well, my child," turning -to Margaret, "you'll think your husband more venerable than ever after -seeing this young lady; and remembering that he used to nurse her in -his arms." - -"I have been telling Miss Maurice that now I have seen her, I can fully -understand all you have said about her; and she has promised to come -and see me often, and to take me out with her." - -"That's all right," said Geoffrey; "nothing will please me -better.--It's dull for her here, Annie, all alone; and I'm tied to my -easel all day." - -"O, that will be all right, and we shall get on capitally together, -shall we not, Annie?" - -And the women kissed one another, and followed Geoffrey into the garden. - -That was the brightest afternoon Margaret had spent for many a day. -The carriage was dismissed to the inn, there to be the admiration -of the ostlers and idlers while the coachman and footman, after -beer, condescended to play skittles and to receive the undisguised -compliments of the village boys. Geoffrey went back to his work; and -Margaret and Annie had a long talk, in which, though it was not very -serious, Annie's good sense perpetually made itself felt, and at the -end of which Margaret felt calmer, happier, and more hopeful than -she had felt since her marriage. After the carriage had driven away, -she sat pondering over all that had been said. This, then, was the -Miss Maurice against whom she had conceived such a prejudice, and -whom "she was sure she could never like?" And now, here, at their -very first meeting, she had given her her confidence, and listened -to her as though she had been her sister! What a calm quiet winning -way she had! with what thorough good sense she talked! Margaret had -expected to find her a prim old-maidish kind of person, younger, of -course, but very much of the same type as the Miss Coverdales next -door, utterly different from the fresh pretty-looking girl full of -spirits and cheerfulness. How admirably she would have suited Geoff as -a wife! and yet what was there in her that she (Margaret) could not -acquire? It all rested with herself; her husband's heart was hers, -firmly and undoubtedly, and she only needed to look her lot resolutely -in the face, to conform to the ordinary domestic routine, as Annie had -suggested, and all would be well. O, if she could but lay the ghosts -of that past which haunted her so incessantly, if she could but forget -_him_, and all the associations connected with him, her life might yet -be thoroughly happy! - -And Annie, what did she think of her new acquaintance? Whatever her -sentiments were, she kept them to herself, merely saying in answer -to questions that Mrs. Geoffrey Ludlow was the most beautiful woman -she had ever seen; that she could say with perfect truth and in all -sincerity; but as to the rest, she did not know--she could scarcely -make up her mind. During the first five minutes of their interview -she hated her, at least regarded her with that feeling which Annie -imagined was hate, but which was really only a mild dislike. There were -few women, Annie supposed, who could in cold blood, and without the -slightest provocation, have committed such an outrage as that taunt -about her position in Lady Beauport's household; but then again there -were few who would have so promptly though silently acknowledged the -fault and endeavoured to make reparation for it. How openly she spoke! -how bitterly she bemoaned the dulness of her life That did not argue -well for Geoffrey's happiness; but doubtless Mrs. Ludlow had reason -to feel dull, as have most brides taken from their home and friends, -and left to spend the day by themselves; but if she had really loved -her husband, she would have hesitated before thus complaining to a -stranger--would for his sake have either endeavoured to throw some -explanatory gloss over the subject, or remained silent about it. She -did not seem, so far as Annie saw, to have made any attempt to please -her husband, or indeed to care to do so. How different she was from -what Annie had expected! how different from all her previous experience -of young married women, who indeed generally "gushed" dreadfully, and -were painfully extravagant in their laudations of their husbands when -they were absent, and in their connubialities when they were present. -Geoffrey's large eloquent eyes had melted into tenderness as he looked -at her; but she had not returned the glance, had not interchanged with -him one term of endearment, one chance pressure of the hand. What did -it all mean? What was that past gaiety and excitement to which she -said she had been accustomed? What were her antecedents? In the whole -of her long talk with Annie, Margaret had spoken always of the future, -never of the past. It was of what she should do that she asked counsel; -never mentioning what she had done; never alluding to any person, -place, or circumstance connected with her existence previously to her -having become Geoffrey Ludlow's wife. What were her antecedents? Once -or twice during their talk she had used an odd word, a strange phrase, -which grated on Annie's ear; but her manner was that of a well-bred -gentlewoman; and in all the outward and visible signs of race, she -might have been the purest aristocrat. - -Meantime her beauty was undeniable, was overwhelming. Such hair and -eyes Annie had dreamed of, but had never seen. She raved about them -until Caterham declared she must puzzle her brain to find some excuse -for his going to Elm Lodge to see this wonderful woman. She described -Margaret to Lady Beauport, who was good enough to express a desire to -see "the young person." She mentioned her to Algy Barford, who listened -and then said, "Nice! nice! Caterham, dear old boy! you and I will -take our slates and go up to--what's the name of the place?--to learn -drawing. Must learn on slates, dear boy. Don't you recollect the house -of our childhood with the singular perspective and an enormous amount -of smoke, like wool, coming out of the chimneys? Must have been a -brewery by the amount of smoke, by Jove! And the man in the cocked-hat, -with no stomach to speak of, and both his arms very thin with round -blobs at the end growing out of one side. Delicious reminiscences of -one's childhood, by Jove!" - -And then Annie took to sketching after-memory portraits of Margaret, -first mere pencil outlines, then more elaborate shaded attempts and -finally a water-colour reminiscence, which was anything but bad. This -she showed to Lord Caterham, who was immensely pleased with it, and -who insisted that Barford should see it. So one morning when that -pleasantest of laughing philosophers was smoking his after-breakfast -cigar (at about noon) in Caterham's room, mooning about amongst the -nick-nacks, and trotting out his little scraps of news in his own odd -quaint fashion, Annie, who had heard from Stephens of his arrival, came -in, bringing the portrait with her. - -"Enter, Miss Maurice!" said Algy; "always welcome, but more especially -welcome when she brings some delicious little novelty, such as I -see she now holds under her arm. What would the world be without -novelty?--Shakespeare. At least, if that delightful person did not make -that remark, it was simply because he forgot it; for it's just one of -those sort of things which he put so nicely. And what is Miss Maurice's -novelty?" - -"O! it's no novelty at all, Mr. Barford. Only a sketch of Mrs. Geoffrey -Ludlow, of whom I spoke to you the other day. You recollect?" - -"Recollect! the Muse of painting! Terps--Clio--no matter! a charming -person from whom we were to have instruction in drawing, and who lives -at some utterly unsearchable place! Of course I recollect! And you -have a sketch of her there? Now, my dear Miss Maurice, don't keep me -in suspense any longer, but let me look at it at once." But when the -sketch was unrolled and placed before him, it had the very singular -effect of reducing Algy Barford to a state of quietude. Beyond giving -one long whistle he never uttered a sound, but sat with parted lips and -uplifted eyebrows gazing at the picture for full five minutes. Then he -said, "This is like, of course, Miss Maurice?" - -"Well, I really think I may say it is. It is far inferior to the -original in beauty, of course; but I think I have preserved her most -delicate features." - -"Just so. Her hair is of that peculiar colour, and her eyes a curious -violet, eh?" - -"Yes." - -"This sketch gives one the notion of a tall woman with a full figure." - -"Yes; she is taller than I, and her figure is thoroughly rounded and -graceful." - -"Ye-es; a very charming sketch, Miss Maurice; and your friend must be -very lovely if she at all resembles it." - -Shortly after, when Mr. Algy Barford had taken his leave, he stopped on -the flags in St. Barnabas Square, thus soliloquising: "All right, my -dear old boy, my dear old Algy! it's coming on fast--a little sooner -than you thought; but that's no matter. Colney Hatch, my dear boy, and -a padded room looking out over the railway. That's it; that's your -hotel, dear boy! If you ever drank, it might be _del. trem_., and would -pass off; but you don't. No, no; to see twice within six months, first -the woman herself; and then the portrait of the woman--just married and -known to credible witnesses--whom you have firmly believed to be lying -in Kensal Green! Colney Hatch, dear old boy; that is the apartment, and -nothing else!" - - - - -CHAPTER IX. -MR. AMPTHILL'S WILL. - - -The acquaintance between Margaret and Annie, which commenced so -auspiciously, scarcely ripened into intimacy. When Lady Beauport's -neuralgia passed away,--and her convalescence was much hurried by the -near approach of a specially-grand entertainment given in honour of -certain Serene Transparencies then visiting London,--she found that she -could not spare Miss Maurice to go so long a distance, to be absent -from her and her work for such a length of time. As to calling at Elm -Lodge in person, Lady Beauport never gave the project another thought. -With the neuralgia had passed away her desire to see that "pretty young -person," Mrs. Geoffrey Ludlow; and in sending her card by Annie, Lady -Beauport thought she had more than fulfilled any promises and vows of -politeness which might have been made by her son in her name. - -Lord Caterham had driven out once to Elm Lodge with Annie, and had been -introduced to Margaret, whom he admired very much, but about whom he -shook his head alarmingly when he and Annie were driving towards home. -"That's an unhappy woman!" he said; "an unhappy woman, with something -on her mind--something which she does not give way to and groan about, -but against which she frets and fights and struggles with as with a -chain. When she's not spoken to, when she's not supposed to be _en -evidence_ there's a strange, half-weary, half-savage gleam in those -wondrous eyes, such as I have noticed only once before, and then among -the patients of a lunatic asylum. There's evidently something strange -in the history of that marriage. Did you notice Ludlow's devotion to -her, how he watched her every movement? Did you see what hard work -it was for her to keep up with the conversation, not from want of -power,--for, from one or two things she said, I should imagine her to -be a naturally clever as well as an educated woman,--but from want of -will? How utterly worn and wearied and _distraite_ she looked, standing -by us in Ludlow's studio, while we talked about his pictures, and -how she only seemed to rouse into life when I compared that Brighton -Esplanade with the Drive in the Park, and talked about some of the -frequenters of each. She listened to all the fashionable nonsense as -eagerly as any country miss, and yet--She's a strange study, that -woman, Annie. I shall take an early opportunity of driving out to see -her again; but I'm glad that the distance will prevent her being very -intimate with you." - -The opportunity of repeating his visit did not, however, speedily -occur. The fierce neuralgic headaches from which Lord Caterham suffered -had become much more frequent of late, and worse in their effect. After -hours of actual torture, unable to raise his head or scarcely to lift -his eyes, he would fall into a state of prostration, which lasted two -or three days. In this state he would be dressed by his servant and -carried to his sofa, where he would lie with half-closed eyes dreaming -the time away,-comparatively happy in being free from pain, quite -happy if; as frequently happened, on looking up he saw Annie Maurice -moving noiselessly about the room dusting his books, arranging his -desk, bringing fresh flowers for his glasses. Looking round at him from -time to time, and finding he had noticed her presence, she would lay -her finger on her lip enjoining silence, and then refresh his burning -forehead and hands with eau-de-cologne, turn and smooth his pillows, -and wheel his sofa to a cooler position. On the second day after an -attack she would read to him for hours in her clear musical voice from -his favourite authors; or, if she found him able to bear it, would -sit down at the cabinet-piano, which he had bought expressly for her, -and sing to him the songs he loved so well--quiet English ballads, -sparkling little French _chansons_, and some of the most pathetic music -of the Italian operas; but every thing for his taste must be soft and -low: all roulades and execution, all the fireworks of music, he held in -utter detestation. - -Then Annie would be called away to write notes for Lady Beauport, or -to go out with her or for her, and Caterham would be left alone again. -Pleasanter his thoughts now: there were the flowers she had gathered -and placed close by him, the books she had read from, the ivory keys -which her dear fingers had so recently touched! Her cheerful voice -still rung in his ear, the touch of her hand seemed yet to linger on -his forehead. O angel of light and almost of hope to this wretched -frame, O sole realisation of womanly love and tenderness and sweet -sympathy to this crushed spirit, wilt thou ever know it all? Yes, he -felt that there would come a time, and that without long delay, when he -should be able to tell her all the secret longings of his soul, to tell -her in a few short words, and then--ay, then! - -Meanwhile it was pleasant to lie in a half-dreamy state, thinking of -her, picturing her to his fancy. He would lie on that sofa, his poor -warped useless limbs stretched out before him, but hidden from his -sight by a light silk _couvrette_ of Annie's embroidering, his eyes -closed, his whole frame n a state of repose. Through the double windows -came deadened sounds of the world outside--the roll of carriages, the -clanging of knockers, the busy hum of life. From the Square-garden -came the glad voices of children, and now and then--solitary fragment -of rusticity--the sound of the Square-gardener whetting his scythe. -And Caterham lay day by day dreaming through it all, unroused even by -the repetition of Czerny's pianoforte-exercises by the children in the -next house; dreaming of his past, his present, and his future. Dreaming -of the old farmhouse where they had sent him when a child to try and -get strength--the quaint red-faced old house with its gable ends and -mullioned windows, and its eternal and omnipresent smell of apples; of -the sluggish black pool where the cattle stood knee-deep; the names of -the fields--the home-croft, and the lea pasture, and the forty acres; -the harvest-home, and the songs that they sung then, and to which he -had listened in wonder sitting on the farmer's knee. He had not thought -of all this from that day forth; but he remembered it vividly now, and -could almost hear the loud ticking of the farmer's silver watch which -fitted so tightly into his fob. The lodgings at Brighton, where he -went with some old lady, never recollected but in connection with that -one occasion, and called Miss Macraw,--the little lodgings with the -bow-windowed room looking sideways over the sea; the happiness of that -time, when the old lady perpetually talked to and amused him, when he -was not left alone as he was at home, and when he had such delicious -tea-cakes which he toasted for himself. The doctors who came to see him -there; one a tall white-haired old man in a long black coat reaching -to his heels, and another a jolly bald-headed man, who, they said, was -surgeon to the King. The King--ay, he had seen him too, a red-faced -man in a blue coat, walking in the Pavilion Gardens. Dreaming of the -private tutor, a master at Charter House, who came on Wednesday and -Saturday afternoons, and who struggled so hard and with such little -success to conceal his hatred to Homer, Virgil, and the other classic -poets, and his longing to be in the cricket-field, on the river, any -where, to shake off that horrible conventional toil of tutorship, and -to be a man and not a teaching-machine. Other recollections he had, of -Lionel's pony and Lionel's Eton school-fellows, who came to see him in -the holidays, and who stared in mute wonder at his wheelchair and his -poor crippled limbs. Recollections of his father and mother passing -down the staircase in full dress on their way to some court-ball, and -of his hearing the servants say what a noble-looking man his father -was, and what a pity that Master Lionel had not been the eldest son. -Recollections of the utter blankness of his life until she came--ah, -until she came! The past faded away, and the present dawned. She was -there, his star, his hope, his love! He was still a cripple, maimed and -blighted; still worse than an invalid, the prey of acute and torturing -disease; but he would be content--content to remain even as he was so -that he could have her near him, could see her, hear her voice, touch -her hand. But that could not be. She would marry, would leave him, and -then--ah then!--Let that future which he believed to be close upon him -come at once. Until he had known hope, his life, though blank enough, -had been supportable; now hope had fled; "the sooner it's over the -sooner to sleep." Let there be an end of it! - -There were but few days that Algy Barford did not come; bright, airy, -and cheerful, bringing sunshine into the sick-room; never noisy or -obtrusive, always taking a cheery view of affairs, and never failing -to tell the invalid that he looked infinitely better than the last -time he had seen him, and that this illness was "evidently a kind -of clearing-up shower before the storm, dear old boy," and was the -precursor of such excellent health as he had never had before. Lord -Caterham, of course, never believed any of this; he had an internal -monitor which told him very different truths; but he knew the feelings -which prompted Algy Barford's hopeful predictions, and no man's visits -were so agreeable to Caterham as were Algy's. - -One day he came in earlier than usual, and looking less serenely happy -than his wont. Lord Caterham, lying on his sofa, observed this, but -said nothing, waiting until Algy should allude to it, as he was certain -to do, for he had not the smallest power of reticence. - -"Caterham, my dear old boy, how goes it this morning? I am seedy, -my friend! The sage counsel given by the convivial bagman, that the -evening's diversion should bear the morning's reflection, has not been -followed by me. Does the cognac live in its usual corner, and is there -yet soda-water in the land?" - -"You'll find both in the sideboard, Algy. What were you doing last -night to render them necessary?" - -"Last night, my dear Caterham, I did what England expected me to do--my -duty, and a most horrible nuisance that doing one's duty is. I dined -with an old fellow named Huskisson, a friend of my governor's, who -nearly poisoned me with bad wine. The wine, sir, was simply infamous; -but it was a very hot night, and I was dreadfully thirsty, so what -could I do but drink a great deal of it? I had some very fiery sherry -with my soup, and some hock. Yes; 'nor did my drooping memory shun the -foaming grape of eastern France;' only this was the foaming gooseberry -of Fulham Fields. And old Huskisson, with great pomp, told his butler -to bring 'the Hermitage.' What an awful swindle!" - -"What was it like?" - -"Well, dear old boy, minds innocent and quiet may take that for a -Hermitage if they like; but I, who have drunk as much wine, good and -bad, as most men, immediately recognised the familiar Beaujolais which -we get at the club for a shilling a pint. So that altogether I'm very -nearly poisoned; and I think I shouldn't have come out if I had not -wanted to see you particularly." - -"What is it, Algy? Some of that tremendously important business which -always takes up so much of your time?" - -"No, no; now you're chaffing, Caterham. 'Pon my word I really do a -great deal in the course of the day, walking about, and talking to -fellows, and that sort of thing: there are very few fellows who think -what a lot I get through; but I know myself." - -"Do you? then you've learned a great thing--'know thyself' one of the -great secrets of life;" and Caterham sighed. - -"Yes, dear old boy," said Algy "'know thyself, but never introduce -a friend;' that I believe to be sterling philosophy. This is a -confoundedly back-slapping age; every body is a deuced sight too fond -of every body else; there is an amount of philanthropy about which is -quite terrible." - -"Yes, and you're about the largest-hearted and most genial -philanthropist in the world; you know you are." - -"I, dear old boy? I am Richard Crookback; I am the uncle of the Babes -in the Wood; I am Timon the Tartar of Athens, or whatever his name was; -I am a ruthless hater of all my species, when I have the _vin triste_, -as I have this morning. O, that reminds me--the business I came to see -you about. What a fellow you are, Caterham! always putting things out -of fellows' heads!" - -"Well, what is it now?" - -"Why, old Ampthill is dead at last. Died last night; his man told my -man this morning." - -"Well, what then?" - -"What then? Why, don't you recollect what we talked about? about his -leaving his money to dear old Lionel?" - -"Yes," said Caterham, looking grave, "I recollect that." - -"I wonder whether any good came of it? It would be a tremendously jolly -thing to get dear old Lionel back, with plenty of money, and in his old -position, wouldn't it?" - -"Look here, my dear Algy," said Lord Caterham; "let us understand -each other once for all on this point. You and I are of course likely -to differ materially on such a subject. You are a man of the world, -going constantly into the world, with your own admirable good sense -influenced by and impressed with the opinions of society. Society, as -you tell me, is pleased to think my brother's--well, crime--there's no -other word!--my brother's crime a venial one, and will be content to -receive him back again, and to instal him in his former position if he -comes back prepared to sacrifice to Society by spending his time and -money on it!" - -"Pardon me, my dear old Caterham,--just two words!" interrupted Algy. -"Society--people, you know, I mean--would shake their heads at poor old -Lionel, and wouldn't have him back perhaps, and all that sort of thing, -if they knew exactly what he'd done. But they don't. It's been kept -wonderfully quiet, poor dear old fellow." - -"That may or may not be; at all events, such are Society's views, are -they not?" Barford inclined his head. "Now, you see, mine are entirely -different. This sofa, the bed in the next room, that wheelchair, form -my world; and these," pointing to his bookshelves, "my society. There -is no one else on earth to whom I would say this; but you know that -what I say is true. Lionel Brakespere never was a brother to me never -had the slightest affection or regard for me, never had the slightest -patience with me. As a boy, he used to mock at my deformity; as a man, -he has perseveringly scorned me, and scarcely troubled himself to hide -his anxiety for my death, that he might be Lord Beauport's heir--" - -"Caterham! I say, my dear, dear old boy Arthur--" and Algy Barford put -one hand on the back of Lord Caterham's chair, and rubbed his own eyes -very hard with the other. - -"You know it, Algy, old friend. He did all this; and God knows I tried -to love him through it all, and think I succeeded. All his scorn, all -his insult, all his want of affection, I forgave. When he committed the -forgery which forced him to fly the country, I tried to intercede with -my father; for I knew the awful strait to which Lionel must have been -reduced before he committed such an act: but when I read his letter, -which you brought me, and the contents of which it said you knew, I -recognised at last that Lionel was a thoroughly heartless scoundrel, -and I thanked God that there was no chance of his further disgracing -our name in a place where it had been known and respected. So you now -see, Algy, why I am not enchanted at the idea of his coming back to us." - -"Of course, of course, I understand you, dear fellow; -and--hem!--confoundedly husky; that filthy wine of old Huskisson's! -better in a minute--there!" and Algy cleared his throat and rubbed his -eyes again. "About that letter, dear old boy! I was going to speak to -you two or three times about that. Most mysterious circumstance, by -Jove, sir! The fact is that--" - -He was interrupted by the opening of the door and the entrance of -Stephens, Lord Caterham's servant, who said that Lady Beauport would be -glad to know if his master could receive her. - -It was a bad day for Caterham to receive any one except his most -intimate friends, and assuredly his mother was not included in that -category. He was any thing but well bodily, and the conversation about -Lionel had thoroughly unstrung his nerves; so that he was just about to -say he must ask for a postponement of the visit, when Stephens said, -"Her ladyship asked me if Mr. Barford wasn't here, my lord, and seemed -particularly anxious to see him." Lord Caterham felt the colour flush -in his cheeks as the cause of his mother's visit was thus innocently -explained by Stephens; but the moment after he smiled, and sent to beg -that she would come whenever she pleased. - -In a very few minutes Lady Beauport sailed into the room, and, after -shaking hands with Algy Barford in, for her, quite a cordial manner, -she touched her son's forehead with her lips and dropped into the chair -which Stephens had placed for her near the sofa. - -"How are you, Arthur, to day?" she commenced. "You are looking quite -rosy and well, I declare. I am always obliged to come myself when I -want to know about your health; for they bring me the most preposterous -reports. That man of yours is a dreadful kill-joy, and seems to have -inoculated the whole household with his melancholy, where you are -concerned. Even Miss Maurice, who is really quite a cheerful person, -and quite pleasant to have about one,--equable spirits, and that sort -of thing, you know, Mr. Barford; so much more agreeable than those -moping creatures who are always thinking about their families and their -fortunes, you know,--even Miss Maurice can scarcely be trusted for what -I call a reliable report of Caterham." - -"It's the interest we take in him, dear Lady Beauport, that keeps us -constantly on the _qui vive_. He's such a tremendously lovable old -fellow, that we're all specially careful about him;" and Algy's hand -went round to the back of Caterham's sofa and his eyes glistened as -before. - -"Of course," said Lady Beauport, still in her hard dry voice. -"With care, every thing may be done. There's Alice Wentworth, Lady -Broughton's grand-daughter, was sent away in the autumn to Torquay, and -they all declared she could not live. And I saw her last night at the -French embassy, well and strong, and dancing away as hard as any girl -in the room. It's a great pity you couldn't have gone to the embassy -last night, Arthur; you'd have enjoyed it very much." - -"Do you think so, mother?" said Caterham with a sad smile. "I scarcely -think it would have amused me, or that they would have cared much to -have me there." - -"O, I don't know; the Duchess de St. Lazare asked after you very -kindly, and so did the Viscomte, who is--" and Lady Beauport stopped -short. - -"Yes, I know--who is a cripple also," said Caterham quietly. "But he -is only lame; he can get about by himself. But if I had gone, I should -have wanted Algy here to carry me on his back." - -"Gad, dear old boy, if carrying you on my back would do you any good, -or help you to get about to any place you wanted to go to, I'd do it -fast enough; give you a regular Derby canter over any course you like -to name." - -"I know you would, Algy, old friend. You see every one is very kind, -and I am doing very well indeed, though I'm scarcely in condition for -a ball at the French embassy.--By the way, mother, did you not want to -speak to Barford about something?" - -"I did, indeed," said Lady Beauport. "I have heard just now, Mr. -Barford, that old Mr. Ampthill died last night?" - -"Perfectly true, Lady Beauport. I myself had the same information." - -"But you heard nothing further?" - -"Nothing at all, except that the poor old gentleman, after a curious -eccentric life, made a quiet commonplace end, dying peacefully and -happily." - -"Yes, yes; but you heard nothing about the way in which his property is -left, I suppose?" - -"Not one syllable. He was very wealthy, was he not?" - -"My husband says that the Boxwood property was worth from twelve -to fifteen thousand a-year; but I imagine this is rather an -under-estimate. I wonder whether there is any chance for--what I talked -to you about the other day." - -"Impossible to say, dear Lady Beauport," said Algy, with an awkward -glance at Caterham, which Lady Beauport observed. - -"O, you needn't mind Caterham one bit, Mr. Barford. Any thing which -would do good to poor Lionel I'm sure you'd be glad of wouldn't you, -Arthur?" - -"Any thing that would do him good, yes." - -"Of course; and to be Mr. Ampthill's heir would do him a great deal -of good. It is that Mr. Barford and I are discussing. Mr. Barford was -good enough to speak to me some time ago, when it was first expected -that Mr. Ampthill's illness would prove dangerous, and to suggest that, -as poor Lionel had always been a favourite with the old gentleman, -something might be done for him, perhaps, there being so few relations. -I spoke to your father, who called two or three times in Curzon Street, -and always found Mr. Ampthill very civil and polite, but he never -mentioned Lionel's name. - -"That did not look particularly satisfactory, did it?" asked Algy. - -"Well, it would have looked bad in any one else; but with such an -extremely eccentric person as Mr. Ampthill, I really cannot say I -think so. He was just one of those oddities who would carefully -refrain from mentioning the person about whom their thoughts were most -occupied.--I cannot talk to your father about this matter, Arthur; he -is so dreadfully set against poor Lionel, that he will not listen to -a word.--But I need not tell you, Mr. Barford, I myself am horribly -anxious." - -Perfectly appreciating Lord Beauport's anger; conscious that it was -fully shared by Caterham; with tender recollections of Lionel, whom he -had known from childhood; and with a desire to say something pleasant -to Lady Beauport, all Algy Barford could ejaculate was, "Of course, of -course." - -"I hear that old Mr. Trivett the lawyer was with him two or three times -about a month ago, which looks as if he had been making his will. I met -Mr. Trivett at the Dunsinanes in the autumn, and at Beauport's request -was civil to him. I would not mind asking him to dine here one day this -week, if I thought it would be of any use." - -Caterham looked very grave; but Algy Barford gave a great laugh, and -seemed immensely amused. "How do you mean 'of any use,' Lady Beauport? -You don't think you would get any information out of old Trivett, do -you? He's the deadest hand at a secret in the world. He never lets -out any thing. If you ask him what it is o'clock, you have to dig the -information out of him with a ripping-chisel. O, no; it's not the -smallest use trying to learn anything from Mr. Trivett." - -"Is there, then, no means of finding out what the will contains?" - -"No, mother," interrupted Caterham; "none at all. You must wait until -the will is read, after the funeral; or perhaps till you see a _resume_ -of it in the illustrated papers." - -"You are very odd, Arthur," said Lady Beauport; "really sometimes you -would seem to have forgotten the usages of society.--I appeal to you, -Mr. Barford. Is what Lord Caterham says correct? Is there no other way -of learning what I want to know?" - -"Dear Lady Beauport, I fear there is none." - -"Very well, then; I must be patient and wait. But there's no harm in -speculating how the money could be left. Who did Mr. Ampthill know now? -There was Mrs. Macraw, widow of a dissenting minister, who used to read -to him; and there was his physician, Sir Charles Dumfunk: I shouldn't -wonder if he had a legacy." - -"And there was Algernon Barford, commonly known as the Honourable -Algernon Barford, who used to dine with the old gentleman half-a-dozen -times every season, and who had the honour of being called a very good -fellow by him." - -"O, Algy, I hope he has left you his fortune," said Caterham warmly. -"There's no one in the world would spend it to better purpose." - -"Well," said Lady Beauport, "I will leave you now.--I know I may depend -upon you, Mr. Barford, to give me the very first news on this important -subject." - -Algy Barford bowed, rose, and opened the door to let Lady Beauport pass -out. As she walked by him, she gave him a look which made him follow -her and close the door behind him. - -"I didn't like to say any thing before Caterham," she said, "who is, -you know, very odd and queer, and seems to have taken quite a singular -view of poor Lionel's conduct. But the fact is, that, after the last -time you spoke to me, I--I thought it best to write to Lionel, to tell -him that--" and she hesitated. - -"To tell him what, Lady Beauport?" asked Algy, resolutely determined -not to help her in the least. - -"To tell him to come back to us--to me--to his mother!" said Lady -Beauport, with a sudden access of passion. "I cannot live any longer -without my darling son! I have told Beauport this. What does it signify -that he has been unfortunate--wicked if you will! How many others have -been the same! And our influence could get him something somewhere, -even if this inheritance should not be his. O my God! only to see him -again! My darling boy! my own darling handsome boy!" - -Ah, how many years since Gertrude, Countess of Beauport, had allowed -real, natural, hot, blinding tears to course down her cheeks! The -society people, who only knew her as the calmest, most collected, most -imperious woman amongst them, would hardly recognise this palpitating -frame, those tear-blurred features. The sight completely finishes -Algy Barford, already very much upset by the news which Lady Beauport -has communicated, and he can only proffer a seat, and suggest that he -should fetch a glass of sherry. Lady Beauport, her burst of passion -over, recovers all her usual dignity, presses Algy's hand, lays her -finger on her lip to enjoin silence, and sails along as unbending -as before. Algy Barford, still dazed by the tidings he has heard, -goes back to Caterham's room, to find his friend lying with his -eyes half-closed, meditating over the recent discussion. Caterham -scarcely seemed to have noticed Algy's absence; for he said, as if in -continuance of the conversation: "And do _you_ think this money will -come to Lionel, Algy?" - -"I can scarcely tell, dear old boy. It's on the cards, but the betting -is heavily against it. However, we shall know in a very few days." - - -In a very few days they did know. The funeral, to which Earl Beauport -and Algy Barford were invited, and which they attended, was over and -Mr. Trivett had requested them to return with him in the mourning-coach -to Curzon Street. There, in the jolly little dining-room, which had so -often enshrined the hospitality of the quaint, eccentric, warm-hearted -old gentleman whose earthly remains they had left behind them at -Kensal Green, after some cake and wine, old Mr. Trivett took from a -blue bag, which had been left there for him by his clerk, the will -of the deceased, and putting on his blue-steel spectacles, commenced -reading it aloud. The executors appointed were George Earl Beauport -and Algernon Barford, and to each of them was bequeathed a legacy of a -thousand pounds. To Algernon Barford, "a good fellow, who, I know, will -spend it like a gentleman," was also left a thousand pounds. There were -legacies of five hundred pounds each "to John Saunders, my faithful -valet, and to Rebecca, his wife, my cook and housekeeper." There was a -legacy of one hundred pounds to the librarian of the Minerva Club, "to -whom I have given much trouble." The library of books, the statues, -pictures, and curios were bequeathed to "my cousin Arthur, Viscount -Caterham, the only member of my family who can appreciate them;" and -"the entire residue of my fortune, my estate at Boxwood, money standing -in the funds and other securities, plate, wines, carriages, horses, and -all my property, to Anna, only daughter of my second cousin, the late -Ralph Ampthill Maurice, Esq., formerly of the Priory, Willesden, whom I -name my residuary legatee." - - - - -CHAPTER X. -LADY BEAUPORT'S PLOT. - - -Yes; little Annie Maurice, Lady Beauport's companion, was the heiress -of the rich and eccentric Mr. Ampthill, so long known in society. The -fact was a grand thing for the paragraph-mongers and the diners-out, -all of whom distorted it in every possible way, and told the most -inconceivable lies about it. That Annie was Mr. Ampthill's natural -daughter, and had been left on a doorstep, and was adopted by Lady -Beauport, who had found her in an orphan-asylum; that Mr. Ampthill -had suddenly determined upon leaving all his property to the first -person he might meet on a certain day, and that Annie Maurice was the -fortunate individual; that the will had been made purposely to spite -Lady Beauport, with whom Mr. Ampthill, when a young man, had been -madly in love--all these rumours went the round of the gossip-columns -of the journals and of Society's dinner-parties. Other stories there -were, perhaps a little nearer to truth, which explained that it was not -until after Lionel Brakespere's last escapade he had been disinherited; -indeed, that Parkinson of Thavies Inn and Scadgers of Berners Street -had looked upon his inheritance as such a certainty, that they had made -considerable advances on the strength of it, and would be heavily hit: -while a rumour, traceable to the old gentleman's housekeeper, stated -that Annie Maurice was the only one of Mr. Ampthill's connections who -had never fawned on him, flattered him, or in any way intrigued for his -favour. - -Be this as it might, the fact remained that Annie was now the possessor -of a large fortune, and consequently a person of great importance -to all her friends and acquaintance--a limited number, but quite -sufficient to discuss her rise in life with every kind of asperity. -They wondered how she would bear it; whether she would give herself -airs; how soon, and to what member of the peerage, she would be -married. How _did_ she bear it? When Lord Beauport sent for her to his -study, after Mr. Ampthill's funeral, and told her what he had heard, -she burst into tears; which was weak, but not unnatural. Then, with her -usual straightforward common-sense, she set about forming her plans. -She had never seen her benefactor, so that even Mrs. Grundy herself -could scarcely have called on Annie to affect sorrow for his loss; and -indeed remarks were made by Mr. Ampthill's old butler and housekeeper -(who, being provided with mourning out of the estate, were as black and -as shiny as a couple of old rooks) about the very mitigated grief which -Annie chose to exhibit in her attire. - -Then as to her mode of life. For the present, at least, she determined -to make no change in it. She said so at once to Lord Beauport, -expressing an earnest hope that she should be allowed to remain under -his roof, where she had been so happy, until she had settled how and -where she should live; and Lord Beauport replied that it would give -him--and he was sure he might speak for Lady Beauport the greatest -pleasure to have Miss Maurice with them. He brought a message to that -effect from Lady Beauport, who had one of her dreadful neuralgic -attacks, and could see no one, but who sent her kind love to Miss -Maurice, and her heartiest congratulations, and hoped that Miss Maurice -would remain with them as long as she pleased. The servants of the -house, who heard of the good fortune of "the young lady," rejoiced -greatly at it, and suggested that miss would go hout of this at once, -and leave my lady to grump about in that hold carriage by herself. They -were greatly astonished, therefore, the next morning to find Annie -seated at the nine-o'clock breakfast-table, preparing Lady Beauport's -chocolate, and dressed just as usual. They had expected that the -first sign of her independence would be lying in bed till noon, and -then appearing in a gorgeous wrapper, such as the ladies in the penny -romances always wore in the mornings; and they could only account for -her conduct by supposing that she had to give a month's warning and -must work out her time. Lady Beauport herself was astonished when, the -necessity for the neuralgic attack being over, she found Annie coming -to ask her, as usual, what letters she required written, and whether -she should pay any calls for her ladyship. Lady Beauport delicately -remonstrated; but Annie declared that she would infinitely prefer doing -exactly as she had been accustomed to, so long as she should remain in -the house. - -So long as she should remain in the house! That was exactly the point -on which Lady Beauport was filled with hope and dread. Her ladyship -had been cruelly disappointed in Mr. Ampthill's will. She had suffered -herself to hope against hope, and to shut her eyes to all unfavourable -symptoms. The old gentleman had taken so much notice of Lionel when -a boy, had spoken so warmly of him, had made so much of him, that he -could not fail to make him his heir. In vain had Lord Beauport spoken -to her more plainly than was his wont, pointing out that Lionel's was -no venial crime; that Mr. Ampthill probably had heard of it, inasmuch -as he never afterwards mentioned the young man's name; that however -his son's position might be reinstated before the world, the act could -never be forgotten. In vain Algy Barford shook his head, and Caterham -preserved a gloomy silence worse than any speech. Lady Beauport's hopes -did not desert her until she heard the actual and final announcement. -Almost simultaneously with this came Lord Beauport with Annie's request -that she should be permitted to continue an inmate of the house; and -immediately Lady Beauport conceived and struck out a new plan of -action. The heritage was lost to Lionel; but the heiress was Annie -Maurice, a girl domiciled with them, clinging to them; unlikely, at -least for the few ensuing months, to go into the world, to give the -least chance to any designing fortune-hunter. And Lionel was coming -home! His mother was certain that the letter which she had written -to him on the first news of Mr. Ampthill's illness would induce him, -already sick of exile, to start for England. He would arrive soon, and -then the season would be over; they would all go away to Homershams, -or one of Beauport's places; they would not have any company for some -time, and Lionel would be thrown into Annie Maurice's society; and it -would be hard if he, with his handsome face, his fascinating manners, -and his experience of women and the world, were not able to make an -easy conquest of this simple quiet young girl, and thus to secure the -fortune which his mother had originally expected for him. - -Such was Lady Beauport's day-dream now, and to its realisation she gave -up every thought, in reference to it she planned every action. It has -already been stated that she had always treated Annie with respect, -and even with regard: so that the idea of patronage, the notion of -behaving to her companion in any thing but the spirit of a lady, had -never entered her mind. But now there was an amount of affectionate -interest mingled with her regard which Annie could not fail to perceive -and to be gratified with. All was done in the most delicate manner. -Lady Beauport never forgot the lady in the _intrigante_; her advances -were of the subtlest kind; her hints were given and allusions were -made in the most guarded manner. She accepted Annie's assistance as -her amanuensis, and she left to her the usual colloquies on domestic -matters with the housekeeper, because she saw that Annie wished it to -be so; and she still drove out with her in the carriage, only insisting -that Annie should sit by her side instead of opposite on the back-seat. -And instead of the dignified silence of the employer, only speaking -when requiring an answer, Lady Beauport would keep up a perpetual -conversation, constantly recurring to the satisfaction it gave her to -have Annie still with her. "I declare I don't know what I should have -done if you had left me, Annie!" she would say. "I'm sure it was the -mere thought of having to lie left by myself, or to the tender mercies -of somebody who knew nothing about me, that gave me that last frightful -attack of neuralgia. You see I am an old woman now; and though the -Carringtons are proverbially strong and long-lived, yet I have lost -all my elasticity of spirit, and feel I could not shape myself to any -person's way now. And poor Caterham too! I cannot think how he would -ever get on without you. You seem now to be an essential part of his -life. Poor Caterham! Ah, how I wish you had seen my other son, my boy -Lionel! Such a splendid fellow; so handsome! Ah, Lord Beauport was -dreadfully severe on him, poor fellow, that night,--you recollect, when -he had you and Caterham in to tell you about poor Lionel; as though -young men would not be always young men. Poor Lionel!" Poor Lionel! -that was the text of Lady Beauport's discourse whenever she addressed -herself to Annie Maurice. - -It was not to be supposed that Annie's change of fortune had not a -great effect upon Lord Caterham. When he first heard of it--from Algy -Barford, who came direct to him from the reading of the will--he -rejoiced that at least her future was secure; that, come what might -to him or his parents, there would be a provision for her; that no -chance of her being reduced to want, or of her having to consult the -prejudices of other people, and to perform a kind of genteel servitude -with any who could not appreciate her worth could now arise. But with -this feeling another soon mingled. Up to that time she had been all in -all to him--to him; simply because to the outside world she was nobody, -merely Lady Beauport's companion, about whom none troubled themselves; -now she was Miss Maurice the heiress, and in a very different position. -They could not hope to keep her to themselves; they could not hope to -keep her free from the crowd of mercenary adorers always looking out -for every woman with money whom they might devour. In her own common -sense lay her strongest safeguard; and that, although reliable on all -ordinary occasions, had never been exposed to so severe a trial as -flattery and success. Were not the schemers already plotting? even -within the citadel was there not a traitor? Algy Barford had kept his -trust, and had not betrayed one word of what Lady Beauport had told -him; but from stray expressions dropped now and again, and from the -general tenor of his mother's behaviour, Lord Caterham saw plainly -what she was endeavouring to bring about. On that subject his mind was -made up. He had such thorough confidence in Annie's goodness, in her -power of discrimination between right and wrong, that he felt certain -that she could never bring herself to love his brother Lionel, however -handsome his face, however specious his manner; but if, woman-like, she -should give way and follow her inclination rather than her reason, then -he determined to talk to her plainly and openly, and to do every thing -in his power to prevent the result on which his mother had set her -heart. - -There was not a scrap of selfishness in all this. However deeply -Arthur Caterham loved Annie Maurice, the hope of making her his had -never for an instant arisen in his breast. He knew too well that a -mysterious decree of Providence had shut him out from the roll of those -who are loved by woman, save in pity or sympathy; and it was with a -feeling of relief, rather than regret, that of late--within the last -few months--he had felt an inward presentiment that his commerce with -Life was almost at an end, that his connection with that Vanity Fair, -through which he had been wheeled as a spectator, but in the occupation -or amusement of which he had never participated, was about to cease. He -loved her so dearly, that the thought of her future was always before -him, and caused him infinite anxiety. Worst of all, there was no one of -whom he could make a confidant amongst his acquaintance. Algy Barford -would do any thing; but he was a bachelor, which would incapacitate -him, and by far too easy-going, trouble-hating, and unimpressive. Who -else was there? Ah, a good thought!--that man Ludlow, the artist; an -old friend of Annie's, for whom she had so great a regard. He was not -particularly strong-minded out of his profession; but his devotion to -his child-friend was undoubted; and besides, he was a man of education -and common sense, rising, too, to a position which would insure his -being heard. He would talk with Ludlow about Annie's future; so he -wrote off to Geoffrey by the next post, begging him to come and see him -as soon as possible. Yes, he could look at it all quite steadily now. -Heaven knows, life to him had been no such happiness as to make its -surrender painful or difficult It was only as he neared his journey's -end, he thought, that any light had been shed upon his path, and when -that should be extinguished he would have no heart to go further. No: -let the end come, as he knew it was coming, swiftly and surely; only -let him think that _her_ future was secured, and he could die more than -contented--happy. - -Her future secured! ah, that he should not live to see! It could not, -must not be by a marriage with Lionel. His mother had never broached -that subject openly to him, and therefore he had hitherto felt a -delicacy in alluding to it in conversation with her; but he would -before--well, he would in time. Not that he had much fear of Annie's -succumbing to his brother's fascinations; he rated her too highly for -that. It was not--and he took up a photographic album which lay on his -table, as the idea passed through his mind--it was not that careless -reckless expression, that easy insolent pose, which would have any -effect on Annie Maurice's mental constitution. Those who imagine that -women are enslaved through their eyes--true women--women worth winning -at least--are horribly mistaken, he thought, and--And then at that -instant he turned the page and came upon a photograph of himself, in -which the artist had done his best so far as arrangement went, but -which was so fatally truthful in its display of his deformity, that -Lord Caterham closed the book with a shudder, and sunk back on his -couch. - -His painful reverie was broken by the entrance of Stephens, who -announced that Mr. and Mrs. Ludlow were waiting to see his master. -Caterham, who was unprepared for a visit from Mrs. Ludlow, gave orders -that they should be at once admitted. Mrs. Ludlow came in leaning on -her husband's arm, and looking so pale and interesting, that Caterham -at once recollected the event he had seen announced in the _Times_, and -began to apologise. - -"My dear Mrs. Ludlow, what a horrible wretch I am to have asked your -husband to come and see me, when of course he was fully occupied at -home attending to you and the baby!" Then they both laughed; and Geoff -said: - -"This is her first day out, Lord Caterham; but I had promised to take -her for a drive; and as you wanted to see me, I thought that--" - -"That the air of St. Barnabas Square, the fresh breezes from the -Thames, and the cheerful noise of the embankment-people, would be about -the best thing for an invalid, eh?" - -"Well--scarcely! but that as it was only stated that my wife should go -for a quiet drive, I, who have neither the time nor the opportunity for -such things, might utilise the occasion by complying with the request -of a gentleman who has proved himself deserving of my respect." - -"A hit! a very palpable hit, Mr. Ludlow!" said Caterham. "I bow, -and--as the common phrase goes--am sorry I spoke. But we must not talk -business when you have brought Mrs. Ludlow out for amusement." - -"O, pray don't think of me, Lord Caterham," said Margaret; "I can -always amuse myself." - -"O, of course; the mere recollection of baby would keep you -sufficiently employed--at least, so you would have us believe. But -I'm an old bachelor, and discredit such things. So there's a book of -photographs for you to amuse yourself with while we talk.--Now, Mr. -Ludlow, for our conversation. Since we met, your old friend Annie -Maurice has inherited a very large property." - -"So I have heard, to my great surprise and delight. But I live so much -out of the world that I scarcely knew whether it was true, and had -determined to ask you the first time I should see you." - -"O, it's thoroughly true. She is the heiress of old Mr. Ampthill, -who was a second cousin of her father's. But it was about her future -career, as heiress of all this property, that I wanted to speak to you, -you see.--I beg your pardon, Mrs. Ludlow, what did you say?" - -Her face was dead white, her lips trembled, and it was with great -difficulty she said any thing at all; but she did gasp out, "Who is -this?" - -"That," said Lord Caterham, bending over the book; "O, that is the -portrait of my younger brother, Lionel Brakespere; he--" but Caterham -stopped short in his explanation, for Mrs. Ludlow fell backward in a -swoon. - -And every one afterwards said that it was very thoughtless of her to -take such a long drive so soon after her confinement. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. -CONJECTURES. - - -Miss Maurice was not in the house when Geoffrey Ludlow and his wife -made that visit to Lord Caterham which had so plainly manifested -Margaret's imprudence and inexperience. The housekeeper and one of the -housemaids had come to the assistance of the gentlemen, both equally -alarmed and one at least calculated to be, of all men living, the most -helpless under the circumstances. Geoffrey was "awfully frightened," as -he told her afterwards, when Margaret fainted. - -"I shall never forget the whiteness of your face, my darling, and the -dreadful sealed look of your eyelids. I thought in a moment that was -how you would look if you were dead; and what should I do if I ever had -to see _that_ sight!" - -This loving speech Geoffrey made to his wife as they drove -homewards,--she pale, silent, and coldly abstracted; he full of tender -anxiety for her comfort and apprehension for her health,--sentiments -which rendered him, to say the truth, rather a trying companion in a -carriage; for he was constantly pulling the glasses up and down, fixing -them a button-hole higher or lower, rearranging the blinds, and giving -the coachman contradictory orders. These proceedings were productive of -no apparent annoyance to Margaret, who lay back against the cushions -with eyes open and moody, and her underlip caught beneath her teeth. -She maintained unbroken silence until they reached home, and then -briefly telling Geoffrey that she was going to her room to lie down, -she left him. - -"She's not strong," said Geoffrey, as he proceeded to -disembarrass himself of his outdoor attire, and to don his -"working-clothes,"--"she's not strong; and it's very odd she's not more -cheerful. I thought the child would have made it all right; but perhaps -it will when she's stronger." And Geoff sighed as he went to his work, -and sighed again once or twice as he pursued it. - -Meanwhile Lord Caterham was thinking over the startling incident which -had just occurred. He was an observant man naturally, and the enforced -inaction of his life had increased this tendency; while his long -and deep experience of physical suffering and weakness had rendered -him acutely alive to any manifestations of a similar kind in other -people. Mrs. Ludlow's fainting-fit puzzled him. She had been looking -so remarkably well when she came in; there had been nothing feverish, -nothing suggestive of fictitious strength or over-exertion in her -appearance; no feebleness in her manner or languor in the tone of her -voice. The suddenness and completeness of the swoon were strange,--were -so much beyond the ordinary faintness which a drive undertaken a -little too soon might be supposed to produce,--and the expression of -Margaret's face, when she had recovered her consciousness, was so -remarkable, that Lord Caterham felt instinctively the true origin of -her illness had not been that assigned to it. - -"She looked half-a-dozen years older," he thought; "and the few words -she said were spoken as if she were in a dream. I must be more mistaken -than I have ever been, or there is something very wrong about that -woman. And what a good fellow he is!--what a simple-hearted blundering -kind fellow! How wonderful his blindness is! I saw in a moment how he -loved her, how utterly uninterested she is in him and his affairs. I -hope there may be nothing worse than lack of interest; but I am afraid, -very much afraid for Ludlow." - -And then Lord Caterham's thoughts wandered away from the artist and his -beautiful wife to that other subject which occupied them so constantly, -and with which every other cogitation or contemplation contrived to -mingle itself in an unaccountable manner, on which he did not care -to reason, and against which he did not attempt to strive. What did -it matter now? He might be ever so much engrossed, and no effort at -self-control or self-conquest would be called for; the feelings he -cherished unchecked could not harm any one--could not harm himself now. -There was great relief; great peace in that thought,--no strife for him -to enter on, no struggle in which his suffering body and weary mind -must engage. The end would be soon with him now; and while he waited -for it, he might love this bright young girl with all the power of his -heart. - -So Lord Caterham lay quite still upon the couch on which they had -placed Margaret when she fainted, and thought over all he had intended -to say to Geoffrey, and must now seek another opportunity of saying, -and turned over in his mind sundry difficulties which he began to -foresee in the way of his cherished plan, and which would probably -arise in the direction of Mrs. Ludlow. Annie and Margaret had not -hitherto seen much of each other, as has already appeared; and there -was something ominous in the occurrence of that morning which troubled -Lord Caterham's mind and disturbed his preconcerted arrangements. If -trouble--trouble of some unknown kind, but, as he intuitively felt, -of a serious nature--were hanging over Geoffrey Ludlow's head, what -was to become of his guardianship of Annie in the future,--that future -which Lord Caterham felt was drawing so near; that future which would -find her without a friend, and would leave her exposed to countless -flatterers. He was pondering upon these things when Annie entered the -room, bright and blooming, after her drive in the balmy summer air, and -carrying a gorgeous bouquet of crimson roses. - -She was followed by Stephens, carrying two tall Venetian glasses. He -placed them on a table, and then withdrew. - -"Look, Arthur," said Annie; "we've been to Fulham, and I got these fresh -cut, all for your own self, at the nursery-gardens. None of those -horrid formal tied-up bouquets for you, or for me either, with the -buds stuck on with wires, and nasty fluffy bits of cotton sticking to -the leaves. I went round with the man, and made him cut each rose as I -pointed it out; and they're such beauties, Arthur! Here's one for you -to wear and smell and spoil; but the others I'm going to keep fresh for -ever so long." - -She went over to the couch and gave him the rose, a rich crimson -full-formed flower, gorgeous in colour and exquisite in perfume. He -took it with a smile and held it in his hand. - -"Why don't you put it in your button-hole, Lord Caterham?" said Annie, -with a pretty air of pettishness which became her well. - -"Why?" said Lord Caterham. "Do you think I am exactly the style of -man to wear posies and breast-knots, little Annie?" His tone was sad -through its playfulness. - -"Nonsense, Arthur," she began; "you--" Then she looked at him, and -stopped suddenly, and her face changed. "Have you been worse to-day? -You look very pale. Have you been in pain? Did you want me?" - -"No, no, my child," said Lord Caterham; "I am just as usual. Go on -with your flowers, Annie,--settle them up, lest they fade. They are -beautiful indeed, and we'll keep them as long as we can." - -She was not reassured, and she still stood and gazed earnestly at him. - -"I am all right, Annie,--I am indeed. My head is even easier than -usual. But some one has been ill, if I haven't. Your friends the -Ludlows were here to-day. Did no one tell you as you came in?" - -"No, I did not see any one; I left my bonnet in the ante-room and -came straight in here. I only called to Stephens to bring the -flower-glasses. Was Mrs. Ludlow ill, Arthur? Did she come to see me?" - -"I don't think so--she only came, I think, because I wanted to see -Ludlow, and he took advantage of the circumstance to have a drive with -her. Have you seen her since the child was born?" - -"No, I called, but only to inquire. But was she ill? What happened?" - -"Well, she was ill--she fainted. Ludlow and I were just beginning to -talk, and, at her own request, leaving her to amuse herself with the -photographs and things lying about--and she had just asked me some -trifling question, something about Lionel's portrait--whose it was, I -think--when she suddenly fainted. I don't think there could be a more -complete swoon; she really looked as though she were dead." - -"What did you do? was Geoffrey frightened?" - -"Yes, we were both frightened. Stephens came, and two of the women. -Ludlow was terrified; but she soon recovered, and she would persist in -going home, though I tried to persuade her to wait until you returned. -But she would not listen to it, and went away with Ludlow in a dreadful -state of mind; he thinks he made her take the drive too soon, and is -frightfully penitent." - -"Well but, Arthur," said Annie, seriously and anxiously, "I suppose he -did. It must have been that which knocked her up. She has no mother or -sister with her, you know, to tell her about these things." - -"My dear Annie," said Lord Caterham, "she has a doctor and a nurse, -I suppose; and she has common-sense, and knows how she feels, -herself--does she not? She looked perfectly well when she came in, and -handsomer than when I saw her before--and I don't believe the drive had -any thing to do with the fainting-fit." - -Miss Maurice looked at Lord Caterham in great surprise. His manner and -tone were serious, and her feelings, easily roused when her old friend -was concerned, were excited now to apprehension. She left off arranging -the roses; she dried her finger-tips on her handkerchief, and placing -a chair close beside Caterham's couch, she sat down and asked him -anxiously to explain his meaning. - -"I can't do that very well, Annie," he said, "for I am not certain -of what it is; but of this I am certain, my first impression of Mrs. -Ludlow is correct. There is something wrong about her, and Ludlow is -ignorant of it. All I said to you that day is more fully confirmed in -my mind now. There is some dark secret in the past of her life, and the -secret in the present is, that she lives in that past, and does not -love her husband." - -"Poor Geoffrey," said Annie, in whose eyes tears were standing--"poor -Geoffrey, and how dearly he loves her!" - -"Yes," said Lord Caterham, "that's the worst of it; that, and his -unsuspiciousness,--he does not see what the most casual visitor to -their house sees; he does not perceive the weariness of spirit that -is the first thing, next to her beauty, which every one with common -perception must recognise. She takes no pains--she does not make the -least attempt to hide it. Why, to-day, when she recovered, when her -eyes opened--such gloomy eyes they were!--and Ludlow was kneeling -here,"--he pointed down beside the couch he lay on--"bending over -her,--did she look up at him?--did she meet the gaze fixed on her and -smile, or try to smile, to comfort and reassure him? Not she: I was -watching her; she just opened her eyes and let them wander round, -turned her head from him, and let it fall against the side of the couch -as if she never cared to lift it more." - -"Poor Geoffrey!" said Annie again; this time with a sob. - -"Yes, indeed, Annie," he went on; "I pity him, as much as I mistrust -her. He has never told you any thing about her antecedents, has -he?--and I suppose she has not been more communicative?" - -"No," replied Annie; "I know nothing more than I have told you. She has -always been the same when I have seen her--trying, I thought, to seem -and be happier than at first, but very languid still. Geoffrey said -sometimes that she was rather out of spirits, but he seemed to think it -was only delicate health--and I hoped so too, though I could not help -fearing you were right in all you said that day. O, Arthur, isn't it -hard to think of Geoffrey loving her so much, and working so hard, and -getting so poor a return?" - -"It is indeed, Annie," said Lord Caterham, with a strange wistful -look at her; "it is very hard. But I fear there are harder things -than that in store for Ludlow. He is not conscious of the extent of -his misfortune, if even he knows of its existence at all. I fear the -time is coming when he must know all there is to be known, whatever -it may be. That woman has a terrible secret in her life, Annie, and -the desperate weariness within her--how she let it show when she was -recovering from the swoon!--will force it into the light of day before -long. Her dreary quietude is the calm before the storm." - -"I suppose I had better write this evening and inquire for her," said -Annie, after a pause; "and propose to call on her. It will gratify -Geoffrey." - -"Do so," said Lord Caterham; "I will write to Ludlow myself." - -Annie wrote her kind little letter, and duly received a reply. Mrs. -Ludlow was much better, but still rather weak, and did not feel quite -able to receive Miss Maurice's kindly-proffered visit just at present. - -"I am very glad indeed of that, Annie," said Lord Caterham, to whom she -showed the note; "you cannot possibly do Ludlow any good, my child; and -something tells me that the less you see of her the better." - -For some days following that on which the incident and the conversation -just recorded took place, Lord Caterham was unable to make his intended -request to Geoffrey Ludlow that the latter would call upon him, that -they might renew their interrupted conversation. One of those crises in -the long struggle which he maintained with disease and pain, in which -entire prostration produced a kind of truce, had come upon him; and -silence, complete inaction, and almost a suspension of his faculties, -marked its duration. The few members of the household who had access -to him were familiar with this phase of his condition; and on this -occasion it attracted no more notice than usual, except from Annie, who -remarked additional gravity in the manner of the physician, and who -perceived that the state of exhaustion of the patient lasted longer, -and when he rallied was succeeded by less complete restoration to even -his customary condition than before. She mentioned these results of -her close observation to Lady Beauport; but the countess paid very -little attention to the matter, assuring Annie that she knew Caterham -much too well to be frightened; that he would do very well if there -were no particular fuss made about him; and that all doctors were -alarmists, and said dreadful things to increase their own importance. -Annie would have called her attention to the extenuating circumstance -that Lord Caterham's medical attendant had not said any thing at all, -and that she had merely interpreted his looks; but Lady Beauport was so -anxious to tell her something illustrative of "poor Lionel's" beauty, -grace, daring, or dash--no matter which or what--that Annie found it -impossible to get in another word. - -A day or two later, when Lord Caterham had rallied a good deal, and -was able to listen to Annie as she read to him, and while she was so -engaged, and he was looking at her with the concentrated earnestness -she remarked so frequently in his gaze of late,--Algy Barford was -announced. Algy had been constantly at the house to inquire for Lord -Caterham; but to-day Stephens had felt sure his master would be able -and glad to see Algy. Every body liked that genial soul, and servants -in particular--a wonderful test of popularity and its desert. He came -in very quietly, and he and Annie exchanged greetings cordially. She -liked him also. After he had spoken cheerily to Caterham, and called -him "dear old boy" at least a dozen times in as many sentences, the -conversation was chiefly maintained between him and Miss Maurice. She -did not think much talking would do for Arthur just then, and she made -no movement towards leaving the room, as was her usual custom. Algy was -a little subdued in tone and spirits: it was impossible even to him to -avoid seeing that Caterham was looking much more worn and pale than -usual; and he was a bad hand at disguising a painful impression, so -that he was less fluent and discursive than was his wont, and decidedly -ill at ease. - -"How is your painting getting on, Miss Maurice?" he said, when a pause -became portentous. - -"She has been neglecting it in my favour," said Lord Caterham. "She has -not even finished the portrait you admired so much, Algy." - -"O!--ah!--'The Muse of Painting,' wasn't it? It is a pity not to finish -it, Miss Maurice. I think you would never succeed better than in that -case,--you admire the original so much." - -"Yes," said Annie, with rather an uneasy glance towards Caterham, "she -is really beautiful. Arthur thinks her quite as wonderful as I do; -but I have not seen her lately--she has been ill. By the bye, Arthur, -Geoffrey Ludlow wrote to me yesterday inquiring for you; and only think -what he says!--'I hope my wife's illness did not upset Lord Caterham; -but I am afraid it did." Annie had taken a note from the pocket of her -apron, andread these words in a laughing voice. - -"Hopes his wife's illness did not upset Lord Caterham!" repeated Algy -Barford in a tone of whimsical amazement. "What may that mean, dear -old boy? Why are you supposed to be upset by the peerless lady of the -unspeakable eyes and the unapproachable hair?" - -Annie laughed, and Caterham smiled as he replied, "Only because Mrs. -Ludlow fainted here in this room very suddenly, and very 'dead,' one -day lately; and as Mrs. Ludlow's fainting was a terrible shock to -Ludlow, he concludes that it was also a terrible shock to me,--that's -all." - -"Well, but," said Algy, apparently seized with an unaccountable access -of curiosity, "why did Mrs. Ludlow faint? and what brought her here to -faint in your room?" - -"It was inconsiderate, I confess," said Caterham, still smiling; "but I -don't think she meant it. The fact is, I had asked Ludlow to come and -see me; and he brought his wife; and--and she has not been well, and -the drive was too much for her, I suppose. At all events, Ludlow and I -were talking, and not minding her particularly, when she said something -to me, and I turned round and saw her looking deadly pale, and before I -could answer her she fainted." - -"Right off?" asked Algy, with an expression of dismay so ludicrous that -Annie could not resist it, and laughed outright. - -"Right off, indeed," answered Caterham; "down went the photograph-book -on the floor, and down she would have gone if Ludlow had been a second -later, or an inch farther away! Yes; it was a desperate case, I assure -you. How glad you must feel that you wer'n't here, Algy,--eh? What -would you have done now? Resorted to the bellows, like the Artful -Dodger, or twisted her thumbs, according to the famous prescription of -Mrs. Gamp?" - -But Algy did not laugh, much to Lord Caterham's amusement, who believed -him to be overwhelmed by the horrid picture his imagination conjured up -of the position of the two gentlemen under the circumstances. - -"But," said Algy, with perfect gravity, "why did she faint? What did -she say? People don't tumble down in a dead faint because they're a -little tired, dear old boy--do they?" - -"Perhaps not in general, Algy, but it looks like it in Mrs. Ludlow's -case. All I can tell you is that the faint was perfectly genuine and -particularly 'dead,' and that there was no cause for it, beyond the -drive and the fatigue of looking over the photographs in that book. I -am very tired of photographs myself, and I suppose most people are the -same, but I haven't quite come to fainting over them yet." - -Algy Barford's stupefaction had quite a rousing effect on Lord -Caterham, and Annie Maurice liked him and his odd ways more than ever. -He made some trifling remark in reply to Caterham's speech, and took an -early opportunity of minutely inspecting the photograph-book which he -had mentioned. - -"So," said Algy to himself, as he walked slowly down St. Barnabas -Square; "she goes to see Caterham, and faints at sight of dear -old Lionel's portrait, does she? Ah, it's all coming out, Algy; -and the best thing you can do, on the whole is to keep your own -counsel,--that's about it, dear old boy!" - - - - -CHAPTER XII. -GATHERING CLOUDS. - - -"My younger brother Lionel Brakespere;" those were Lord Caterham's -words. Margaret had heard them distinctly before consciousness left -her; there was no mistake, no confusion in her mind,--"my younger -brother Lionel Brakespere." All unconsciously, then, she had been for -months acquainted and in occasional communication with _his_ nearest -relatives! Only that day she had been in the house where he had lived; -had sat in a room all the associations of which were doubtless familiar -to him; had gazed upon the portrait of that face for the sight of which -her heart yearned with such a desperate restless longing! - -Lord Caterham's brother! Brother to that poor sickly cripple, in whom -life's flame seemed not to shine, but to flicker merely,--her Lionel, -so bright and active and handsome! Son of that proud, haughty Lady -Beauport--yes, she could understand that; it was from his mother that -he inherited the cool bearing, the easy assurance, the never-absent -_hauteur_ which rendered him conspicuous even in a set of men where all -these qualities were prized and imitated. She had not had the smallest -suspicion the name she had known him by was assumed, or that he had -an earl for his father and a viscount for his brother. He had been -accustomed to speak of "the governor--a good old boy;" but his mother -and his brother he never mentioned. - -They knew him there, knew him as she had never known him--free, -unrestrained, without that mask which, to a certain extent, he had -necessarily worn in her presence. In his intercourse with them he had -been untrammelled, with no lurking fear of what might happen some day; -no dodging demon at his side suggesting the end, the separation that he -knew must unavoidably come. And she had sat by, ignorant of all that -was consuming their hearts' cores, which, had she been able to discuss -it with them, would have proved to be her own deepest, most cherished, -most pertinacious source of thought. They?--who were they? How many of -them had known her Lionel?--how many of them had cared for him? Lady -Beauport and Lord Caterham, of course--but of the others? Geoffrey -himself had never known him. No; thank God for that! The comparison -between her old lover and her husband which she had so often drawn in -her own mind had never, could never have occurred to him. Geoffrey's -only connection with the Beauport family had been through Annie -Maurice. Ah! Annie Maurice!--the heiress now, whose sudden acquisition -of wealth and position they were all talking of--she had not seen -Lionel in the old days; and even if she had, it had been slight matter. -But Margaret's knowledge of the world was wide and ample, and it needed -very little experience--far less indeed than she had had--to show her -what might have been the effect had those two met under the existent -different circumstances. - -For Margaret knew Lionel Brakespere, and read him like a book. All her -wild infatuation about him,--and her infatuation about him was wilder, -madder than it had ever been before--all the length of time since she -lost him,--all the long, weary, deadening separation, had not had the -smallest effect on her calm matured judgment. She knew that he was at -heart a scoundrel; she knew that he had no stability of heart, no depth -of affection. Had not her own experience of him taught her that? had -not the easy, indifferent, heartless way in which he had slipped out -of her knotted arms, leaving her to pine and fret and die, for all he -cared, shown her that? She had a thorough appreciation of his worship -of the rising sun,--she knew how perfectly he would have sold himself -for wealth and position; and yet she loved him, loved him through all! - -This was her one consolation in the thought of his absence--his exile. -Had he been in England, how readily would he have fallen into those -machinations which she guessed his mother would have been only too -ready to plot! She knew he was thousands of miles away; and the thought -that she was freed from rivalry in a great measure reconciled her to -his absence. She could hold him in her heart of hearts as her own only -love; there was no one, in her thoughts, to dispute her power over him. -He was hers,--hers alone. And he had obtained an additional interest in -her eyes since she had discovered his identity. Now she would cultivate -that acquaintance with his people,--all unknowingly she should be able -to ally herself more closely to him. Casual questions would bring -direct answers--all bearing on the topic nearest her heart: without in -the smallest degree betraying her own secret, she would be able to feed -her own love-flame,--to hear of, to talk of him for whom every pulse of -her heart throbbed and yearned. - -Did it never occur to her to catechise that heart, to endeavour -to portray vividly to herself the abyss on the brink of which she -was standing,--to ask herself whether she was prepared to abnegate -all sense of gratitude and duty, and to persevere in the course -which--not recklessly, not in a moment of passion, but calmly and -unswervingly--she had begun to tread? Yes; she had catechised herself -often, had ruthlessly probed her own heart, had acknowledged her -baseness and ingratitude, yet had found it impossible to struggle -against the pervading thrall. Worse than all, the sight of the man -to whom she owed every thing--comfort, respectability, almost life -itself,--the sight of him patiently labouring for her sake had become -oppressive to her; from calmly suffering it, she had come to loathe and -rebel against it. Ah, what a contrast between the present dull, dreary, -weary round and the bright old days of the past! To her, and to her -alone, was the time then dedicated. She would not then have been left -to sit alone, occupying her time as best she might, but every instant -would have been devoted to her; and let come what might on the morrow, -that time would have been spent in gaiety. - -Was there no element of rest in the new era of her life? Did not the -child which lay upon her bosom bring some alleviating influence, -some new sphere for the absorption of her energies, some new hope, -in the indulgence in which she might have found at least temporary -forgetfulness of self? Alas, none! She had accepted her maternity -as she had accepted her wifehood,--calmly, quietly, without even a -pretence of that delicious folly, that pardonable self-satisfaction, -that silly, lovable, incontrovertible, charming pride which nearly -always accompanies the first experience of motherhood. Old Geoff was -mad about his firstborn--would leave his easel and come crooning and -peering up into the nursery,--would enter that sacred domain in a -half-sheepish manner, as though acknowledging his intrusion, but on -the score of parental love hoping for forgiveness,--would say a few -words of politeness to the nurse, who, inexorable to most men, was won -over by his genuine devotion and his evident humility,--would take -up the precious bundle, at length confided to him, in the awkwardest -manner, and would sit chirrupping to the little putty face, or swing -the shapeless mass to and fro, singing meanwhile the dismallest of -apparently Indian dirges, and all the while be experiencing the -most acute enjoyment. Geoff was by nature a heavy sleeper; but the -slightest cry of the child in the adjoining chamber would rouse him; -the inevitable infantile maladies expressed in the inevitable peevish -whine, so marvellously imitated by the toy-baby manufacturers, would -fill him with horror and fright, causing him to lie awake in an agony -of suspense, resting on his elbow and listening with nervous anxiety -for their cessation or their increase; while Margaret, wearied out in -mental anxiety, either slept tranquilly by his side or remained awake, -her eyes closed, her mind abstracted from all that was going on around -her, painfully occupied with retrospect of the past or anticipation of -the future. She did not care for her baby? No--plainly no! She accepted -its existence as she had accepted the other necessary corollaries of -her marriage; but the grand secret of maternal love was as far removed -from her as though she had never suffered her travail and brought a -man-child into the world. That she would do her duty by her baby she -had determined,--much in the same spirit that she had decided upon -the strict performance of her conjugal duty; but n question of love -influenced her. She did not dislike the child,--she was willing to -give herself up to the inconveniences which its nurture, its care, its -necessities occasioned her; but that was all. - -If Margaret did not "make a fuss" with the child, there were plenty who -did; numberless people to come and call; numberless eyes to watch all -that happened,--to note the _insouciance_ which existed, instead of -the solicitude which should have prevailed; numberless tongues to talk -and chatter and gossip,--to express wonderment, to declare that their -owners "had never seen the like," and so on. Little Dr. Brandmm found -it more difficult than ever to get away from his lady-patients. After -all their own disorders had been discussed and remedies suggested, the -conversation was immediately turned to his patient at Elm Lodge; and -the little medico had to endure and answer a sharp fire of questions -of all kinds. Was it really a fine child? and was it true that Mrs. -Ludlow did not care about it? She was nursing it herself; yes: that -proved nothing; every decent woman would do that, rather than have one -of those dreadful creatures in the house--pints of porter every hour, -and doing nothing but sit down and abuse every one, and wanting so -much waiting on, as though they were duchesses. But was it true? Now, -doctor, you must know all these stories about her not caring for the -child? Caring!--well, you ought to know, with all your experience, what -the phrase meant. People would talk, you know, and that was what they -said; and all the doctor's other patients wanted to know was whether -it was really true. He did his best, the little doctor--for he was a -kindly-hearted little creature, and Margaret's beauty had had its usual -effect upon him,--he did his best to endow the facts with a roseate -hue; but he had a hard struggle, and only partially succeeded. If there -was one thing on which the ladies of Lowbar prided themselves, it was -on their fulfilment of their maternal duties; if there was one bond of -union between them, it was a sort of tacitly recognised consent to talk -of and listen to each other's discussion of their children, either in -existence or in prospect. It was noticed now that Margaret had always -shirked this inviting subject; and it was generally agreed that it -was no wonder, since common report averred that she had no pride in -her firstborn. A healthy child too, according to Dr. Brandram--a fine -healthy well-formed child. Why, even poor Mrs. Ricketts, whose baby had -spinal complaint, loved it, and made the most of it; and Mrs. Moule, -whose little Sarah had been blind from her birth, thought her offspring -unmatchable in the village, and nursed and tended it night and day. No -wonder that in a colony where these sentiments prevailed, Margaret's -reputation, hardly won, was speedily on the decline. It may be easily -imagined too that to old Mrs. Ludlow's observant eyes Margaret's want -of affection for her child did not pass unnoticed. By no one was the -child's advent into the world more anxiously expected than by its -grandmother, who indeed looked forward to deriving an increased social -status from the event, and who had already discussed it with her most -intimate friends. Mrs. Ludlow had been prepared for a great contest for -supremacy when the child was born--a period at which she intended to -assert her right of taking possession of her son's house and remaining -its mistress until her daughter-in-law was able to resume her position. -She had expected that in this act she would have received all the -passive opposition of which Margaret was capable--opposition with -which Geoff, being indoctrinated, might have been in a great measure -successful. But, to her intense surprise, no opposition was made. -Margaret received the announcement of Mrs. Ludlow's intended visit -and Mrs. Ludlow's actual arrival with perfect unconcern; and after -her baby had been born, and she had bestowed on it a very calm kiss, -she suffered it to be removed by her mother-in-law with an expression -which told even more of satisfaction than resignation. This behaviour -was so far different from any thing Mrs. Ludlow had expected, that the -old lady did not know what to make of it; and her daughter-in-law's -subsequent conduct increased her astonishment. This astonishment she at -first tried to keep to herself; but that was impossible. The feeling -gradually vented itself in sniffs and starts, in eyebrow-upliftings for -the edification of the nurse, in suggestive exclamations of "Well, my -dear?" and "Don't you think, my love?" and such old-lady phraseology. -Further than these little ebullitions Mrs. Ludlow made no sign until -her daughter came to see her; and then she could no longer contain -herself, but spoke out roundly. - -"What it is, my dear, I can't tell for the life of me; but there's -something the matter with Margaret. She takes no more notice of the -child than if it were a chair or a table;--just a kiss, and how do you -do? and nothing more." - -"It's because this is her first child, mother. She's strange to it, you -know, and--" - -"Strange to it, my dear! Nonsense! Nothing of the sort. You're a young -girl, and can't understand these things. But not only that,--one would -think, at such a time, she would be more than ever fond of her husband. -I'm sure when Geoff was born I put up with more from your father than -ever I did before or since. His 'gander-month,' he called it; and he -used to go gandering about with a parcel of fellows, and come home -at all hours of the night--I used to hear him, though he did creep -upstairs with his boots off--but he never had cross word or look from -me." - -"Well, but surely, mother, Geoff has not had either cross words or -cross looks from Margaret?" - -"How provoking you are, Matilda! That seems to be my my fate, that no -one can understand me. I never said he had, did I? though it would be -a good thing for him if he had, poor fellow, I should say--any thing -better than what he has to endure now." - -"Don't be angry at my worrying you, dear mother; but for Heaven's sake -tell me what you mean--what Geoff has to endure?" - -"I am not angry, Til; though it seems to be my luck to be imagined -angry when there's nothing further from my thoughts. I'm not angry, my -dear--not in the least." - -"What about Geoff, mother?" - -"O, my dear, that's enough to make one's blood boil! Ive never said a -word to you before about this, Matilda--being one of those persons who -keep pretty much to themselves, though I see a great deal more than -people think for,--Ive never said a word to you before about this; for, -as I said to myself, what good could it do? But I'm perfectly certain -that there's something wrong with Margaret." - -"How do you mean, mother? Something wrong!--is she ill?" - -"Now, my dear Matilda, as though a woman would be likely to be well -when she's just had----. Bless my soul, the young women of the present -day are very silly! I wasn't speaking of her health, of course." - -"Of what then, mother?" said Til, with resignation. - -"Well, then, my dear, haven't you noticed,--but I suppose not: no one -appears to notice these things in the way that I do,--but you might -have noticed that for the last few weeks Margaret has seemed full of -thought, dreamy, and not caring for any thing that went on. If Ive -pointed out once to her about the mite of a cap that that Harriet -wears, and all her hair flying about her ears, and a crinoline as wide -as wide, Ive spoken a dozen times; but she's taken no notice; and now -the girl sets me at defiance, and tells me I'm not her mistress, and -never shall be I That's one thing; but there are plenty of others. I -was sure Geoffrey's linen could not be properly aired--the colds he -caught were so awful; and I spoke to Margaret about it, but she took no -notice; and yesterday, when the clothes came home from the laundress, -I felt them myself, and you might have wrung the water out of them in -pints. There are many other little things too that Ive noticed; and -I'll tell you what it is, Matilda--I'm certain she has got something on -her mind." - -"O, I hope not, poor girl, poor dear Margaret!" - -"Poor dear fiddlestick! What nonsense you talk, Matilda! If there's any -one to be pitied, it's Geoffrey, I should say; though what he could -have expected, taking a girl for his wife that he'd known so little of, -and not having any wedding-breakfast, or any thing regular, I don't -know!" - -"But why is Geoffrey to be pitied, mother?" - -"Why? Why, because his wife doesn't love him, my dear! Now you know it!" - -"O, mother, for Heaven's sake don't say such a thing! You know -you're--you won't mind what I say, dearest mother,--but you're a little -apt to jump at conclusions, and--" - -"O yes, I know, my dear; I know I'm a perfect fool!--I know that well -enough; and if I don't, it's not for want of being reminded of it by my -own daughter. But I know I'm right in what I say; and what's more, my -son shall know it before long." - -"O, mother, you would never tell Geoff!--you would never--" - -"If a man's eyes are not open naturally, my dear, they must be opened -for him. I shall tell Geoffrey my opinion about his wife; and let him -know it in pretty plain terms, I can tell you!" - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. -MR. STOMPFF'S DOUBTS. - - -It is not to be supposed that because Geoffrey Ludlow's married life -offered no very striking points for criticism, it was left uncriticised -by his friends. Those, be they married or single, quiet or boisterous, -convivial or misanthropical, who do not receive discussion at the -hands of their acquaintance, are very few in number. There can be -nothing more charmingly delightful, nothing more characteristic of -this chivalrous age, than the manner in which friends speak of each -other behind, as the phrase goes, "each other's backs." To two sets -of people, having a third for common acquaintance, this pastime -affords almost inexpressible delight, more especially if the two -sets present have been made acquainted with each other through the -medium of the absent third. It is rather dangerous ground at first, -because neither of the two sets present can tell whether the other may -not have some absurd scruples as to the propriety of canvassing the -merits or demerits of their absent friend; but a little tact, a little -cautious dealing with the subject, a few advances made as tentatively -as those of the elephant on the timber bridge, soon show that the -discussion will not be merely endured, but will be heartily welcome; -and straightway it is plunged into with the deepest interest. How they -manage to keep that carriage,--that's what we've always wanted to know! -O, you've noticed it too. Well, is it rouge, or enamel, or what? That's -what Ive always said to George--how that poor man can go on slaving -and slaving as he does, and all the money going in finery for her, is -what I can't understand! What a compliment to our opinion of our powers -of character-reading to find all our notions indorsed by others, more -especially when those notions have been derogatory to those with whom -we have for some time been living on terms of intimacy! To be sure -there is another side to the medal, when we find that those who have -known our dear absents a much shorter time than we have, claim credit -for being far more sharp-sighted than we. They marked at once, they -say, all the shortcomings which we had taken so long to discover; and -they lead the chorus of depreciation, in which we only take inferior -parts. - -It was not often that Mr. Stompff busied himself with the domestic -concerns of the artists who formed his staff: It was generally quite -enough for him provided they "came up to time," as he called it, did -their work well, and did not want too much money in advance. But in -Geoffrey Ludlow Mr. Stompff took a special interest, regarding him as -a man out of whom, if properly worked, great profit and fame were to -be made. He had paid several visits to Elm Lodge, ostensibly for the -purpose of seeing how the Brighton-Esplanade picture was progressing; -but with this he combined the opportunity of inspecting the domestic -arrangements and noting whether they were such as were likely to "suit -his book." No man more readily understood the dispiriting influence of -a slattern wife or a disorderly home upon the work that was to be done. - -"Ive seen 'em," he used to say, "chock-full of promise, and all go to -the bad just because of cold meat for dinner, or the house full of -steam on washing-days. They'd rush away, and go off--public-house or -any where--and then goodbye to my work and the money theyve had of me! -What I like best 's a regular expensive woman,--fond of her dress and -going about, and all that,--who makes a man stick to it to keep her -going. That's when you get the work out of a cove. So I'll just look-up -Ludlow, and see how he's goin' on." - -He did "look-up" Ludlow several times; and his sharp eyes soon -discovered a great deal of which he did not approve, and which did not -seem likely to coincide with his notions of business. He had taken a -dislike to Margaret the first time he had seen her, and his dislike -increased on each subsequent visit. There was something about her which -he could scarcely explain to himself,--a "cold stand-offishness," -he phrased it,--which he hated. Margaret thought Mr. Stompff simply -detestable, and spite of Geoff's half-hints, took no pains to disguise -her feelings. Not that she was ever demonstrative--it was her calm -quiet _insouciance_ that roused Mr. Stompff's wrath. "I can't tell what -to make of that woman," he would say; "she never gives Ludlow a word -of encouragement, but sits there yea-nay, by G--, lookin' as though -she didn't know he was grindin' his fingers off to earn money for her! -She don't seem to take any notice of what's goin' on; but sits moonin' -there, lookin' straight before her, and treatin'me and her husband -as if we was dirt! Who's she, I should like to know, to give herself -airs and graces like that? It was all very well when Ludlow wanted a -model for that Skyllar picture; but there's no occasion for a man to -marry his models, that Ive heard of--leastways it ain't generally done. -She don't seem to know that it's from me all the money comes, by the -way she treats me. She don't seem to think that that pretty house and -furniture, and all the nice things which she has, are paid for by my -money. She's never a decent word to say to me. Damme, I hate her!" - -And Mr. Stompff did not content himself by exploding in this manner. -He let off this safety-valve of self-communion to keep himself from -boiling over; but all the cause for his wrath still remained, and he -referred to it, mentally, not unfrequently. He knew that Geoffrey -Ludlow was one of his greatest cards; he knew that he had obtained a -certain mastery over him at a very cheap rate; but he also knew that -Ludlow was a man impressible to the highest degree, and that if he -were preoccupied or annoyed, say by domestic trouble for instance--and -there was nothing in a man of Geoffrey's temperament more destructive -to work than domestic trouble--he would be incapable of earning his -money properly. Why should there be domestic trouble at Elm Lodge? -Mr. Stompff had his ears wider open than most men, and had heard a -certain something which had been rumoured about at the time of Geoff's -marriage; but he had not paid much attention to it. There were many -_ateliers_ which he was in the habit of frequenting,--and the occupants -of which turned out capital pictures for him,--where he saw ladies -playing the hostess's part whose names had probably never appeared in a -marriage-register; but that was nothing to him. Most of them accepted -Mr. Stompff's compliments, and made themselves agreeable to the great -_entrepreneur_, and laughed at his coarse story and his full-flavoured -joke, and were only too delighted to get them, in conjunction with -his cheque. But this wife of Ludlow's was a woman of a totally -different stamp; and her treatment of him so worried Mr. Stompff that -he determined to find out more about her. Charley Potts was the most -intimate friend of Ludlow's available to Mr. Stompff, and to Charley -Potts Mr. Stompff determined to go. - -It chanced that on the morning which the great picture-dealer had -selected to pay his visit, Mr. Bowker had strolled into Charley -Potts's rooms, and found their proprietor hard at work. Mr. Bowker's -object, though prompted by very different motives from those of Mr. -Stompff, was identically the same. Old William had heard some of those -irrepressible rumours which, originating no one knows how, gather -force and strength from circulation, and had come to talk to Mr. Potts -about them. "Dora in the Cornfield" had progressed so admirably since -Bowker's last visit, that after filling his pipe he stood motionless -before it, with the unlighted lucifer in his hand. - -"'Pon my soul, I think you'll do something some day, young 'un!" were -his cheering words. "That's the real thing! Wonderful improvement since -I saw it; got rid of the hay-headed child, and come out no end. Don't -think the sunlight's _quite_ that colour, is it? and perhaps no reason -why those reaping-parties shouldn't have noses and mouths as well as -eyes and chins. Don't try scamping, Charley,--you're not big enough for -that; wait till you're made an R.A., and then the critics will point -out the beauties of your outline; at present you must copy nature. And -now"--lighting his pipe--"how are you?" - -"O, I'm all right, William," responded Mr. Potts; "all right, and -working like any number of steam-engines. Orson, sir--if I may so -describe myself--Orson is endowed with reason. Orson has begun to find -out that life is different from what he imagined, and has gone in for -something different." - -"Ha!" said old Bowker, eyeing the young man kindly as he puffed at his -pipe; "it's not very difficult to discover what's up now, then. - -"O, I don't want to make any mystery about it," said Charley. "The -simple fact is, that having seen the folly of what is called a life of -pleasure--" - -"At thirty years of age!" interrupted Bowker. - -"Well, what then?--at thirty years of age! One does not want to be a -Methuselah like you before one discovers the vanity, the emptiness, the -heartlessness of life." - -"Of course not, Charley?" said Bowker, greatly delighted. "Go on!" - -"And I intend to--to----to cut it, Bowker, and go in for something -better. It's something, sir, to have something to work for. I have an -end in view, to--" - -"Well, but you've always had that. I thought that your ideas were -concentrated on being President of the Academy, and returning thanks -for your health, proposed by the Prime Minister." - -"Bowker, you are a ribald. No, sir; there is a spur to my ambition -far beyond the flabby presidentship of that collection of dreary old -parties--" - -"Yes, I know and the spur is marked with the initials M.L. That it, -Master Charley?" - -"It may be, Bowker, and it may be not. Meanwhile, my newly-formed but -unalterable resolutions do not forbid the discussion of malt-liquor, -and Caroline yet understands the signal-code." - -With these words, Mr. Potts proceeded to make his ordinary pantomimic -demonstration at the window, and, when the beer arrived, condescended -to give up work for a time; and, lighting a pipe and seating himself in -his easy-chair, he entered into conversation with his friend. - -"And suppose the spur were marked with M.L.," said he, reverting to the -former topic, after a little desultory conversation,--"suppose the spur -were marked with M. L., what would be the harm of that, Bowker?" - -"Harm!" growled old Bowker; "you don't imagine when you begin to speak -seriously of such a thing that I, of all people, should say there was -any harm in it? I thought you were chaffing at first, and so I chaffed; -but I'm about the last man in the world to dissuade a young fellow with -the intention and the power to work from settling himself in life with -a girl such as I know this one to be. So far as I have seen of her, she -has all our Geoff's sweetness of disposition combined with an amount of -common-sense and knowledge of the world which Geoff never had and never -will have." - -"She's A1, old boy, and that's all about it; but we're going a-head -rather too quickly. Ive not said a word to her yet, and I scarcely know -whether--" - -"Nonsense, Chancy! A man who is worth any thing knows right well -whether a woman cares for him or not; and knows in what way she cares -for him too. On this point I go back to my old ground again, and say -that Geoffrey Ludlow's sister could not be dishonest enough to flirt -and flatter and play the deuce with a man. There's too much honesty -about the family; and you would be in a very different state of mind, -young fellow, if you thought there was any doubt as to how your remarks -would be received in that quarter, when you chose to speak." - -Mr. Potts smiled, and pulled his moustache, triumphantly now, not -doubtfully as was his wont. Then his face settled into seriousness, as -he said: - -"You're right, William, I think. I hope so, please God! Ive never said -so much as this to any one, as you may guess; but I love that girl with -all my heart and soul, and if only the dealers will stick by me, I -intend to tell her that same very shortly. But what you just said has -turned my thoughts into another channel--our Geoff." - -"Well, what about our Geoff?" asked Mr. Bowker, twisting round on his -seat, and looking hard at his friend. - -"You must have noticed, Bowker--probably much more than I have, for -you're more accustomed to that sort of thing--that our Geoff's not -right lately. There's something wrong up there at Elm Lodge, that I -can't make out,--that I daren't think, of. You remember our talks both -before and after Geoff's marriage? Well, I must hark back upon them. -He's not happy, William--there, you have the long and the short of it! -I'm a bad hand at explaining these matters, but Geoff's not happy. He's -made a mistake; and though I don't think he sees it himself--or if he -does, he would die sooner than own it--there can be no doubt about it. -Mrs. Ludlow does not understand,--does not appreciate him; and our -Geoff's no more like our crony of old days than I'm like Raffaelle. -There, that's it, as clear as I can put it!" - -Bowker waited for an instant, and then he said: - -"Ive tried hard enough, God knows!--hard enough to prevent myself from -thinking as you think, Charley; but all to no purpose. There is a cloud -over Geoff's life, and I fear it springs from----Some one knocking. -Keep 'em out, if possible; we don't want any one boring in here just -now." - -But the knocker, whoever he was, seemed by no means inclined to be -kept out. He not only obeyed the regular directions and "tugged the -trotter," but he afterwards gave three distinct and loud raps with his -fist on the door, which was the signal to the initiated; and when the -door was opened and the knocker appeared in the person of Mr. Stompff, -further resistance was useless. - -The great man entered the room with a light and airy step and a light -and airy address. "Well, Charley, how are you? Come to give you a -look-up, you see. Hallo! who's this?--Mr. Bowker, how do you do, -sir?" in a tone which meant, "What the devil do you do here?"--"how -are you, sir?--Well, Charley, what are you at? Going to the bad, you -villain,--going to the bad!" - -"Not quite that, I hope, Mr. Stompff--" - -"Working for Caniche, eh? That's the same thing, just the same thing! -Ive heard all about it. You've let that miserable Belgian get old of -you, eh? This is it, is it? Gal in a cornfield and mowers? what you -call 'em--reapers? That's it! reapers, and a little child. Some story, -eh? O, ah! Tennyson; I don't know him--not bad, by Jove! not half bad -it's Caniche's?" - -"Yes; that's Caniche's commission." - -"Give you fifty more than he's given to make it over to me. You won't, -of course not, you silly feller! it's only my joke. But look here, -mind you give me the refusal of the next. I can do better for you than -Caniche. He's a poor paltry chap. I go in for great things,--that's my -way, Mr. Bowker." - -"Is it?" growled old William over his pipe; "then you go in also for -great pay, Mr. Stompff, I suppose?" - -"Ask your friend Ludlow about that. He'll tell you whether I pay -handsomely or not, sir.--By the way, how is your friend Ludlow Potts?" - -"He's all right, I believe." - -"And his wife, how's she?" - -There was something in his tone and in the expression of his eyes which -made Mr. Potts say: - -"Mrs. Ludlow is going on very well, I believe," in a tone of -seriousness very unusual with Charley. - -"That's all right," said Mr. Stompff. "Going on very well, eh? Every -body will be glad to hear that, and Ludlow in partickler. Going on very -well--in a regular domestic quiet manner, eh? That's all right. Hasn't -been much used to the domestic style before her marriage, I should -think, eh?" - -"Whatever you may think, I should advise you not to say much, Mr. -Stompff," said Bowker. "I don't think Geoff would much like hearing -those things said of his wife; I'm sure I should not of mine." - -"N-no; but you have not a wife; I--I mean living, Mr. Bowker," said -Stompff with a sneer. - -William Bowker swallowed down a great lump rising in his throat, and -forcibly restrained the involuntary clenching of his fists, as he -replied, "No, you're right there, Mr. Stompff; but still I repeat my -advice." - -"O, I shall say nothing. People will talk, you know, Whether I'm silent -or not, and people will want to know who Mrs. Ludlow was before she -married Ludlow, and why she's so silent and preoccupied, and why she -never goes into society, and why she faints away when she looks at -photograph-books, and so on. But I didn't come here to talk of Mrs. -Ludlow. Now, Potts, _mon brave_, let us discuss business." - -When the great man took his departure, after proposing handsome terms -to Charley Potts for a three years' engagement, Bowker said; "There's -more in what we were saying when that blatant ruffian came in than I -thought for, Charley. The news of Geoff's domestic trouble has got -wind." - -"I'm afraid so. But what did Stompff mean about the fainting and the -photograph-book?" - -"God knows! probably an invention and a lie. But when people like -Stompff begin to talk in that way, it's bad for those they talk about, -depend upon it." - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. -THREATENING. - - -Geoffrey Ludlow felt considerable anxiety about his wife after the day -of their inauspicious visit to Lord Caterham; and as anxiety was quite -a foreign element in Geoff's placid temperament, it did not sit well -upon him, and it rendered him idle and desultory. He could not make -up his mind as to the true source of his anxiety,--the real spring -of his discomfort. Margaret's health was very good; her naturally -fine physique shook off illness easily and rapidly, and her rare -beauty was once more irradiated with the glow of health and strength. -Yet Geoffrey's inquietude was not lessened. He loved this strange -woman--this woman who compelled admiration, indeed, from others, but -won love only from him with passionate and intense devotion. But he -was ill at ease with her, and he began to acknowledge to himself that -it was so. He knew, he felt, that there was some new element, some -impalpable power in their lives, which was putting asunder those who -had never been very closely united in real bonds of sympathy and -confidence, with an irresistible, remorseless hand,--invisible and sure -as that of Death. - -There are no words to tell what this good fellow suffered in his -kindly, unselfish, simple way, as day by day the conviction forced -itself upon him that the woman he had so loved, the woman for whom he -lived, and worked, and thought, and hoped, was more and more divided -from him by some barrier--all the more impassable because he could -not point to it and demand an explanation of its presence, or utter a -plea for its removal. He would sit in his painting-room quite idle, -and with a moody brow--unlike the Geoff Ludlow of old times--and think -and puzzle himself about his wife; he would sometimes work, in short -desultory fits of industry, desperately, as though putting thought -from him by main force; and then he would meet Margaret, at meals or -other times of association, with so indifferent an assumption of being -just as usual, that it was wonderful she did not notice the change in -her husband. But Geoffrey did not interest her, and Margaret did not -observe him with any curiosity. The state of mind of this ill-assorted -pair at this time was very curious, had there been any one to -understand and analyse it. - -"What can it be?" Geoffrey would ask himself. "I cannot make it out. -She does not take any interest in any thing. I thought all women loved -their children at least, and the coldest warmed to their infants; but -she does not." - -Geoffrey had ceased to wonder at Margaret's coldness to him. She had -always been cold, and latterly her reserve and silence had increased. -She made no effort to hide the _ennui_ which wholly possessed her; she -made no attempt to simulate the interest in his occupations which she -had never felt in more than a lukewarm degree. His perceptions were not -very quick; but when he did see a thing, he was apt to understand and -reason upon it, and he reasoned upon this now; he pondered upon it and -upon his marriage, and he wondered when he remembered the joy and hope -with which he had entered upon the pretty, comfortable new home and the -quiet industrious life. What had come to it all? What had changed it, -and yet left it the same? He had not failed in any duty to this woman; -he had not given her less, but more than he had promised; for he was -much better off than he had hoped to be, and she had the command of -every shilling he earned. Never had an unkind word, a negligent act, -a failure in the tenderest of household kindnesses, recorded itself -in her memory against this man, who was her preserver, her protector, -her husband. Surprise, trouble, vague apprehension, above all, the -bewilderment of inexplicable wrong, were in Geoffrey's mind; but not a -touch of bitterness against her. He remembered the story she had told -him, and the promise he had pledged to her, and his generous heart -rested in the assurance she had then given him, and sought no farther. -His was not the nature which would count up the items in the bargain -between them, and set down the large balance that really existed on -his side. What had he given her? To answer this question aright, -knowledge must have been had of her whole life and all its depths of -suffering, of actual physical want sounded; all her love of luxury, -all her incapacity to bear privation, all her indolence, her artistic -sensuousness, her cultivated power of enjoyment, must have been known -and weighed. - -He had given her ease, security, respectability,--a name, a home -which was comfortable to the verge of luxury, which included all -that any woman could reasonably desire who had voluntarily accepted -a life upon the scale which it implied--a home to which his industry -and his love constantly added new comforts and decorations. Geoffrey -never thought of these things,--he did not appraise them; nor did -his generous heart dwell upon the sacrifice he had made, the risk -he had incurred, in short, upon the extraordinary imprudence of -his marriage. His nature was too magnanimous, and not sufficiently -practical for such considerations he thought of nothing but the love -he had given her,--the love she did not seem to understand, to care -for,--and he wondered, in his simple way, why such love, so deep and -quiet, so satisfied with home and her, could not make her more happy -and cheerful. Poor Geoffrey, calm and peace were the conditions of -life in which alone he could find or imagine happiness, and they were -just those which were detestable to Margaret. It is possible that, -had she been caught from the depths of her degradation and despair -in the grasp of a nature stronger and more violent than her own, the -old thrall might have fallen from her, and she might have been swayed -by the mingled charm and authority, the fierceness, the delight, the -fear of a great passion, so preoccupying that she would have had no -time for retrospect, so entrancing that she would have been forced to -live in the present. But the hand that had raised her from the abyss -was only gentle and tender; it lacked the force which would have wrung -submission from her afterwards, the power to imply that it could wound -as well as caress,--and its touch had no potency for that perverted -nature. What had she given him? Just her beauty,--nothing more. She -was his wife, and she cared for him no more than she cared for the -furniture of her rooms and the trinkets in her jewel-case (poor things, -she thought, which once would have been unworthy of her wearing, but -chosen with all Geoff's humble science, and bought with the guerdon of -many a day of Geoff's hard work); he was her child's father; and the -child bored her a little more unendurably than all the rest. Indeed, -all the rest was quiet--which at least was something--but the child was -not quiet; and Geoffrey made a fuss about it--a circumstance which lent -a touch of impatience to her distaste. He talked about the infant,--he -wanted to know if she thought her boy's eyes were like her own? and -whether she would like him to be an artist like his father? He talked -about the boy's eyes, and Lionel's electric glances were haunting her -troubled soul; he babbled about the boy's future, when she was enduring -the tortures of Tantalus in her terrible longing for the past. - -The child throve, and Geoffrey loved the little creature with a -vigilant affection curious and beautiful to see. When he felt that the -hopes he had built upon the infant, as a new and strong tie between -himself and Margaret, as a fresh source of interest, something to -awaken her from her torpidity, were not destined to be realised, he -turned, in the intensity of his disappointment and discomfiture, to the -child itself; and sought--unconsciously it may be, at least unavowedly -to himself--to fill up the void in his heart, to restore the warmth to -his home, through the innocent medium of the baby. The child did not -resemble his mother, even after the difficult-to-be-discovered fashion -of likenesses in babyhood. When he opened his eyes, in the solemn and -deliberate way in which young children look out upon the mysterious -world, they did not disclose violet tints nor oval-shaped heavy lids; -they were big brown eyes, like Geoffrey's, and the soft rings of downy -hair, which the nurse declared to be "the beautifullest curls she ever -see on an 'ead at 'is age," were not golden but dark brown. Geoffrey -held numerous conferences with the nurse about her charge, and might be -found many times in the day making his way with elaborate caution, and -the noiseless step which is a characteristic of big men, up the nursery -stair; and seen by the curious, had there been any to come there, -gazing at the infant lying in his cradle, or on his nurse's knee, with -a wistful rueful expression, and his hands buried in the pockets of his -painting-coat. - -He never found Margaret in the nursery on any of these occasions, and -she never evinced the slightest interest in the nursery government, -or responded to any of his ebullitions of feeling on the subject. Of -course the servants were not slow to notice the indifference of the -mother, and to comment upon it with unreserved severity. Margaret -was not a favourite at any time--"master" being perfection in their -minds--and her cold reserve and apathy impressing the domestics, who -could not conceive that "a good home" could be despicable in even the -most beautiful eyes, very unfavourably. - -Margaret was arraigned before the domestic tribunal, unknown to -herself; though, had she known it, the circumstance would have made no -impression upon her. Her cold pride would at all times have rendered -her indifferent to opinion; and now that indifference, weariness, -and distaste had entire possession of her, she had not even cared to -hide the dreary truth from her husband's mother and sister. What had -become of her resolutions with regard to them? Where were her first -impulses of gratitude? Gone--sunk in the Dead Sea of her overmastering -passion--utterly lost beneath the tide of her conscienceless -selfishness. She could not strive, she could not pretend, she could not -play any part longer. Why should she, to whom such talk was twaddle -of the trashiest description, try to appear interested because she -had given birth to Geoffrey's child? Well, there was the child; let -them make much of it, and talk nonsense to it and about it. What was -Geoffrey's child to her, or Geoffrey's mother, or--she had gone very -near to saying Geoffrey himself either, but something dimly resembling -a pang of conscience stopped her. He was very good, very honest, very -kind; and she was almost sorry for him,--as nearly sorry as she could -be for any but herself; and then the tide of that sorrow for herself -dashed over and swept all these trifling scraps of vague regret, of -perhaps elementary remorse, away on its tumultuous waves. - -She was cursed with such keen memory, she was haunted with such a -terrible sense of contrast! Had it been more dreadful, more agonising, -when she was a wanderer in the pitiless streets,--starving, homeless, -dying of sheer want; when the bodily suffering she endured was so great -that it benumbed her mind, and deadened it to all but craving for food -and shelter? The time of this terrible experience lay so far in the -past now, that she had begun to forget the reality of the torture; -she had begun to undervalue its intensity, and to think that she had -purchased rescue too dear. Too dead--she, whose glance could not fall -around her without resting on some memorial of the love she had won; -she, whose daily life was sheltered from every breath of ill and care! -She had always been weary; now she was growing enraged. Like the -imprisoned creatures of the desert and the jungle, in whom long spells -of graceful apathetic repose are succeeded by fierce fits of rebellious -struggle, she strove and fought with the gentle merciful fate which -had brought her into this pretty prison and supplied her with dainty -daily fare. It had all been bearable--at least until now--and she had -borne it well, and never turned upon her keeper. But the wind had set -from the lands of sun and fragrance, from the desert whose sands were -golden, whose wells were the sparkling waters of life and love, and she -had scented the old perfume in the breeze. All the former instincts -revived, the slight chain of formal uncongenial habit fell away, and -in the strength of passion and beauty she rebelled against her fate. -Perhaps the man she loved and longed for, as the sick long for health -or the shipwrecked for a sail, had never seen her look so beautiful -as she looked one day, when, after Mrs. Ludlow and her daughter, who -had come to lunch at Elm Lodge, had gone away, and Geoffrey, puzzled -and mortified more than ever, had returned to his painting-room, she -stood by the long window of the drawing-room, gazing out over the trim -little space which bloomed with flowers and glowed in the sunshine, -with eyes which seemed indeed as if their vision cleft distance and -disdained space. Her cheeks, usually colourless, were touched with -a faint rose-tinge; and the hurry and excitement of her thoughts -seemed to pervade her whole frame, which was lighted by the rays of -the afternoon sun, from the rich coils of her red-gold hair to the -restless foot which tapped the carpet angrily. As she stood, varying -expressions flitted over her face like clouds; but in them all there -was an intensity new to it, and which would have told an observer that -the woman who looked so was taking a resolution. - -Suddenly she lifted her hands above her head to the full extent of her -arms, then tore the twisted fingers asunder with a moan, as if of pain -or hunger, and letting them fall by her side, flung herself into a -chair. - -"Have you heard any thing of Lord Caterham lately?" asked Mrs. Geoffrey -Ludlow of her husband, a few days after his mother's visit, just as -Geoffrey, having breakfasted, was about to retire to his painting-room. -She asked the question in the most careless possible manner, and -without removing her eyes from the _Times_, which she was reading; but -Geoffrey was pleased that she should have asked it at all,--any sign of -interest on Margaret's part in any one for whom he cared being still -precious to Geoffrey, and becoming rarer and more rare. - -"No, dear," he replied; "Annie said she would write as soon as Lord -Caterham should be well enough to see me. I suppose I may tell her, -then, that she may come and see you. You are quite well now, Margaret?" - -"O yes, quite well," she replied; and then added, with the faintest -flicker of colour on her cheek, "Lord Caterham's brother is not at -home, I believe. Have you ever seen him?" - -"Captain Brakespere? No, net I. There's something wrong about him. I -don't understand the story, but Annie just mentioned that Lord Caterham -had been in great distress about him. Well, Margaret, I'm off now to -the Esplanade." - -He looked wistfully at her; but she did not speak or lift up her eyes, -and he went out of the room. - -If there was trouble of the silent and secret kind in Geoffrey's -home, there was also discontent of the outspoken sort at his mother's -cheerful house in Brompton. - -Mrs. Ludlow was wholly unprepared to find that Margaret cared so little -for her child. It was with no small indignation that she commented upon -Margaret's demeanour, as she and her daughter sat together; and deeper -than her indignation lay her anxiety, and a vague apprehension of evil -in store for her darling son. - -"She is sulky and discontented,--that's what she is," repeated Mrs. -Ludlow; "and what she can want or wish for that she has not got passes -my comprehension." - -Miss Ludlow said that perhaps it was only accidental. She would be -sorry to think Margaret had such faults of temper to any confirmed -degree. It would be dreadful for dear old Geoff, who was so -sweet-tempered himself, and who never could understand unamiable -persons. But she added she did not think Geoff perceived it. She was -sure he would never think that Margaret was not fond of the child. - -"O yes, he does perceive it," said Mrs. Ludlow; "I can see that very -plainly; I saw it in his face when he came up to the nursery with us, -and she never offered to stir; and did you not notice, Til, that when I -asked her what the doctor said about vaccinating baby, she looked at me -quite vacantly, and Geoffrey answered? Ah, no; he knows it well enough, -poor fellow; and how ever he is to get through life with a woman with a -bad temper and no heart, I'm sure I can't tell." - -Geoffrey had never relaxed in his attention to his mother. In the -early days of his marriage, when he had persuaded himself that there -was nothing in the least disappointing in Margaret's manner, and that -he was perfectly happy; in those days to which he looked back now, in -the chill dread and discomfort of the present, as to vanished hours -of Paradise, he had visited his mother, sent her presents, written -short cheery notes to her and Til, and done every thing in his power -to lesson their sense of the inevitable separation which his marriage -had brought about. His love and his happiness had had no hardening -or narrowing effect upon Geoffrey Ludlow. They had quickened his -perceptions and added delicacy to his sympathies. But there was a -difference now. Geoffrey felt unwilling to see his mother and sister; -he felt that their perception of Margaret's conduct had been distinct, -and their disapproval complete; and he shrank from an interview which -must include avoidance of the subject occupying all their minds. He -would not willingly have had Margaret blamed, even by implication by -others; though there was something more like anger than he had ever -felt or thought he could feel towards her in his gentle heart, as he -yielded to the conviction that she had no love for her child. - -Thus it happened that Geoffrey did not see his mother and sister for a -week just at this time, during which interval there was no change in -the state of affairs at home. He wrote, indeed, to Til, and made cheery -mention of the boy and of his picture, which was getting on splendidly, -and at which he was working so hard that he could not manage to get -so far as Brompton for a day or two yet, but would go very soon; and -Margaret sent her love. So Geoffrey made out a letter which might have -been written by a blundering schoolboy--a letter over which his mother -bent sad and boding looks, and Til had a "good cry." Though Geoffrey -had not visited them lately, the ladies had not been altogether -deprived of the society of men and artists. The constancy with which -Charley Potts paid his respects was quite remarkable; and it fell -out that, seeing Matilda rather out of spirits, and discerning that -something was going wrong, Charley very soon extracted from Til what -that something was, and they proceeded to exchange confidences on the -subject of Geoffrey and his beautiful wife. Charley informed Matilda -that none of "our fellows" who had been introduced to Mrs. Geoffrey -liked her; and as for Stompff, "he hates her all out, you know," said -the plain-spoken Charley; "but I don't mind that, for she's a lady, and -Stompff--he--he's a beast, you know." - -When Geoffrey could no longer defer a visit to his mother without the -risk of bringing about questions and expostulations which must make the -state of things at home openly known, and place him in the embarrassing -position of being obliged to avow an estrangement for which he could -assign no cause, he went to Brompton. The visit was not a pleasant -one, though the mother and sister were even more demonstrative in -their affectionate greeting than usual, and though they studiously -avoided any reference to the subject in their minds and in his. But -this was just what he dreaded; they did studiously avoid it; and by -doing so they confirmed all his suspicions, they realised all his -fears. Geoffrey did not even then say to himself that his marriage was -a mistake, and his mother and sister had discovered it; but had his -thoughts, his misgivings been put into words, they must have taken -some such shape. They talked energetically about the child, and asked -Geoff all sorts of feminine questions, which it would have affected -a male listener rather oddly to have heard Geoff answer with perfect -seriousness, and a thorough acquaintance with details. He had several -little bits of news for them; how Mr. Stompff, reminiscent of his -rather obtrusive promise, had sent the clumsiest, stumpiest, ugliest -lump of a silver mug procurable in London as a present to the child, -but had not presented himself at Elm Lodge; how Miss Maurice had been -so delighted with the little fellow, and had given him a beautiful -embroidered frock, and on Lord Caterham's behalf endowed him with a -salver "big enough to serve himself up upon, mother," said Geoff, with -his jolly laugh: "I put him on it, and carried him round the room for -Annie to see." - -Beyond the inevitable inquiries, there was no mention made of Margaret; -but when his mother kissed him at parting, and when Til lingered a -moment longer than usual, with her arms round his neck, at the door, -Geoffrey felt the depth and bitterness of the trouble that had come -into his life more keenly, more chillingly than he had felt it yet. - -"This shall not last," he said, as he walked slowly towards home, his -head bent downwards, and all his features clouded with the gloom that -had settled upon him. "This shall not last any longer. I have done all -I can; if she is unhappy, it is not my fault; but I must know why. I -cannot bear it; I have not deserved it. I will keep silence no longer. -She must explain what it means." - - - - -CHAPTER XV. -LADY BEAUPORT'S PLOT COLLAPSES. - - -Although the flame of life, at its best a feeble flicker, now -brightened by a little gust of hope, now deadened by an access of -despair,--had begun steadily to lessen in Lord Caterham's breast, -and he felt, with that consciousness which never betrays, that his -interest in this world, small as it had been, was daily growing less, -he had determined to prevent the execution of one act which he knew -would be terribly antagonistic to the welfare of her whom his heart -held dearest. We, fighting the daily battle of life, going forth each -morning to the encounter, returning each eve with fresh dints on our -harness, new notches in our swords, and able to reckon up the cost and -the advantages gained by the day's combat, are unable to appreciate the -anxieties and heart-burnings, the longings and the patience of those -whom we leave behind us as a _corps de reserve_, apparently inactive, -but in reality partaking of all the worst of the contest without the -excitement of sharing it. The conflict that was raging amongst the -Beauport family was patent to Caterham; he saw the positions taken -up by the contending parties, had his own shrewd opinion as to their -being tenable or the reverse, calmly criticised the various points of -strategy, and laid his plans accordingly. In this it was an advantage -to him that he was out of the din and the shouting and the turmoil of -the battle; nobody thought of him, any more than any one in the middle -of an action thinks of the minister in his office at home, by whom the -despatches are written, and who in reality pulls the strings by which -the man in scarlet uniform and gold-laced cocked-hat is guided, and to -whom he is responsible. Lord Caterham was physically unfitted for the -conduct of strategic operations, but he was mentally qualified for the -exercise of diplomacy in the highest degree; and diplomacy was required -in the present juncture. - -In his solitary hours he had been accustomed to recal his past life in -its apparently insignificant, but to him important ramifications;--the -red south wall is the world to the snail that has never known -other resting-place;--and in these days of illness and languor he -reverted more and more to his old means of passing the time. A dull -retrospect--a weary going over and over again of solitude, depression, -and pain. Thoughts long since forgotten recurred to him as in the -silence of the night he passed in review the petty incidents of his -uneventful career. He recollected the burning shame which had first -possessed him at the knowledge of his own deformity; the half envy, -half wonder, with which he had gazed at other lads of his own age; the -hope that had dawned upon him that his parents and friends might feel -for him something of the special love with which Tiny Tim was regarded -in that heartfullest of all stories, _The Christmas Carol_; how that -wondrous book had charmed him, when, a boy of ten or twelve years old, -he had first read it; how, long before it had been seen by either his -father or mother, he had studied and wept over it; how, prompted by a -feeling which he could not analyse, he had induced Lord Beauport to -read it, how he knew--intuitively, he was never told--that it had been -shown to his mother; and how that Christmastide he had been treated -with consideration and affection never before accorded to him--had -been indeed preferred to Lionel, greatly to that young gentleman's -astonishment and disgust. It did not last long, that halcyon time; the -spells of the romancer held the practical father and the fashionable -mother in no lengthened thrall; and when they were dissipated, there -was merely a crippled, deformed, blighted lad as their eldest hope -and the heir to their honours. Tiny Tim borne aloft on his capering -father's shoulders; Tiny Tim in his grave,--these were images to wring -the heart not unpleasantly, and to fill the eyes with tears of which -one was rather proud, as proof of how easily the heart was wrung: but -for a handsome couple--one known as a _beau garcon_, the other as a -beauty--to have to face the stern fact that their eldest son was a -cripple was any thing but agreeable. - -Untrusted--that was it. Never from his earliest days could he recollect -what it was to have trust reposed in him. He knew--he could not help -knowing--how superior he was in ability and common-sense to any in -that household; he knew that his father at least was perfectly aware -of this; and yet that Lord Beauport could not disconnect the idea of -bodily decrepitude and mental weakness; and therefore looked upon his -eldest son as little more than a child in mind. As for Caterham's -mother, the want of any feeling in common between them, the utter -absence of any maternal tenderness, the manifest distaste with which -she regarded him, and the half-wearied, half-contemptuous manner in -which she put aside the attempts he made towards a better understanding -between them, had long since begun to tell upon him. There was a time -when, smarting under her lifelong neglect, and overcome by the utter -sense of desolation weighing him down, he had regarded his mother -with a feeling bordering on aversion; then her presence, occasionally -bestowed upon him--always for her own purposes---awakened in him -something very like disgust. But he had long since conquered that: he -had long since argued himself out of that frame of mind. Self-commune -had done its work; the long, long days and nights of patient reflexion -and self-examination, aided by an inexplicable sense of an overhanging -great change, had softened and subdued all that had been temporarily -hard and harsh in Lord Caterham's nature; and there was no child, -kneeling at its little bedside, whose "God bless dear papa and mamma!" -was more tenderly earnest than the blessing which the crippled man -constantly invoked on his parents. - -He loved them in a grave, steady, reverential, dutiful way--loved them -even with greater warmth, with more complete fondness than he had done -for years; but his love never touched his instinct of justice--never -warped his sense of what was right. He remembered how, years before, -he had been present, a mere boy, sitting perched up in his wheelchair, -apparently forgotten, in an obscure corner of his father's study at -Homershams, while Lord Beauport administered a terrific "wigging," -ending in threats of gaols and magistrates, to an unlucky wretch -accused of poaching by the head-keeper; and he recollected how, when -the man had been dismissed with a severe warning, he had talked to -and argued with his father, first on the offence, and then on Lord -Beauport's administration of justice, with an air of grave and earnest -wisdom which had amused his father exceedingly. He had held the same -sentiments throughout his dreary life--he held them now. He knew that -a plot was formed by his mother to bring his brother Lionel back to -England, with a view to his marriage with Annie Maurice, and he was -determined that that plot should not succeed. Why? He had his reasons, -as they had theirs. To his own heart he confessed that he loved Annie -with all the depth of his soul; but that was not what prompted him in -this matter. He should be far removed from the troubling before that; -but he had his reason, and he should keep it to himself. They had not -trusted in him, though they had been compelled to take allies from the -outside--dear old Algy Barford, for instance--but they had not trusted -him, and he would not reveal his secret. Was Lionel to marry Annie -Maurice, eh? No; that should never be. He might not be there himself -to prevent it; but he would leave behind him instructions with some -one, which would--Ah! he had hit upon the some one at once,--Geoffrey -Ludlow, Annie's oldest and dearest friend, honest as the day, brave -and disinterested; not a clever business man perhaps, but one who, -armed with what he could arm him with, must, with his sheer singleness -of purpose, carry all before him. So far, so good; but there would -be a first step which they would take perhaps before he could bring -that weapon into play. His mother would contrive to get Lionel into -the house, on his return, to live with them, so that he might have -constant opportunities of access to Annie. That was a point in which, -as he gleaned, she placed the greatest confidence. If her Lionel -had not lost all the fascinating qualities which had previously so -distinguished him; if he preserved his looks and his address, this -young girl--so inexperienced in the world's ways, so warm-hearted and -impressible--would have no choice but to succumb. - -Caterham would see about that at once. Lionel should never remain -_en permanence_ in that house again. Lady Beauport would object of -course. She had, when she had set her mind upon an object, a steady -perseverance in its accomplishment; but neither her patience nor her -diplomacy were comparable to his, when he was equally resolved, as she -should find. No; on that point at least he was determined. His darling, -his treasure, should not even be compelled to run the gauntlet of such -a sin-stained courtship as his brother Lionel's must necessarily be. -What might be awaiting her in the future, God alone knew: temptations -innumerable; pursuit by fortune-hunters: all those trials which beset -a girl who, besides being pretty and rich, has no blood-relative on -whom to reckon for counsel and aid. He would do his best to remedy -this deficiency; he would leave the fullest instructions, the warmest -adjurations to good Geoffrey Ludlow--ah! what a pity it was that -Ludlow's wife was not more heartful and reliable!--and he would -certainly place a veto upon the notion that Lionel, on his return, -should become an inmate of the house. He knew that this must be done -quickly, and he determined to take the first opportunity that presented -itself. That opportunity was not long in coining; within ten days after -Margaret's fainting-fit, Lady. Beauport paid one of her rare maternal -visits, and Lord Caterham saw that his chance had arrived. - -There was an extra glow of geniality in Lady Beauport's manner that -morning, and the frosty peck which she had made at her son's cheek -had perhaps a trifle more warmth in it than usual. She seated herself -instead of standing, as was her wont, and chatted pleasantly. - -"What is this I hear about your having a lady fainting in your room, -Arthur?" said she, with one of her shiniest smiles. (What calumny -they spread about enamel! Lady Beauport smiled perpetually, and her -complexion never cracked in the slightest degree.) "You must not bring -down scandal on our extremely proper house. She did faint, didn't she?" - -"O, yes, mother, she did faint undoubtedly--went what you call -regularly 'off,' I believe." - -"Ah! so Stephens told Timpson. Well, sir, don't you think that is -reprehensible enough? A lady comes to call on a bachelor, and is -discovered fainting! Why? Heaven knows--" and her ladyship gave an -unpleasantly knowing chuckle. - -"Well, I must admit that no one knows, or ever will know why, save that -the lady was probably over-fatigued, having only just recovered from a -serious illness. But then, you know, the lady's husband was with her, -so that--" - -"O, yes, I heard all about that. You are a most prudent swain, -Caterham! The lady's husband with her, indeed! Most prudent! You always -remind me of the play--I don't know what it's called--something about a -French milliner and a screen--" - -"'The School for Scandal,' you mean?" - -"Very likely. Ive forgotten the name, but I know I recollect seeing -Farren and Miss Foote and all of them in it. And I so often think of -the two brothers: you so quiet and reserved, like one; and the other -so rackety and buoyant, so full of high spirits and gaiety, like our -Lionel. Ah me!" and Lady Beauport heaved a deep sigh and clasped her -hands sadly in front of her. - -Caterham smiled--rather a sad dreary smile--as he said, "Let us trust -that quiet and reserve don't always have the effect which they produced -on the gentleman to whom you are alluding, mother. But I may as well -let you know the real story of Mrs. Ludlow's fainting-fit, which seems -to have become rather warped in its journey. I had asked her husband -to call upon me on a matter of business; and he foolishly brought -her--only just out of her confinement--with him. The consequence -was, that, as we were talking, and she was looking through a book of -photographs, she fainted away." - -"Ay! I heard something of that sort. She must be a curious person to be -so easily affected, or it was thoughtless of her husband to bring her -out too soon. He is an odd kind of man though, is he not? Absent, and -that kind of thing?" - -"Ye-es; his heart is in his work, and he is generally thinking about -it." - -"So I had imagined. What odd people you know, Arthur! Your -acquaintances all seem such strange people--so different from your -father's and mine!" - -"Yes, mother," said Caterham, with a repetition of the sad smile; -"perhaps you're right generally. Your friends would scarcely care for -me, and I am sure I do not care for them. But Geoffrey Ludlow became -known to me through his old intimacy with Annie--our Annie." - -"Ye-es. I scarcely know why 'our Annie,' though. You see, both your -father and I have many blood-relations, more or less distant, on either -side; and it would not be particularly convenient if the mere fact -of their being blood-relations compelled us to acknowledge them as -'ours.' Not that Ive any thing to say against Miss Maurice, though; -on the contrary, she's a very charming girl. At one time I thought -that--However, let that pass. She holds quite a different position now; -and I think every one will allow that my treatment of her is what it -should be." - -"Of course, mother. No one would dream of doubting it." - -"Well, perhaps not, Arthur; but you're such a recluse, you know, that -you're scarcely a judge of these things--one does not know what people -won't say. The world is so full of envy and jealousy, and all that, I'm -sure my position in regard to the matter is any thing but an agreeable -one. Here I am, having to act _chaperon_ to this girl, who is known -now as an heiress; and all kinds of men paying her attention, simply -on account of her wealth. What I suffer when we're out together, you -can't conceive. Every night, wherever we may be, there is a certain set -of men always hanging about her, waiting for an introduction--persons -whose acquaintance cannot do her the slightest good, and with whom she -is yet quite as willing to talk or to dance as she is with he most -available _parti_ in London." - -Caterham smiled again. "You forget, mother, that she's not accustomed -to the kind of life--" - -"No; I don't forget anything of the kind, Arthur. It is her not being -accustomed to it that is my greatest trouble. She is as raw as a child -of seventeen Aft her first drawing-room. If she had any _savoir faire_, -any knowledge of society, I should be perfectly at ease. A girl of any -appreciation would know how to treat these people in an instant. Why, -I know myself, that when I was far younger than Miss Maurice, I should -have felt a kind of instinctive warning against two-thirds of the men -with whom Annie Maurice is as talkative and as pleasant as though they -were really persons whose acquaintance it was most desirable that she -should make." - -"And yet Annie is decidedly a clever girl." - -"So much the worse, Arthur,--so much the worse. The more reason that -she is utterly unlikely to possess or to be able readily to acquire the -peculiar knowledge which would fit her to act under the circumstances -of which I am speaking. Your clever people--such at least as are called -clever by you and those whom you cultivate--are precisely the people -who act idiotically in worldly affairs, who either know nothing or who -set at defiance the _convenances_ of society, and of whom nothing can -be made. That man--no, let me give you an example--that man who dined -here last Thursday on your invitation--Professor Somebody, wasn't -he?--Ive heard of him at that place where they give the scientific -lectures in Albemarle Street--was any thing ever seen like his cravat, -or his shoes, or the way in which he ate his soup?--he trod on my dress -twice in going down to dinner, and I heard perfectly plainly what Lady -Clanronald said to that odious Mr. Beauchamp Hogg about him." - -"My father spoke to me in the highest terms about--" - -"Of course he did; that's just it. Your father knows nothing about this -sort of thing. It all falls upon me. If Annie Maurice were to make a -_mesalliance_, or, without going so far as that, were to permit herself -to be engaged to some penniless fortune-hunter, and were to refuse--as -she very likely would, for she has an amount of obstinacy in her -composition, I am inclined to think, which one very seldom finds--to -listen to the remonstrances of those whose opinion ought to have weight -with her, it is I, not your father, who would be blamed by the world." - -"Your troubles certainly seem greater, mother, than I, in my bachelor -ignorance, could have imagined." - -"They are not comprehensible, even after my explanation, Arthur, by -those who have not to undergo them. There is scarcely any thing in my -married life which has given me such pleasure as the thought that, -having no daughters, I should be relieved of all duties of chaperonage; -that I should not be compelled to go to certain places unless I wished; -and that I should be able to leave others at what hours I liked. And -now I find this very duty incumbent upon me." - -"Well, but, my dear mother, surely Annie is the very last girl in the -world for whom it is necessary to make any such sacrifices. She does -not care about going out; and when out, she seems, from all she says to -me, to have only one anxiety, and that is--to get home again as soon as -possible." - -"Ay, from all she says to you, Arthur; but then you know, as Ive -said before, you are a regular old bachelor, without the power of -comprehending these things, and to whom a girl certainly would not be -likely to show her real feelings. No; there's only one way to relieve -me from my responsibility." - -"And that is--" - -"And that is by getting her married." - -"A-ah!" Caterham drew a long breath--it was coming now. - -"Married," continued Lady Beauport, "to some one whom we know, and in -whom we could trust; some one who would keep her near us, so that we -could still keep up an interest in her; and you--for I know how very -much attached you are to her, Arthur--could see her constantly, without -trouble to yourself. That is the only manner in which I can see a -conclusion to my anxiety on Annie's account." - -Lady Beauport endeavoured to speak in the same tone in which she had -commenced the conversation; but there was a quiver in her voice and a -tremulous motion in her hands which showed Caterham plainly that she -was ill at ease. - -"And do you think that such a husband would be easily found for Annie, -mother?" said he, looking up at her with one of his steady piercing -glances from under his eyebrows. - -"Not easily, of course; but still to be found, Arthur." - -"From your manner, you seem to have already given the subject some -attention. May I ask if you have any one in prospect who would fulfil -all the conditions you have laid down in the first place, and in the -second would be likely to be acceptable to Annie?" - -"How very singular you are, Arthur! You speak in a solemn tone, as if -this were the most important matter in the world." - -"It is sufficiently important to Annie at least. Would you mind -answering me?" - -Lady Beauport saw that it was useless fighting off the explanation -any further. Her project must be disclosed now, however it might be -received by her eldest son; and she determined to bring her stateliest -and most dignified manner to its disclosure: so she composed her face -to its usual cold statuesque calmness, folded her wandering hands -before her, and in a voice in which there was neither break nor tremor, -said: - -"No: I will answer you quite straightforwardly. I think that it would -be an admirable thing for all parties if a marriage could be arranged -between Annie Maurice and your brother Lionel. Lionel has position, -and is a distinguished-looking man, of whom any woman might be proud; -and the fortune which Mr. Ampthill so oddly left to Miss Maurice will -enable him to hold his own before the world, and--how strangely you -look, Caterham!--what is the matter?--what were you about to say?" - -"Only one thing, mother--that marriage must never be." - -"Must never be!" - -"Never. Hear me out. I have kept accurate account of all you have said, -and will judge you in the first place simply out of your own mouth. -Your first point was that Miss Maurice should be married to some one -whom we knew, and whom we could trust. Could we trust Lionel? Could we -trust the man whose father's head was bowed to the dust, whose mother's -eyes were filled with tears at the mere recital of his deeds of sin -and shame? Could we trust the man who was false to his friend, and -who dragged down into the dirt not merely himself, but all who bore -his name? You spoke of his position--what is that, may I ask? Are we -to plume ourselves on our relationship with an outcast? or are we to -hold out as an inducement to the heiress the fact that her intended -husband's liberty is at the mercy of those whom he has swindled and -defrauded?" - -"Caterham! Arthur! you are mad--you--" - -"No, mother, I am simply speaking the truth. I should not even have -insisted on that in all its bitterness, had I not been goaded to it by -your words. You talk of devoting the fortune which Annie Maurice has -inherited to setting Lionel right before the world, and you expect me -to sit quietly by! Why, the merest instincts of justice would have made -me cry out against such a monstrous proposition, even if Lionel had not -long since forfeited, as Annie has long since won, all my love." - -"A-h!" said Lady Beauport, suddenly pausing in her tears, and looking -up at him,--"long since won all your love, eh? I have often suspected -that, Caterham; and now you have betrayed yourself. It is jealousy -then,--mere personal jealousy,--by which all your hatred of your -younger brother is actuated!" - -Once more the dreary smile came over Lord Caterham's face. "No, -mother," said he, "it is not that. I love Annie Maurice as I love the -sun, as I love health, as I love rest from pain and weariness; and with -about as much hope of winning either. You could confer on me no greater -happiness than by showing me the man deserving of her love; and the -thought that her future would have a chance of being a happy one would -relieve my life of its heaviest anxiety. But marry Lionel she shall -not; nay, more, she shall not be exposed to the chance of communication -with him, so long as I can prevent it." - -"You forget yourself, Lord Caterham! You forget not merely whose house -you are in, but to whom you are speaking." - -"I trust not, mother. I trust I shall never--certainly not now, at -this time--forget my duty to you and to my father; but I know more -than I can ever divulge even to you. Take for granted what I tell you; -let what you know of Lionel's ways and conduct suffice to prove that -a marriage between him and Annie is impossible,--that you would be -culpable in lending yourselves to such a scheme." - -"I have not the least idea of what you are talking about, Arthur," said -Lady Beauport after a minute's pause. "You appear to have conceived -some ridiculous idea about your brother Lionel, into the discussion -of which you must really excuse my following you. Besides, even if -you had good grounds for all you say, you are too late in making the -remonstrance. Lionel arrived in England the day before yesterday." - -Lord Caterham started, and by the help of his stick raised himself for -a moment. - -"Lionel returned! Lionel in England, mother! After all his promises, -after the strict conditions on which my father purchased for him -immunity from the penalties of his crime! How is this? Does Lord -Beauport know it?" - -Lady Beauport hesitated. She had been betrayed by her vexation into -saying more than she had intended, and had placed Lionel in his -brother's power. Lord Caterham, she had hoped, would have received -her confidence in a different spirit,--perhaps she had calculated -on his being flattered by its novelty,--and would assist her in -breaking the fact of the prodigal's return to his father, and winning -him over to her way of thinking. She had by no means forgotten the -painful solemnity with which the Earl had renounced Lionel, and the -formal sentence of exclusion which had been passed against him; but -Lady Beauport understood her husband well, and had managed him with -tolerable success for many years. He had forbidden all mention of their -son to her, as to every other member of the family; but Lady Beauport -had been in the habit of insinuating an occasional mention of him for -some time past; and it had not been badly received. Perhaps neither -the father nor the mother would have acknowledged to themselves or -to each other the share in this change of feeling which belonged to -the unmistakable daily decline of Lord Caterham's health. They never -alluded to the future, but they saw it, and it influenced them both. -Lady Beauport had not looked for Lionel's return so soon; she had -expected more patience--it might have been appropriately called more -decency--from him; she had thought her difficulties would be much -lessened before his return; but he had neglected her injunctions, -and forestalled her instructions: he had arrived,--there was no -help for it; she must meet the difficulty now. She had been meeting -difficulties, originating from the same source, for many years; and -though Caterham's manner annoyed her deeply, she kept her courage up. -Her first instinct was to evade her son's last question, by assuming an -injured tone in reference to his first. So she said, - -"O, it's all very well to talk about his promises, Arthur; but, really, -how you could expect Lionel to remain in Australia I cannot understand." - -"I did not, and I do not, form any expectations whatever concerning -Lionel, mother," her son replied, in a steady voice, and without -releasing her from his gaze; "that is beside the question. Lionel has -broken his pledged word to my father by returning here,--you know he -has,--and he has not given any career a fair trial. I can guess the -expectations with which he has returned," he continued in a bitter -tone; "and God knows I trust they are not unfounded. But my place is -not vacant _yet_; and he has forfeited his own. You cannot restore it -to him. Why has he returned?" - -Lady Beauport did not dare to say, "Because I wrote to him, and told -him to come home, and marry Annie Maurice, and buy the world's fickle -favour over again with her money, while waiting for yours;" but her -silence said it for her; and Caterham let his eyes drop from her face -in disgust, as he coldly said, - -"Once more, madam, I ask you, is my father aware that Lionel is in -London?" - -"No," she replied boldly, seeing things were at the worst; "he is -not. I tell you, Caterham, if you tell him, before I have time and -opportunity to break it to him, and set your father against him, and on -keeping his word just as a point of pride, I will never forgive you. -What good could it do you? What harm has Lionel done you? How could he -stay in that horrid place? He's not a tradesman, I should think; and -what could he _do_ there? nor an Irishman, I hope; so what could he -_be_ there? The poor boy was perfectly miserable; and when I told him -to come lit, me, I thought you'd help me, Arthur,--I did indeed." - -A grave sad smile passed over Lord Caterham's worn face. Here was his -proud mother trying to cajole him for the sake of the profligate son -who had never felt either affection or respect for her. Had a less -object been at stake he might have yielded to the weakness which he -rather pitied than despised; yielded all the more readily that it would -not be for long. But Annie's peace, Annie's welfare was in danger, and -his mother's weakness could meet with no toleration at his hands. - -"Listen to me, mother," he said; "and let this be no more mentioned -between us. I am much exhausted to-day, and have little strength at -any time; but my resolve is unshaken. I will not inform my father of -Lionel's return, if you think you can manage to tell him, and to induce -him to take it without anger more successfully than I can. But while I -live Lionel Brakespere shall never live in the same house with Annie -Maurice; and whether I am living or dead, I will prevent his ever -making her his wife. This is her proper home; and I will do my best -to secure her remaining in it; but how long do you suppose she would -stay, if she heard the plans you have formed?" Lady Beauport attempted -to speak, but he stopped her. "One moment more, mother," he said, -"and I have done. Let me advise you to deceive my father no more for -Lionel. He is easily managed, I have no doubt, by those whom he loves -and admires; but he is impatient of deceit, being very loyal himself. -Tell him without delay what you have done; but do not, if even he takes -it better than you hope, and that you think such a suggestion would -be safe,--do not suggest that Lionel should come here. Let me, for my -little time, be kept from any collision with my father. I ask this -of you, mother." O, how the feeble voice softened, and the light in -the eyes deepened! "And my requests are neither frequent nor hard to -fulfil, I think." - -He had completely fathomed her purpose; he had seen the projects she -had formed, even while he was speaking the first sentences; and had -defeated them. By a violent effort she controlled her temper,--perhaps -she had never made so violent an effort, even for Lionel, before,--and -answered,-- - -"I hardly understand you, Arthur; but perhaps you are right. At all -events, you agree to say nothing to your father,--to leave it to me?" - -"Certainly," said Caterham. He had won the day; but his mother's manner -had no sign of defeat about it, no more than it had sign of softening. -She rose, and bade him goodmorning. He held her hand for a moment, and -his eyes followed her wistfully, as she went out of his room. - -As she passed through the passage, just outside her son's door she saw -a stout keen-looking man sitting on the bench, who rose and bowed as -she passed. - -When Stephens answered the bell, he found his master lying back, -bloodless and almost fainting. After he had administered the usual -restoratives, and when life seemed flowing back again, the valet said, - -"Inspector Blackett, my lord, outside." - -Lord Caterham made a sign with his hand, and the stout man entered. - -"The usual story, Blackett, I suppose?" - -"Sorry to say so, my lord. No news. Two of my men tried Maidstone again -yesterday, and Canterbury, thinking they were on the scent there; but -no signs of her." - -"Very good, Blackett," said Caterham faintly; "don't give in yet." - -Then, as the door closed behind the inspector, the poor sufferer looked -up heavenward and muttered, "O Lord, how long--how long?" - - - - - -Book the Third. - - - - -CHAPTER I. -THE WHOLE TRUTH. - - -No one who knew Geoffrey Ludlow would have recognised him in the -round-shouldered man with the prone head, the earth-seeking eyes, the -hands plunged deeply in his pockets, plodding home on that day on which -he had determined that Margaret should give him an explanation of her -conduct towards him. Although Geoff had never been a roisterer, had -never enlisted in that army of artists whose members hear "the chimes -o'midnight," had always been considered more or less slow and steady, -and was looked upon as one of the most respectable representatives of -the community, yet his happy disposition had rendered him a general -favourite even amongst those ribalds, and his equable temper and kindly -geniality were proverbial among all the brethren of the brush. Ah, that -equable temper, that kindly geniality,--where were they now? Those -expanded nostrils, those closed lips, spoke of very different feelings; -that long steady stride was very different from the joyous step which -had provoked the cynicism of the City-bound clerks; that puckered -brow, those haggard cheeks, could not be recognised as the facial -presentments of the Geoffrey Ludlow of a few short months since. - -In good sooth he was very much altered. The mental worrying so long -striven against in silence had begun to tell upon his appearance; the -big broad shoulders had become rounded; the gait had lost its springy -elasticity, the face was lined, and the dark-brown hair round the -temples and the long full beard were dashed with streaks of silver. -These changes troubled him but little. Never, save perhaps during the -brief period of his courtship of Margaret, had he given the smallest -thought to his personal appearance; yellow soap and cold water had -been his cosmetics, and his greatest sacrifice to vanity had been to -place himself at rare intervals under the hairdresser's scissors. -But there were other changes to which, try as he might, he could not -blind himself. He knew that the very source and fount of his delight -was troubled, if not sullied; he knew that all his happiness, so long -wished for, so lately attained, was trembling in the balance; he felt -that indefinable, indescribable sensation of something impending, -something which would shatter his roof-tree and break up that home -so recently established. As he plunged onward through the seething -streets, looking neither to the right nor to the left, he thought -vaguely of the events of the last few months of his life--thought of -them, regarding them as a dream. How long was it since he was so happy -at home with his old mother and with Til? when the monthly meeting -of the Titians caused his greatest excitement, and when his hopes of -fame were yet visionary and indistinct? How long was it since he had -met _her_ that fearful night, and had drunk of the beauty and the -witchery which had had such results? He was a man now before the world -with a name which people knew and respected, with a wife whose beauty -people admired; but, ah! where was the quietude, the calm unpretending -happiness of those old days? - -What could it mean? Had she a wish ungratified? He taxed his mind to -run through all the expressions of her idle fancy, but could think of -none with which he had not complied. Was she ill? He had made that -excuse for her before her baby was born; but now, not merely the -medical testimony, but his own anxious scrutiny told him that she -was in the finest possible health. There was an odd something about -her sometimes which he could not make out--an odd way of listening -vacantly, and not replying to direct questions, which he had noticed -lately, and only lately; but that might be a part of her idiosyncrasy. -Her appetite too was scarcely as good as it used to be; but in all -other respects she seemed perfectly well. There might have been some -difficulty with his mother and sister, he had at first imagined; but -the old lady had been wonderfully complaisant; and Til and Margaret, -when they met, seemed to get on excellently together. To be sure -his mother had assumed the reins of government during Margaret's -confinement, and held them until the last moment compatible with -decency; but her _regime_ had been over long since; and Margaret was -the last person to struggle for power so long as all trouble was taken -off her hands. Had the neighbours slighted her, she might have had -some cause for complaint; but the neighbours were every thing that was -polite, and indeed at the time of her illness had shown her attention -meriting a warmer term. What could it mean? Was there-- No; he crushed -out the idea as soon as it arose in his mind. There could not be any -question about--any one else--preying on her spirits? The man, her -destroyer--who had abandoned and deserted her--was far away; and she -was much too practical a woman not to estimate all his conduct at its -proper worth. No amount of girlish romance could survive the cruel -schooling which his villany had subjected her to; and there was no -one else whom she had seen who could have had any influence over her. -Besides, at the first, when he had made his humble proffer of love, she -had only to have told him that it could not be, and he would have taken -care that her future was provided for--if not as it had been, at all -events far beyond the reach of want. O, no, that could not be. - -So argued Geoff with himself--brave, honest, simple old Geoff, with -the heart of a man and the guilelessness of a child. So he argued, -determining at the same time that he would pluck out the heart of the -mystery at once, whatever might be at its root; any thing would be -better than this suspense preying on him daily, preventing him from -doing his work, and rendering him moody and miserable. - -But before he reached his home his resolution failed, and his heart -sunk within him. What if Margaret were silent and preoccupied? what -if the occasional gloom upon her face became more and more permanent? -Had not her life been full of sorrow? and was it wonderful that the -remembrance of it from time to time came over her? She had fearlessly -confided her whole story to him; she had given him time to reflect -on it before committing himself to her; and would it be generous, -would it be even just, to call her to account now for freaks of -behaviour engendered doubtless in the memory of that bygone time? -After all, what was the accusation against her? None. Had there been -the smallest trace of levity in her conduct, how many eyebrows were -there ready to be lifted--how many shoulders waiting to be shrugged! -But there was nothing of the kind; all that could be said about her -was that,--all that could be said about her--now he thought it over, -nothing was said about her; all that was hinted was that her manner -was cold and impassable; that she took no interest in what was going -on around her, and that therefore there must be something wrong. -There is always something to be complained of. If her manner had been -light and easy, they would have called her a flirt, and pitied him -for having married a woman so utterly ill-suited to his staid habits. -He knew so little of her when he married her, that he ran every kind -of risk as to what she might really prove to be; and on reflection -he thought he had been exceedingly lucky. She might have been giddy, -vulgar, loud, presuming, extravagant; whereas she was simply reserved -and undemonstrative,--nothing more. He had been a fool in thinking -of her as he had done during the last few weeks; he had,--without -her intending it doubtless, for she was an excellent woman,--he had -taken his tone in this matter from his mother, with whom Margaret was -evidently no favourite, and--there, never mind--it was at an end now. -She was his own darling wife, his lovely companion, merely to sit and -look at whom was rapturous delight to a man of his keen appreciation of -the beauty of form and colour; and as to her coldness and reserve, it -was but a temporary mannerism, which would soon pass away. - -So argued Geoffrey Ludlow with himself,--brave, honest, simple old -Geoff, with the heart of a man, and the guilelessness of a child. - -So happy was he under the influence of his last thought, that he longed -to take Margaret to his heart at once, and without delay to make trial -of his scheme for dissipating her gloom; but when he reached home, -the servant told him that her mistress had gone out very soon after -he himself had left that morning, and had not yet returned. So he -went through into the studio, intending to work at his picture; but -when he got there he sunk down into a chair, staring vacantly at the -lay-figure, arranged as usual in a preposterous attitude, and thinking -about Margaret. Rousing himself, he found his palette, and commenced -to set it; but while in the midst of this task, he suddenly fell -a-thinking again, and stood there mooning, until the hope of doing any -work was past, and the evening shadows were falling on the landscape. -Then he put up his palette and his brushes, and went into the -dining-room. He walked to the window, but had scarcely reached it, when -he saw a cab drive up. The man opened the door, and Margaret descended, -said a few hasty words to the driver, who touched his hat and fastened -on his horse's nosebag, and approached the house with rapid steps. - -From his position in the window, he had noticed a strange light in her -eyes which he had never before seen there, a bright hectic flush on -her cheek, a tight compression of her lips. When she entered the room -he saw that in his first hasty glance he had not been deceived; that -the whole expression of her face had changed from its usual state of -statuesque repose, and was now stern, hard, and defiant. - -He was standing in the shadow of the window-curtain, and she did not -see him at first; but throwing her parasol on the table, commenced -pacing the room. The lamp was as yet unlit, and the flickering -firelight--now glowing a deep dull red, now leaping into yellow -flame--gave an additional weirdness to the set intensity of her -beautiful face. Gazing at her mechanically walking to and fro, her head -supported by one hand, her eyes gleaming, her hair pushed back off her -face, Geoffrey again felt that indescribable sinking at his heart; and -there was something of terror in the tone in which, stepping forward, -he uttered her name--"Margaret!" - -In an instant she stopped in her walk, and turning towards the place -whence the voice came, said, "You there, Geoffrey?" - -"Yes, darling,--who else? I was standing at the window when the cab -drove up, and saw you get out. By the way, you've not sent away the cab, -love; is he paid?" - -"No, not yet,--he will--let him stay a little." - -"Well, but why keep him up here, my child, where there is no chance of -his getting a return-fare? Better pay him and let him go. I'll go and -pay him!" and he was leaving the room. - -"Let him stay, please," said Margaret in her coldest tones; and -Geoffrey turned back at once. But as he turned he saw a thrill run -through her, and marked the manner in which she steadied her hand on -the mantelpiece on which she was leaning. In an instant he was by her -side. - -"You are ill, my darling?" he exclaimed. "You have done too much again, -and are over-fatigued----" - -"I am perfectly well," she said; "it was nothing--or whatever it was, -it has passed. I did not know you had returned. I was going to write to -you." - -"To write to me!" said Geoff in a hollow voice,--"to write to me!" - -"To write to you. I had something to tell you--and--and I did not know -whether I should ever see you again!" - -For an instant the table against which Geoffrey Ludlow stood seemed -to spin away under his touch, and the whole room reeled. A deadly -faintness crept over him, but he shook it off with one great effort, -and said in a very low tone, "I scarcely understand you--please -explain." - -She must have had the nature of a fiend to look upon that large-souled -loving fellow, stricken down by her words as by a sudden blow, and with -his heart all bleeding, waiting to hear the rest of her sentence. She -had the nature of a fiend, for through her set teeth she said calmly -and deliberately: - -"I say I did not know whether I should ever see you again. That cab is -detained by me to take me away from this house, to which I ought never -to have come--which I shall never enter again." - -Geoff had sunk into a chair, and clutching the corner of the table with -both hands, was looking up at her with a helpless gaze. - -"You don't speak!" she continued; "and I can understand why you are -silent. This decision has come upon you unexpectedly, and you can -scarcely realise its meaning or its origin. I am prepared to explain -both to you. I had intended doing so in a letter, which I should have -left behind me; but since you are here, it is better that I should -speak." - -The table was laid for dinner, and there was a small decanter of sherry -close by Geoff's hand. He filled a glass from it and drank it eagerly. -Apparently involuntarily, Margaret extended her hand towards the -decanter; but she instantly withdrew it, and resumed: - -"You know well, Geoffrey Ludlow, that when you asked me to become your -wife, I declined to give you any answer until you had heard the story -of my former life. When I noticed your growing interest in me--and -I noticed it from its very first germ--I determined that before you -pledged yourself to me--for my wits had been sharpened in the school -of adversity, and I read plainly enough that love from such a man as -you had but one meaning and one result,--I determined that before you -pledged yourself to me you should learn as much as it was necessary -for you to know of my previous history. Although my early life had -been spent in places far away from London, and among persons whom it -was almost certain I should never see again, it was, I thought, due to -you to explain all to you, lest the gossiping fools of the world might -some day vex your generous heart with stories of your wife's previous -career, which she had kept from you. Do you follow me?" - -Geoffrey bowed his head, but did not speak. - -"In that story I told you plainly that I had been deceived by a -man under promise of marriage; that I had lived with him as his -wife for many months; that he had basely deserted me and left me to -starve,--left me to die--as I should have died had you not rescued me. -You follow me still?" - -She could not see his face now,--it was buried in his hands; but there -was a motion of his head, and she proceeded: - -"That man betrayed me when I trusted him, used me while I amused him, -deserted me when I palled upon him. He ruined, you restored me; he -left me to die, you brought me back to life; he strove to drag me to -perdition, you to raise me to repute. I respected, I honoured you; but -I loved him! yes, from first to last I loved him; infatuated, mad as I -knew it to be, I loved him throughout! Had I died in those streets from -which you rescued me, I should have found strength to bless him with my -last breath. When I recovered consciousness, my first unspoken thought -was of him. It was that I would live, that I would make every exertion -to hold on to life, that I might have the chance of seeing him again. -Then dimly, and as in a dream, I saw you and heard your voice, and -knew that you were to be a portion of my fate. Ever since, the image -of that man has been always present before me; his soft words of love -have been always ringing in my ears; his gracious presence has been -always at my side. I have striven and striven against the infatuation. -Before Heaven I swear to you that I have prayed night after night that -I might not be led into that awful temptation of retrospect which beset -me; that I might be strengthened to love you as you should be loved, to -do my duty towards you as it should be done. All in vain, all in vain! -That one fatal passion has sapped my being, and rendered me utterly -incapable of any other love in any other shape. I know what you have -done for me--more than that, I know what you have suffered for me. You -have said nothing; but do you think I have not seen how my weariness, -my coldness, the impossibility of my taking interest in all the little -schemes you have laid for my diversion, have irked and pained you? Do -you think I do not know what it is for a full heart to beat itself into -quiet against a stone? I know it all; and if I could have spared you -one pang, I swear I would have done so. But I loved this man; ah, how -I loved him! He was but a memory to me then; but that memory was far, -far dearer than all reality! He is more than a memory to me now; for he -lives, and he is in London and I have seen him!" - -Out Of Geoffrey Ludlow's hands came, raised up suddenly, a dead -white face with puckered lips, knit brows, and odd red streaks and -indentations round the eyes. - -"Yes, Geoffrey Ludlow," she continued, not heeding the apparition, -"I have seen him,--now, within this hour,--seen him, bright, well, -and handsome--O, so handsome!--as when I saw him first; and that has -determined me. While I thought of him as perhaps dead; while I knew -him to be thousands of miles away, I could bear to sit here, to drone -out the dull monotonous life, striving to condone the vagrancy of -my thoughts by the propriety of my conduct,--heart-sick, weary, and -remorseful. Yes, remorseful, so far as you are concerned; for you are -a true and noble man, Geoffrey. But now that he is here, close to me, -I could not rest another hour,--I must go to him at once. Do you hear, -Geoffrey,--at once?" - -He tried to speak, but his lips were parched and dry, and he only made -an inarticulate sound. There was no mistaking the flash of his eyes, -however. In them Margaret had never seen such baleful light; so that -she was scarcely astonished when, his voice returning, he hissed out "I -know him!" - -"You know him?" - -"Yes; just come back from Australia--Lord Caterham's brother! I had a -letter from Lord Caterham to-day,--his brother--Lionel Brakespere!" - -"Well," she exclaimed, "what then? Suppose it be Lionel Brakespere, -what then, I ask--what then?" - -"Then!" said Geoffrey, poising his big sinewy arm--"then, let him look -to himself; for, by the Lord, I'll kill him!" - -"What!" and in an instant she had left her position against the -mantelpiece, and was leaning over the table at the corner where he -sat, her face close to his, her eyes on his eyes, her hot breath -on his cheeks--"You dare to talk of killing him, of doing him the -slightest injury! You dare to lift your hand against my Lionel! Look -here, Geoffrey Ludlow: you have been good and kind and generous to -me,--have loved me, in your fashion--deeply, I know; and I would let us -part friends; but I swear that if you attempt to wreak your vengeance -on Lionel Brakespere, who has done you no harm--how has he injured -you?--I will be revenged on you in a manner of which you little dream, -but which shall break your heart and spirit, and humble your pride to -the dust. Think of all this, Geoffrey Ludlow--think of it. Do nothing -rashly, take no step that will madden me, and drive me to do something -that will prevent your ever thinking of me with regret, when I am far -away." - -There was a softness in her voice which touched a chord in Geoffrey -Ludlow's breast. The fire faded out of his eyes; his hands, which had -been tight-clenched, relaxed, and spread out before him in entreaty; -he looked up at Margaret through blinding tears, and in a broken voice -said, - -"When you are far away! O, my darling, my darling, you are not going to -leave me? It cannot be,--it is some horrible dream. To leave me, who -live but for you, whose existence is bound up in yours! It cannot be. -What have I done?--what can you charge me with? Want of affection, of -devotion to you? O God, it is hard that I should have to suffer in this -way! But you won't go, Margaret darling? Tell me that--only tell me -that." - -She shrank farther away from him, and seemed for a moment to cower -before the vehemence and anguish of his appeal; but the next her face -darkened and hardened, and as she answered him, the passion in her -voice was dashed with a tone of contempt. - -"Yes, I will leave you," she said,--"of course I will leave you. Do you -not hear me? Do you not understand me? I have seen him, I tell you, and -every thing which is not him has faded out of my life. What should I do -here, or any where, where he is not? The mere idea is absurd. I have -only half lived since I lost him, and I could not live at all now that -I have seen him again. Stay here! not leave _you!_ stay _here!_" She -looked round the room with a glance of aversion and avoidance, and went -on with increasing rapidity: "You have never understood me. How should -you? But the time has come now when you must try to understand me, for -your own sake; for mine it does no matter--nothing matters now." - -She was standing within arm's-length of him, and her face was turned -full upon him: but she did not seem to see him. She went on as though -reckoning with herself, and Geoffrey gazed upon her in stupefied -amazement; his momentary rage quenched in the bewilderment of his -anguish. - -"I don't deny your goodness--I don't dispute it--I don't think about it -at all; it is all done with, all past and gone; and I have no thought -for it or you, beyond these moments in which I am speaking to you for -the last time. I have suffered in this house torments which your slow -nature could neither suffer nor comprehend--torments wholly impossible -to endure longer. I have raged and rebelled against the dainty life of -dulness and dawdling, the narrow hopes and the tame pleasures which -have sufficed for you. I must have so raged and rebelled under any -circumstances; but I might have gone on conquering the revolts, if I -had not seen him. Now, I tell you, it is no longer possible, and I -break with it at once and for ever. Let me go quietly, and in such -peace as may be possible: for go I must and I will. You could as soon -hold a hurricane by force or a wave of the sea by entreaty." - -Geoffrey Ludlow covered his face with his hands, and groaned. Once -again she looked at him--this time as if she saw him--and went on: - -"Let me speak to you, while I can, of yourself--while I can, I say, -for his face is rising between me and all the world beside, and I can -hardly force myself to remember any thing, to calculate any thing, to -realise any thing which is not him. You ask me not to leave you; you -would have me stay! Are you mad, Geoffrey Ludlow? Have you lived among -your canvases and your colours until you have ceased to understand -what men and women are, and to see facts? Do you know that I love -him, though he left me to what you saved me from, so that all that -you have done for me and given me has been burdensome and hateful to -me, because these things had no connection with him, but marked the -interval in which he was lost to me? Do you know that I love him so, -that I have sickened and pined in this house, even as I sickened and -pined for hunger in the streets you took me from, for the most careless -word he ever spoke and the coldest look he ever gave me? Do you know -the agonised longing which has been mine, the frantic weariness, the -unspeakable loathing of every thing that set my life apart from the -time when my life was his? No, you don't know these things! Again I -say, how should you? Well, I tell them to you now, and I ask you, are -you mad that you say, 'Don't leave me'? Would you have me stay with -_you_ to think of _him_ all the weary hours of the day, all the wakeful -hours of the night? Would you have me stay with you to feel, and make -you know that I feel, the tie between us an intolerable and hideous -bondage, and that with every pang of love for him came a throb of -loathing for you? No, no! you are nothing to me now,--nothing, nothing! -My thoughts hurry away from you while I speak; but if any thing so -preposterous as my staying with you could be possible, you would be the -most hateful object on this earth to me." - -"My God!" gasped Geoffrey. That was all The utter, unspeakable horror -with which her words, poured out in a hard ringing voice, which -never faltered, filled him overpowered all remonstrance. A strange -feeling, which was akin to fear of this beautiful unmasked demon, came -over him. It was Margaret, his wife, who spoke thus! The knowledge -and its fullest agony were in his heart; and yet a sense of utter -strangeness and impossibility were there too. The whirl within him -was not to be correctly termed thought; but there was in it something -of the past, a puzzled remembrance of her strange quietude, her -listlessness, her acquiescent, graceful, wearied, compliant ways; and -this was she,--this woman whose eyes burned with flames of passion and -desperate purpose--on those ordinarily pale cheeks two spots of crimson -glowed,--whose lithe frame trembled with the intense fervour of the -love which she was declaring for another man! Yes, this was she! It -seemed impossible; but it was true. - -"I waste words," she said; "I am talking of things beside the question, -and I don't want to lie to you. Why should I? There has been nothing in -my life worth having but him, nothing bearable since I lost him, and -there is nothing else since I have found him again. I say, I must leave -you for your sake, and it is true; but I would leave you just the same -if it was not true. There is nothing henceforth in my life but him." - -She moved towards the door as she spoke, and the action seemed to rouse -Geoffrey from the stupefaction which had fallen upon him. She had her -hand upon the door-handle though, before he spoke. - -"You are surely mad!" he said "I think so.--I hope so; but even mad -women remember that they are mothers. Have you forgotten your child, -that you rave thus of leaving your home?" - -She took her hand from the door and leaned back against it--her head -held up, and her eyes turned upon him, the dark eyebrows shadowing them -with a stern frown. - -"I am not mad," she said; "but I don't wonder you think me so. Continue -to think so, if you needs must remember me at all. Love is madness to -such as you; but it is life, and sense, and wisdom, and wealth to such -as I and the man I love. At all events it is all the sanity I ask for -or want. As for the child--" she paused for one moment, and waved her -hand impatiently. - -"Yes," repeated Geoffrey hoarsely,--"the child!" - -"I will tell you then, Geoffrey Ludlow," she said, in a more deliberate -tone than she had yet commanded,--"I care nothing for the child! Ay, -look at me with abhorrence now; so much the better for _you_, and not -a jot the worse for me. What is your abhorrence to me?--what was your -love? There are women to whom their children are all in all. I am not -of their number; I never could have been. They are not women who love -as I love. Where a child has power to sway and fill a woman's heart, -to shake her resolution, and determine her life, love is not supreme. -There is a proper and virtuous resemblance to it, no doubt, but not -love--no, no, not love. I tell you I care nothing for the child. -Geoffrey Ludlow, if I had loved you, I should have cared for him almost -as little; if the man I love had been his father, I should have cared -for him no more, if I know any thing of myself. The child does not need -me. I suppose I am not without the brute instinct which would lead me -to shelter and feed and clothe him, if he did; but what has he ever -needed from me? If I could say without a lie that any thought of him -weighs with me--but I cannot--I would say to you, for the child's sake, -if for no other reason, I must go. The child is the last and feeblest -argument you can use with me--with whom indeed there are none strong or -availing." - -She turned abruptly, and once more laid her hand upon the door-handle. -Her last words had roused Geoffrey from the inaction caused by his -amazement. As she coldly and deliberately avowed her indifference -to the child, furious anger once more awoke within him. He strode -hastily towards her and sternly grasped her by the left arm. She made -a momentary effort to shake off his hold; but he held her firmly at -arm's-length from him, and said through his closed teeth: - -"You are a base and unnatural woman--more base and unnatural than I -believed any woman could be. As for me, I can keep silence on your -conduct to myself; perhaps I deserved it, seeing where and how I -found you." She started and winced. "As for the child, he is better -motherless than with such a mother; but I took you from shame and -sin, when I found you in the street, and married you; and you shall -not return to them if any effort of mine can prevent it. You have no -feeling, you have no conscience, you have no pride; you glory in a -passion for a man who flung you away to starve! Woman, have you no -sense of decency left, that you can talk of resuming your life of -infamy and shame?" - -The husband and wife formed a group which would have been awful to -look upon, had there been any one to witness that terrible interview, -as they stood confronting one another, while Geoffrey spoke. As his -words came slowly forth, a storm of passion shook Margaret's frame. -Every gleam of colour forsook her face; she was transformed into a -fixed image of unspeakable wrath. A moment she stood silent, breathing -quickly, her white lips dry and parted. Then, as a faint movement, -something like a ghastly smile, crept over her face, she said: - -"You are mistaken, Geoffrey Ludlow; I leave my life of infamy and shame -in leaving _you!_" - -"In leaving me! Again you are mad!" - -"Again I speak the words of sanity and truth. If what I am going to -tell you fills you with horror, I would have spared you; you have -yourself to thank. I intended to have spared you this final blow,--I -intended to have left you in happy ignorance of the fact--which you -blindly urge me to declare by your taunts. What did I say at the -commencement of this interview? That I wanted us to part friends. But -you will not have that. You reproach me with ingratitude; you taunt me -with being an unnatural mother; finally, you fling at me my life of -infamy and shame; I repeat that no infamy, no shame could attach to me -until I became--your mistress!" - -The bolt had shot home at last. Geoffrey leapt to his feet, and stood -erect before her; but his strength must have failed him in that -instant; for he could only gasp, "My mistress!" - -"Your mistress. That is all I have been to you, so help me Heaven!" - -"My wife! my own--married--lawful wife!" - -"No, Geoffrey Ludlow, no! In that wretched lodging to which you had -me conveyed, and where you pleaded your love, I told you--the truth -indeed, but not the whole truth. Had you known me better then,--had you -known me as you--as you know me now, you might have guessed that I was -not one of those trusting creatures who are betrayed and ruined by fair -words and beaming glances, come they from ever so handsome a man. One -fact I concealed from you, thinking, as my Lionel had deserted me, and -would probably never be seen again, that its revelation would prevent -me from accepting the position which you were about to offer me; but -the day that I fled from my home at Tenby I was married to Lionel -Brakespere; and at this moment I am his wife, not merely in the sight -of God, but by the laws of man!" - -For some instants he did not speak, he did not move from the chair into -which he had again fallen heavily during her speech: he sat gazing at -her, his breathing thickened, impeded, gasping. At length he said: - -"You're--you're speaking truth?" - -"I am speaking gospel-truth, Geoffrey Ludlow. You brought it upon -yourself: I would have saved you from the knowledge of it if I could, -but you brought it upon yourself." - -"Yes--as you say--on myself;" still sitting gazing vacantly before him, -muttering to himself rather than addressing her. Suddenly, with a wild -shriek, "The child! O God, the child!" - -"For the child's sake, no less than for your own, you will hold your -tongue on this matter," said Margaret, in her calm, cold, never-varying -tone. "In this instance at least you will have sense enough to perceive -the course you ought to take. What I have told you is known to none but -you and me, and one other--who can be left with me to deal with. Let it -be your care that the secret remains with us." - -"But the child is a----" - -"Silence, man!" she exclaimed, seizing his arm,--"silence now,--for -a few moments at all events. When I am gone, proclaim your child's -illegitimacy and your own position if you will, but wait till then. Now -I can remain here no longer. Such things as I absolutely require I will -send for. Goodbye, Geoffrey Ludlow." - -She gathered her shawl around her, and moved towards the door. In an -instant his lethargy left him; he sprang up, rushed before her, and -stood erect and defiant. - -"You don't leave me in this way, Margaret. You shall not leave me thus. -I swear you shall not pass!" - -She looked at him for a moment with a half-compassionate, -half-interested face. This assumption of spirit and authority she had -never seen in him before, and it pleased her momentarily. Then she said -quietly: - -"O yes, I shall. I am sure, Mr. Ludlow, you will not prevent my going -to my husband!" - -When the servant, after waiting more than an hour for dinner to be rung -for, came into the room to see what was the cause of the protracted -delay, she found her master prostrate on the hearth-rug, tossing and -raving incoherently. The frightened girl summoned assistance; and when -Dr. Brandram arrived, he announced Mr. Ludlow to be in the incipient -stage of a very sharp attack of brain-fever. - - - - -CHAPTER II. -THE REVERSE OF THE MEDAL. - - -It was one of those cheerless days not unfrequent at the end of -September, which first tell us that such fine weather as we have had -has taken its departure, and that the long dreary winter is close at -hand. The air was moist and "muggy;" there was no freshening wind to -blow away the heavy dun clouds which lay banked up thick, and had -seemed almost motionless for days; there was a dead faint depression -over all things, which weighed heavily on the spirits, impeded the -respiration, and relaxed the muscles. It was weather which dashed and -cowed even the lightest-hearted, and caused the careworn and the broken -to think self-destruction less extraordinary than they had hitherto -considered it. - -About noon a man was looking out of one of the upper-windows of -Long's Hotel on the dreary desert of Bond Street. He was a tall man; -who with straight-cut features, shapely beard, curling light hair, -and clear complexion, would have been generally considered more than -good-looking, notwithstanding that his eyes were comparatively small -and his mouth was decidedly sensual. That he was a man of breeding -and society one could have told in an instant--could have told it by -the colour and shape of his hands, by his bearing, by the very manner -in which he, leaving the window from time to time, lounged round the -room, his hands plunged in his pockets or pulling at his tawny beard. -You could have told it despite of his dress, the like of which had -surely never been seen before on any visitor to that select hostelry; -for he wore a thick jacket and trousers of blue pilot-cloth, a blue -flannel-shirt, with a red-silk handkerchief knotted round the collar, -and ankle jack-boots. When he jumped out of the cab at the door on -the previous day, he had on a round tarpaulin-hat, and carried over -his arm an enormous pea-jacket with horn buttons; and as he brought -no luggage with him save a small valise, and had altogether the -appearance of the bold smugglers who surreptitiously vend cigars and -silk-handkerchiefs, the hall-porter at first refused him admittance; -and it was not until the proprietor had been summoned, and after a -close scrutiny and a whispered name had recognised his old customer, -that the strange-looking visitor was ushered upstairs. He would have a -private room, he said; and he did not want it known that he was back -just yet--did Jubber understand? If any body called, that was another -matter: he expected his mother and one or two others; but he did not -want it put in the papers, or any thing of that kind. Jubber did -understand, and left Captain Lionel Brakespere to himself. - -Captain Lionel Brakespere, just at that time, could have had no worse -company. He had been bored to death by the terrible monotony of a -long sea-voyage, and had found on landing in England that his boredom -was by no means at an end. He had heard from his mother that "that -awkward business had all been squared," as he phrased it; and that it -was desirable he should return home at once, where there was a chance -of a marriage by which "a big something was to be pulled off," as he -phrased it again. So he had come back, and there he was at Long's; but -as yet he was by no means happy. He was doubtful as to his position in -society, as to how much of his escapade was known, as to whether he -would be all right with his former set, or whether he would get the -cold shoulder, and perhaps be cut. He could only learn this by seeing -Algy Barford, or some other fellow of the _clique_; and every fellow -was of course out of town at that infernal time of year. He must wait, -at all events, until he had seen his mother, to whom he had sent word -of his arrival. He might be able to learn something of all this from -her. Meantime he had taken a private room; not that there was much -chance of his meeting any one in the coffee-room, but some fellow -might perhaps stop there for the night on his way through town; and he -had sent for the tailor, and the hair-cutter fellow, and that sort of -thing, and was going to be made like a Christian again--not like the -cad he'd looked like in that infernal place out there. - -He lounged round the room, and pulled his beard and yawned as he -looked out of the window; pulling himself together afterwards by -stretching out his hands and arms, and shrugging his shoulders and -shaking himself, as if endeavouring to shake off depression. He _was_ -depressed; there was no doubt about it. Out there it was well enough. -He had been out there just long enough to have begun to settle down -into his new life, to have forgotten old ties and old feelings; but -here every thing jarred upon him. He was back in England certainly, but -back in England in a condition which he had never known before. In the -old days, at this time of year, he would have been staying down at some -country-house, or away in some fellow's yacht, enjoying himself to the -utmost; thoroughly appreciated and highly thought of,--a king among -men and a favourite among women. Now he was cooped up in this deserted -beastly place, which every one decent had fled from, not daring even -to go out and see whether some old comrade, haply retained in town by -duty, were not to be picked up, from whom he could learn the news, with -whom he might have a game of billiards, or something to get through the -infernally dragging wearisome time. He expected his mother. She was -his truest and stanchest friend, after all, and had behaved splendidly -to him all through this terrible business. It was better that she -should come down there, and let him know exactly how the land lay. He -would have gone home, but he did not know what sort of a reception -he might have met with from the governor; and from all he could make -out from his mother's letters, it was very likely that Caterham might -cut up rough, and say or do something confoundedly unpleasant. It -was an infernal shame of Caterham, and just like his straightlaced -nonsense--that it was. Was not he the eldest son, and what did he want -more? It was all deuced well for him to preach and moralise, and all -that sort of thing; but his position had kept him out of temptation, -else he might not be any better than other poor beggars, who had fallen -through and come to grief. - -So he reasoned with himself as he lounged round and round the room; and -at last began to consider that he was a remarkably ill-used person. -He began to hate the room and its furniture, altered the position of -the light and elegant little couch, flung himself into the arm-chair, -drumming his heels upon the floor, and rose from itleaving the chintz -covering all tumbled, and the antimacassar all awry, drummed upon -the window, stared at the prints already inspected--the "Hero and -his Horse," which led him into reminiscences of seeing the old Duke -with his white duck trousers and his white cravat, with the silver -buckle gleaming at the back of his bowed head, at Eton on Montem -days--glanced with stupid wonderment at Ward's "Dr. Johnson reading -the Manuscript of the _Vicar of Wakefield_," which conveyed to him -no idea whatsoever--looked at a proof of "Hogarth painting the Muse -of Comedy," and wondered "who was the old cock with the fat legs, -drawing." He watched the few people passing through the streets, the -very few hansom-cabs with drivers listlessly creeping up and down, as -though conscious that the chances of their being hired were dismally -remote, the occasional four-wheelers with perambulators and sand-spades -on the top, and bronzed children leaning out of the windows, talking of -the brief holiday over and the work-a-day life about to recommence--he -watched all this, and, watching, worked himself up to such a pitch -of desperation that he had almost determined to brave all chances of -recognition, and sally forth into the streets, when the door opened and -a waiter entering, told him that a lady was waiting to speak with him. - -His mother had come at last, then? Let her be shown up directly. - -Of all things Lionel Brakespere abhorred a "scene;" and this was likely -to be an uncommonly unpleasant meeting. The Mater was full of feeling -and that sort of thing, and would probably fling herself into his arms -as soon as the waiter was gone, and cry, and sob, and all that sort of -thing, and moan over him--make a fellow look so confoundedly foolish -and absurd, by Jove! Must get that over as soon as possible--all -the hugging and that--and then find out how matters really stood. -So he took up his position close to the door; and as the footsteps -approached, was a little astonished to hear his heart thumping so -loudly. - -The door opened, and passing the bowing waiter, who closed it behind -her, a lady entered. Though her veil was down, Lionel saw instantly -that it was not his mother. A taller, younger woman, with step graceful -though hurried, an eager air, a strange nervous manner. As the door -closed, she threw up her veil and stood revealed--Margaret! - -He fell back a pace or two, and the blood rushed to his heart, leaving -his face as pale as hers. Then, recovering himself, he caught hold of -the table, and glaring at her, said hoarsely, "You here!" - -There was something in his tone which jarred upon her instantly. She -made a step forward, and held out her hand appealingly--"Lionel," she -said, quite softly, "Lionel, you know me?" - -"Know you?" he repeated. "O yes--I--I have that honour. I know you fast -enough--though what you do here I _don't_ know. What do you do here?" - -"I came to see you." - -"Devilish polite, I'm sure. But--now you have seen me--" he hesitated -and smiled. Not a pleasant smile by any means: one of those smiles in -which the teeth are never shown. A very grim smile, which slightly -wrinkled the lips, but left the eyes hard and defiant; a smile which -Margaret knew of old, the sight of which recalled the commencement of -scenes of violent passion and bitter upbraiding in the old times; a -smile at sight of which Margaret's heart sank within her, only leaving -her strength enough to say: "Well!" - -"Well!" he repeated--"having seen me--having fulfilled the intention of -your visit--had you not better--go?" - -"Go!" she exclaimed--"leave you at once, without a look, without a -word! Go! after all the long weary waiting, this hungering to see and -speak with you to pillow my head on your breast, and twine my arms -round you as I used to do in the dear old days! Go! in the moment -when I am repaid for O such misery as you, Lionel, I am sure, cannot -imagine I have endured--the misery of absence from you; the misery of -not knowing how or where you were--whether even you were dead or alive; -misery made all the keener by recollection of joy which I had known and -shared with you. Go! Lionel, dearest Lionel, you cannot mean it! Don't -try me now, Lionel; the delight at seeing you again has made me weak -and faint. I am not so strong as I used to be. Lionel, dearest, don't -try me too much." - -Never had she looked more beautiful than now. Her arms were stretched -out in entreaty, the rich tones of her voice were broken, tears stood -in her deep-violet eyes, and the dead-gold hair was pushed off the -dead-white brow. Her whole frame quivered with emotion--emotion which -she made no attempt to conceal. - -Lionel Brakespere had seated himself on the corner of the table, and -was looking at her with curiosity. He comprehended the beauty of the -picture before him, but he regarded it as a picture. On most other men -in his position such an appeal from such a woman would have caused at -least a temporary rekindling of the old passion; on him it had not the -slightest effect, beyond giving him a kind of idea that the situation -was somewhat ridiculous and slightly annoying. After a minute's -interval he said, with his hands in his pockets, and his legs swinging -to and fro: - -"It's deuced kind of you to say such civil things about me, and I -appreciate them--appreciate them, I assure you. But, you see the fact -of the matter is, that I'm expecting my mother every minute, and if she -were to find you here, I should be rather awkwardly situated." - -"O," cried Margaret, "you don't think I would compromise you, Lionel? -You know me too well for that. You know too well how I always submitted -to be kept in the background--only too happy to live on your smiles, to -know that you were feted and made much of." - -"O, yes," said Lionel, simply; "you were always a deuced sensible -little woman." - -"And I sha'n't be in the way, and I sha'n't bore you. They need know -nothing of my existence, if you don't wish it, any more than they used. -And we shall lead again the dear old life--eh, Lionel?" - -"Eh!" repeated he in rather a high key,--"the dear old life!" - -"Ah, how happy I was!" said Margaret. "You, whose intervening time has -been passed in action, can scarcely imagine how I have looked back on -those days,--how eagerly I have longed for the time to come when I -might have them again." - -"Gad!" said he, "I don't exactly know about my time being passed -in action. It's been horribly ghastly and melancholy, and deuced -unpleasant, if you mean that." - -"Then we will both console ourselves for it now, Lionel, We will forget -all the misery we have suffered, and--" - -"Y-es!" said he, interrupting her, swinging his leg a little more -slowly, and looking quietly up into her face; "I don't exactly follow -you in all this." - -"You don't follow me?" - -"N-no! I scarcely think we can be on the same tack, somehow." - -"In what way?" - -"In all this about leading again the old life, and living the days over -again, and consoling ourselves, and that kind of thing." - -"You don't understand it?" - -"Well, I don't know about understanding it. All I mean to say is, I'm -not going to have it." - -But for something in his tone, Margaret might not have entirely -comprehended what he sought to convey in his words, so enraptured was -she at seeing him again. But in his voice, in his look, there was a -bravado that was unmistakable. She clasped her hands together in front -of her; and her voice was very low and tremulous, as she said, - -"Lionel, what do you mean?" - -"What do I mean? Well, it's a devilish awkward thing to say--I can't -conceive how it came about--all through your coming here, and that sort -of thing; but it appears to me that, as I said before, you're on the -wrong tack. You don't seem to see the position." - -"I don't indeed. For God's sake speak out!" - -"There, you see!--that's just it; like all women, taking the thing so -much in earnest, and--" - -"So much in earnest? Is what would influence one's whole life a thing -to be lightly discussed or laughed over? Is--" - -"There you are again! That's exactly what I complain of. What have I to -do with influencing your life?" - -"All--every thing!" - -"I did not know it, then, by Jove,--that's all Ive got to say. You're -best out of it, let me tell you. My influence is a deuced bad one, at -least for myself." - -Once again the tone, reckless and defiant, struck harshly on her ear. -He continued, "I was saying you did not seem to see the position. You -and I were very good friends once upon a time, and got on very well -together; but that would never do now." - -She turned faint, sick, and closed her eyes; but remained silent. - -"Wouldn't do a bit," he continued. "You know Ive been a tremendous -cropper--must have thought deuced badly of me for cutting off in that -way; but it was my only chance, by Jove; and now Ive come back to try -and make all square. But I must keep deuced quiet and mind my p's and -q's, or I shall go to grief again, like a bird." - -She waited for a moment, and then she said faintly and slowly, "I -understand you thoroughly now. You mean that it would be better for us -to remain apart for some time yet?" - -"For some time?--yes. Confound it all, Margaret!--you won't take a -hint, and you make a fellow speak out and seem cruel and unkind, and -all that kind of thing, that he does not want to. Look here. You ought -never to have come here at all. It's impossible we can ever meet again." - -She started convulsively; but even then she seemed unable to grasp -the truth. Her earnestness brought the colour flying to her cheeks as -she said hurriedly, "Why impossible, Lionel,--why impossible? If you -are in trouble, who has such a right to be near you as I? If you want -assistance and solace, who should give it you before me? That is the -mistake you made, Lionel. When you were in your last trouble you should -have confided in me: my woman's wit might have helped you through it; -or at the worst, my woman's love would have consoled you in it." - -She was creeping closer to him, but stopped as she saw his face darken -and his arms clasp themselves across his breast. - -"D--n it all!" said he petulantly; "you won't understand, I think. This -sort of thing is impossible. Any sort of love, or friendship, or trust -is impossible. Ive come back to set myself straight, and to pull out of -all the infernal scrapes I got myself into before I left; and there's -only one way to do it." - -"And that is--" - -"Well, if you will have it, you must. And that is--by making a good -marriage." - -She uttered a short sharp cry, followed by a prolonged wail, such as a -stricken hare gives. Lionel Brakespere looked up at her; but his face -never relaxed, and his arms still remained tightly folded across his -breast. Then she spoke, very quietly and very sadly: - -"By making a good marriage! Ah! then I see it all. That is why you are -annoyed at my having come to you. That is why you dread the sight of -me, because it reminds you that I am in the way; reminds you of the -existence of the clog round your neck that prevents your taking up -this position for which you long; because it reminds you that you once -sacrificed self to sentiment, and permitted yourself to be guided by -love instead of ambition. That is what you mean?" - -His face was darker than ever as he said, "No such d--d nonsense. I -don't know what you're talking about; no more do you I should think, by -the way in which you are going on. What _are_ you talking about?" - -He spoke very fiercely; but she was not cowed or dashed one whit. In -the same quiet voice she said: "I am talking about myself--your wife!" - -Lionel Brakespere sprung from the corner of the table on which he had -been sitting, and stood upright, confronting her. - -"O, that's it, is it?" in a hard low voice. "That's your game, eh? I -thought it was coming to that. Now, look here," shaking his fist at -her,--"drop that for good and all; drop it, I tell you, or it will be -the worse for you. Let me hear of your saying a word about your being -my wife, and, so help me God, I'll be the death of you! That's plain, -isn't it? You understand that?" - -She never winced; she never moved. She sat quietly under the storm of -his rage; and when he had finished speaking, she said: - -"You can kill me, if you like,--you very nearly did, just before you -left me,--but so long as I am alive I shall be your wife!" - -"Will you, by George?--not if there's law in the land, I can tell -you. What have you been doing all this time? How have you been living -since Ive been away? How do you come here, dressed like a swell as you -are, when I left you without money? I shall want to know all that; -and I'll find out, you may take your oath. There are heaps of ways of -discovering those things now, and places where a fellow has only to pay -for it, and he may know any thing that goes on about any body. I don't -think you would particularly care to have those inquiries made about -_you_, eh?" - -She was silent. He waited a minute; then, thinking from her silence -that he had made a point, went on: - -"You understand me at last, don't you? You see pretty plainly, I should -think, that being quiet and holding your tongue is your best plan -don't you? If you're wise you'll do it; and then, when I'm settled, I -may make you some allowance--if you want it, that's to say,--if your -friends whove been so kind to you while Ive been away don't do it. But -if you open your mouth on this matter, if you once hint that you've any -claim on me, or send to me, or write to me, or annoy me at all, I'll -go right in at once, find out all you've been doing, and then see what -they'll say to you in the Divorce Court. You hear?" - -Still she sat perfectly silent. He was apparently pleased with his -eloquence and its effect, for he proceeded: - -"This is all your pretended love for me, is it? This is what you call -gratitude to a fellow, and all that kind of thing? Turning up exactly -when you're not wanted, and coolly declaring that you're going in to -spoil the only game that can put me right and bring me home! And this -is the woman who used to declare in the old days that she'd die for me, -and all that! I declare I didn't think it of you, Madge!" - -"Don't call me by that name!" she screamed, roused at last; -"don't allude to the old days, in God's name, or I shall go mad! -The recollection of them, the hope of their renewal, has been my -consolation in all sorts of misery and pain. I thought that to hear -them spoken of by you would have been sufficient recompense for all my -troubles: now to hear them mentioned by your lips agonises and maddens -me; I--" - -"This is the old story," he interrupted; "you haven't forgotten that -business, I see. This is what you used to do before, when you got into -one of these states. It frightened me at first, but I got used to it; -and Ive seen a great deal too much of such things to care for it now, I -can tell you. If you make this row, I'll ring the bell--upon my soul I -will!" - -"O, Lionel, Lionel!" said Margaret, stretching out her hands in -entreaty towards him--"don't speak so cruelly! You don't know all I -have gone through for you--you don't know how weak and ill I am. But it -is nothing to what I will do. You don't know how I love you, Lionel, my -darling! how I have yearned for you; how I will worship and slave for -you, so that I may only be with you. I don't want to be seen, or heard -of, or known, so long as I am near you. Only try me and trust me, only -let me be your own once more." - -"I tell you it's impossible," said he petulantly. "Woman, can't you -understand? I'm ruined, done, shut up, cornered, and the only chance -of my getting through is by my marriage with some rich woman, who will -give me her money in exchange for--There, d--n it all,--it's no use -talking any more about it. If you can't see the position, I can't show -it you any stronger; and there's an end of it. Only, look here!--keep -your mouth shut, or it will be the worse for you. You understand -that?--the worse for you." - -"Lionel!" She sprang towards him and clasped her hands round his arm. -He shook her off roughly, and moved towards the door. - -"No more foolery," he said in a low deep voice. "Take my warning now, -and go. In a fortnight's time you can write to me at the Club, and say -whether you are prepared to accept the conditions I have named. Now, -go." - -He held the door open, and she passed by him and went out. She did -not shrink, or faint, or fall. Somehow, she knew not how, she went -down the stairs and into the street. Not until she had hailed a cab, -and seated herself in it, and was being driven off, did she give way. -Then she covered her face with her hands, and burst into a passionate -fit of weeping, rocking herself to and fro, and exclaiming, "And it -is for this that I have exiled myself from my home, and trampled upon -a loving heart! O my God! my God; if I could only have loved Geoffrey -Ludlow!--O, to love as I do, such a man as this!" - - - - -CHAPTER III. -GONE TO HIS REST. - - -The last-mentioned interview between Lord Caterham and his mother, -though productive of good in a certain way--for Lady Beauport, however -bravely she succeeded in bearing herself at the time, was in reality -not a little frightened at her son's determination--had a visibly bad -effect on Caterham's health. The excitement had been too much for him. -The physician had enjoined perfect rest, and an absence of all mental -effort, in the same way in which they prescribe wine and nourishing -food to the pauper, or Turkish baths to the cripple on the outskirts -of Salisbury Plain. Perfect rest and absence of all mental effort were -utterly impossible to Caterham, whose mind was on the rack, who knew -that he had pitted himself against time for the accomplishment of his -heart's desire, and who felt that he must either fulfil his earnest -intention, or give up it and life simultaneously. Life was so thin and -faint and feeble within him, that he needed all of it he could command -to bear him up merely through "the fever called living,"--to keep him -together sufficiently to get through the ordinary quiet routine of his -ever-dull day. When there was an exceptional occasion--such as the -interview with his mother, for instance, where he had gone through a -vast amount of excitement--it left him exhausted, powerless, incapable -of action or even of thought, to an extent that those accustomed only -to ordinary people could never have imagined. - -The next day he was too ill to leave his bed; but that made little -difference to the rest of the household. Lord Beauport was away in -Wales looking after some mines on one of his estates, which had -suddenly promised to be specially productive. Lady Beauport, detained -in town for the due carrying out of her plans with respect to Lionel, -sent down her usual message of inquiry by Timpson, her maid, who -communicated with Stephens, and gave the reply to her mistress. Lady -Beauport repeated the message, "Very unwell indeed, eh?" and adding, -"this weather is so horribly depressing," proceeded with her toilette. -Miss Maurice sent grapes and flowers and some new perfume to the -invalid; and--it revived him more than any thing else--a little hurried -note, bidding him not give way to depression, but rouse sufficiently to -get into his easy-chair by the morrow, and she would spend all the day -with him, and read to him, and play to him whatever he wanted. - -He had strength enough to raise that little note to his lips so soon as -he heard the door shut behind the outgoing Stephens; to kiss it over -and over again, and to place it beneath his pillow ere he sunk into -such imitation of rest as was vouchsafed to him. A want of sleep was -one of the worst symptoms of his malady, and the doctors had all agreed -that if they could only superinduce something like natural sleep, it -might aid greatly in repairing the little strength which had been given -to him originally, and which was so gradually and imperceptibly, and -yet so surely, wearing away. But that seemed to be impossible. When he -was first assisted to bed he was in a sufficiently drowsy state, partly -from the fatigue of the day, partly from the effect of the wine, of -which the doctors insisted on his taking a quantity which would have -been nothing to an ordinary man, but was much to one feeble in frame, -and unable to take any exercise to carry off its strength. Then, after -a short slumber--heavy, stertorous, and disturbed--he would wake, -bright and staring, without the smallest sign of sleep in his head or -in his eye. In vain would he toss from side to side, and try all the -known recipes for somnolence--none were of the slightest avail. He -could not sleep, he could not compose himself in the least degree, he -could not empty his mind as it were; and the mind must be, or at all -events must seem, empty before sleep will take possession of it. Lord -Caterham's mind in the dead silence of the night was even more active -than it was in the daytime. Before him rose up all the difficulties -which he had to surmount, the dangers which he had to avoid, the hopes -and fears and triumphs and vexations which made up the sum of his -bitter life. They were not many now,--they never had been diffuse at -any time; so little had Caterham been a citizen of the world, that all -his aspirations had lain within a very small compass, and now they -centred in one person--Annie Maurice. To provide for her safety when -he was not there to look after it in person; to leave such records as -would show what action he had taken in her behalf, and on what grounds -that action had been undertaken; to arm some competent and willing -person so thoroughly to bestir himself at the necessary juncture as -to prevent the chance of the conspiracy against Annie's future being -carried into effect:--these were the night-thoughts which haunted -Caterham's couch, and rendered him sleepless. - -Sleeplessness had its usual effect. The following day he was quite -worn out in mind and body,--felt it, knew it, could not deny the fact -when it was suggested to him mildly by Stephens, more firmly by his -doctors,--but yet persevered in his intention of getting up. He was -sure he should be so much better out of bed; he was certain that a -change--were it only to his easy-chair--would do him so much good. He -could be very positive--"obstinate" was the phrase by which the doctors -distinguished it, "arbitrary" was Stephen's phrase--when he chose; and -so they let him have his way, wondering why he preferred to leave the -calm seclusion of his bed. They little knew that the contents of that -little note which the valet had seen protruding from the corner of his -master's pillow when he went in to call him in the morning had worked -that charm; they did not know that she had promised to spend the day -with him and read and play to him. But he did; and had he died for it, -he could not have denied himself that afternoon of delight. - -So he was dressed, and wheeled into his sitting-room, and placed by -his desk and among his books. He had twice nearly fainted during the -process and Stephens, who knew his every look, and was as regardful of -his master's health as the just appreciation of a highly-paid place -could make him, had urged Lord Caterham to desist and return to his -bed. But Caterham was obstinate; and the toilette was performed and the -sitting-room gained, and then he desired that Miss Maurice might be -told he was anxious to see her. - -She came in an instant. Ah, how radiant and fresh she looked as -she entered the room! Since the end of the season, she had so far -assumed her heiress position as to have a carriage of her own and a -saddle-horse; and instead of accompanying Lady Beauport in her set -round of "airing," Annie had taken long drives into country regions, -where she had alighted and walked in the fresh air, duly followed by -the carriage; or on horseback, and attended by her groom, had galloped -off to Hampstead and Highgate and Willesden and Ealing in the early -morning, long before Lady Beauport had thought of unclosing her eyes. -It was this glorious exercise, this enjoyment of heaven's light and air -and sun, that had given the rose to Annie's cheeks and the brilliance -to her eyes. She was freckled here and there; and there was a bit -of a brown mark on her forehead, showing exactly how much was left -unshaded by her hat. These were things which would have distressed -most well-regulated Belgravian damsels; but they troubled Annie not -one whit; and as she stood close by his chair, with her bright eyes -and her pushed-off brown hair, and the big teeth gleaming in her fresh -wholesome mouth, Caterham thought he had never seen her look more -charming, and felt that the distance between her, brimming over with -health, and him, gradually succumbing to disease, was greater than ever. - -Annie Maurice was a little shocked when she first glanced at Caterham. -The few days which had intervened since she had been to his room had -made a great difference in his appearance. His colour had not left -him--on the contrary, it had rather increased--but there was a tight -look about the skin, a dull glassiness in his eyes, and a pinched -appearance in the other features, which were unmistakable. Of course -she took no notice of this: but coming in, greeted him in her usual -affectionate manner. Nor was there any perceptible difference in his -voice as he said: - -"You see I have kept you to your word, Annie. You promised, if I were -in my easy-chair, that you would play and read to me; and here I am." - -"And here I am to do your bidding, Arthur! and too delighted to do it, -and to see you sufficiently well to be here. You're not trying too -much, are you, Arthur?" - -"In what, Annie?" - -"In sitting up and coming into this room. Are you strong enough to -leave your bed?" - -"Ah, I am so weary and wretched alone, Annie. I long so for -companionship, for--" he checked himself and said, "for some one to -talk, to read, to keep me company in all the long hours of the day. I'm -not very bright just now, and even I have been stronger--which seems -almost ridiculous--but I could keep away no longer, knowing you would -come to lighten my dreariness." - -Though his voice was lower and more faint than usual, there was an -impassioned tone in it which she had never heard before, and which -jarred ever so slightly on her ear. So she rose from her seat, and -laughingly saying that she would go at once and perform part of her -engagement, sat down at the piano, and played and sang such favourite -pieces of his as he had often been in the habit of asking for. They -were simple ballads,--some of Moore's melodies, Handel's "Harmonious -Blacksmith," and some of Mendelssohn's _Lieder ohne Woerte_,--all calm, -soft, soothing music, such as Caterham loved; and when Annie had been -playing for some time he said: - -"You don't know how I love to hear you, Annie! you're getting tired -now, child." - -"Not in the least degree, Arthur. I could go on singing all day, if it -amused you." - -"It does more than amuse me, Annie. I cannot describe to you the -feeling that comes over me in listening to your singing; nothing else -has such a calm, holy, sanctifying influence on me. Listening to you, -all the petty annoyances, the carking cares of this world fade away, -and--" - -He ceased speaking suddenly; and Annie looking round, saw the tears on -his cheek. She was about to run to him, but he motioned her to keep her -seat, and said: "Annie dear, you recollect a hymn that I heard you sing -one night when you first came here?--one Sunday night when they were -out, and you and I sat alone in the twilight in the drawing-room? Ah, I -scarcely knew you then, but that hymn made a great impression on me." - -"You mean-- - 'Abide with me! fast falls the eventide - The darkness deepens: Lord, with me abide!'" - - -"Yes, that is it. How lovely it is!--both words and music, I think." - -"Yes, it is lovely. It was written by a Mr. Lyte, when he was--" - -She checked herself, but he finished the sentence for her,--"When he -was dying. Yes; I recollect your telling me so that night. Sing it for -me, dear." - -She turned to the piano at once, and in an instant the rich deep tones -of her voice were ringing through the room. Annie Maurice sang ballads -sweetly, but she sang hymns magnificently. There was not the slightest -attempt at ornamentation or _bravura_ in her performance, but she threw -her whole soul into her singing; and the result was rich and solemn -melody. As she sang, she seemed to embody the spirit of the composer, -and her voice vibrated and shook with the fervour which animated her. - -Half leaning on his stick, half reclining in his chair, Caterham -watched her in rapt delight; then when she had finished, and ere -the thrilling music of her voice had died away, he said: "Thanks, -dear--again a thousand thanks! Now, once more a request, Annie. I shall -not worry you much more, my child." - -"Arthur,"--and in an instant she was by his side,--"if you speak like -that, I declare I will not sing to you." - -"O yes, you will, Annie dear!---O yes, you will. You know as well -as I do that--Well, then"--obedient to a forefinger uplifted in -warning--"I'll say no more on that point. But I want you now to sing -me the old-fashioned Evening Hymn. Ive a very ancient love for dear -old Bishop Ken, and I don't like to think of his being set aside -for any modern hymnologist,--even for such a specimen as that you -have just sung. Sing me 'Glory to Thee,' Annie,--that is, if you are -old-fashioned enough to know it." - -She smiled, and sang. When she ceased, finding that he remained -speechless and motionless, she went up to him, fearing that he had -fainted. He was lying back in his chair perfectly quiet, with his eyes -closed. When she touched him, he opened them dreamily, saying, "'That -I may dread the grave as little as my bed.' Yes, yes!--Ah, Annie dear, -you've finished!--and to think that you, a modern young lady, should be -able to sing old Bishop Ken without book! Where did you learn him?" - -"When I was a very little child,--at the Priory, Arthur. Geoffrey -Ludlow--as Ive told you, I think--used to come out to us every Sunday; -and in the evening after dinner, before I went to bed, he used to ask -for his little wife to sing to him. And then poor papa used to tell me -to sit on Geoff's knee, and I used to sing the Evening Hymn." - -"Ay," said Caterham in an absent manner, "Geoffrey Ludlow's little -wife! Geoffrey Ludlow's little wife!--ay, ay! 'That so I may, rise -glorious at Thine awful day!' In Thy mercy, in Thy mercy!" and saying -this, he fainted away. - -That evening Algy Barford, at Lord Dropmore's in Lincolnshire, on his -return from shooting, found a telegram on his dressing-room table. It -was from Annie Maurice, and begged his immediate return to town. - -Lord Caterham was better the next day. Though still very weak, -he insisted on being dressed and wheeled into his sitting-room. -Once there, he had his despatch-box placed before him, and the -writing-materials put ready to his hand. Of late he had occasionally -been in the habit of employing an amanuensis. Annie Maurice had -frequently written from his dictation; and when she had been engaged, a -son of the old housekeeper, who was employed at a law-stationer's, and -who wrote a hand which was almost illegible from its very clearness, -had sometimes been pressed into the service. But now Lord Caterham -preferred writing for himself. Annie had sent to beg him to rest; and -in reply he had scrawled two lines, saying that he was ever so much -better, and that he had something to do which must be done, and which -when done would leave him much happier and easier in mind. So they left -him to himself; and Stephens, looking in from time to time, as was his -wont, reported to the servants'-hall that his master was "at it as hard -as ever--still a-writin'!" They wondered what could thus occupy him, -those curious domestics. They knew exactly the state in which he was, -the feeble hold that he had on life;--what do they not know, those -London servants?--and they thought that he was making his will, and -speculated freely among themselves as to what would be the amount of -Stephens's inheritance; and whether it would be a sum of money "down," -or an annuity; and whether Stephens would invest it after the usual -fashion of their kind--in a public-house, or whether, from excessive -gentility, he was not "a cut above that." Lord Caterham would not hold -out much longer, they opined; and then Mr. Lionel would come in for -his title; and who Mr. Lionel was--inquired about by the new servants, -and the description of Mr. Lionel by the old servants--and mysterious -hints as to how, in the matter of Mr. Lionel, there had been a "screw -loose" and a "peg out;" how he was a "regular out-and-out fast lot," -and had had to "cut it;"--all this occasioned plenty of talk in the -servants'-hall, and made the dreary autumn-day pass quite pleasantly. -And still the sick man sat at his desk, plying his pen, with but rare -intervals of rest--intervals during which he would clasp his poor -aching head, and lift his shrivelled attenuated hands in earnest silent -prayer. - - -The Beauport household was sunk in repose the next morning, when a -sharp ring at the bell, again and again repeated, aroused the young -lady who as kitchen-maid was on her preferment, and whose dreams -of being strangled by the cook for the heaviness of her hand in an -omelette were scared by the shrill clanging of the bell which hung -immediately over her head. The first notion of "fire" had calmed -down into an idea of "sweeps" by the time that she had covered her -night-attire with a dingy calico robe known to her as her "gownd;" and -she was tottering blindly down stairs before she recollected that no -sweeps had been ordered, and thought that it was probably a "runaway." -But lured perhaps by a faint idea that it might be the policeman, she -descended; and after an enormous amount of unbolting and unchaining, -found herself face-to-face with a fresh-coloured, light-bearded, cheery -gentleman, who wore a Glengarry cap, had a travelling-rug in his hand, -was smoking a cigar, and had evidently just alighted from a hansom-cab -which was standing at the door, and the driver of which was just -visible behind a big portmanteau and a gun-case. The fresh-coloured -gentleman was apparently rather startled at the apparition of the -kitchen-maid, and exclaimed, apparently involuntarily, "Gad!" in -a very high key. Recovering himself instantly, he asked how Lord -Caterham was. Utterly taken aback at discovering that the visitor was -not the policeman, the kitchen-maid was floundering about heavily for -an answer, when she was more than ever disconcerted at seeing the -fresh-coloured gentleman tear off his Glengarry-cap and advance up -the steps with outsretched hand. These demonstrations were not made in -honour of kitchen-maid, but of Annie Maurice, who had been aroused from -her usual light sleep by the ring, and who, guessing at the visitor, -had come down in her dressing-gown to see him. - -They passed into the dining-room, and then he took her hand and -said: "I only got your telegram at dinner-time last night, my dear -Miss Maurice, and came off just as I was. Dropmore--deuced civil of -him--drove me over to the station himself hard as he could go, by Jove! -just caught mail-train, and came on from King's Cross in a cab. It's -about Caterham, of course. Bad news,--ay, ay, ay! He--poor--I can't -say it--he's in danger, he--" And brave old Algy stopped, his handsome -jolly features all tightened and pinched in his anxiety. - -"He is very, very ill, dear Mr. Barford,--very ill; and I wanted you to -see him. I don't know--I can't tell why--but I think he may possibly -have something on his mind--something which he would not like to tell -me, but which he might feel a relief in confiding to some one else; and -as you, I know, are a very dear and valued friend of his, I think we -should all like you to be that some one. That was what made me send for -you." - -"I'm--I'm not a very good hand at eloquence, Miss Maurice--might put -pebbles in my mouth and shout at the sea-shore and all that kind of -thing, like the--the celebrated Greek person, you know--and wouldn't -help me in getting out a word; but though I can't explain, I feel very -grateful to you for sending for me, to see--dear old boy!" The knot -which had been rising in Algy Barford's throat during this speech -had grown nearly insurmountable by this time, and there were two big -tears running down his waistcoat. He tried to pull himself together as -he said: "If he has any thing to say, which he would like to say to -me--of course--I shall--any thing that would--God bless him, my dear -old boy!--good, patient, dear darling old boy, God bless him!" The -thought of losing his old friend flashed across him in all its dread -heart-wringing dreariness, and Algy Barford fairly broke down and wept -like a child. Recovering himself after a moment, he seized Annie's -hand, and muttering something to the effect that he would be back as -soon as he had made himself a little less like an Esquimaux, he dashed -into the cab and was whirled away. - -You would scarcely have thought that Algy Barford had had what is -called sleep, but what really is a mixture of nightmare and cramp in -a railway-carriage, had you seen him at eleven o'clock, when he next -made his appearance at St. Barnabas Square, so bright and fresh and -radiant was he. He found Annie Maurice awaiting his arrival, and had -with her a short earnest conversation as to Caterham's state. From that -he learned all. The doctors had a very bad opinion of their patient's -state: it was--hum--ha!--Yes--you know!--general depression--a want of -vitality, which--just now--looking at his normal lack of force, of what -we call professionally _vis vita_, might--eh? Yes, no doubt, serious -result. Could not be positively stated whether he would not so far -recover--pull through, as it is called--rally, as we say, as to--remain -with us yet some time; but in these cases there was always--well, yes, -it must be called a risk. This was the decision which the doctors -had given to Annie, and which she, in other words, imparted to Algy -Barford, who, coupling it with his experience of the guarded manner -in which fashionable physicians usually announced their opinions, -felt utterly hopeless, and shook his head mournfully. He tried to -be himself; to resume his old smile and old confident buoyant way; -he told his dear Miss Maurice that she must hope for the best; that -these doctor-fellows, by Jove, generally knew nothing; half of them -died suddenly themselves, without even having anticipated their own -ailments; "physician, heal thyself," and all that sort of thing; that -probably Caterham wanted a little rousing, dear old boy; which rousing -he would go in and give him. But Annie marked the drooping head and the -sad despondent manner in which he shrugged his shoulders and plunged -his hands into his pockets when he thought she had retired--marked also -how he strove to throw elasticity into his step and light into his face -as he approached the door of Caterham's room. - -It had been arranged between Algy and Annie Maurice that his was to -have the appearance of a chance visit, so that when Stephens had -announced him, and Lord Caterham had raised his head in wonder, Algy, -who had by this time pulled himself together sufficiently, said: "Ah, -ha Caterham!--dear old boy!--thought you had got rid of us all out of -town, eh?--and were going to have it all to yourself! Not a bit of -it, dear boy! These doctor-fellows tell you one can't get on without -ozone. Don't know what that is--daresay they're right. All I know -is, I can't get on without a certain amount of chimney-pot. Country, -delicious fresh air, turf; heather, peat-bog, stubble, partridge, -snipe, grouse--all deuced good! cows and pigs, and that kind of thing; -get up early, and go to bed and snore; get red face and double-chin -and awful weight--then chimney-pot required. I always know, bless you! -Too much London season, get my liver as big as Strasburg goose's, you -know--_foie gras_ and feet nailed to a board, and that kind of thing; -too much country, tight waistcoat, red face--awfully British, in point -of fact. Then, chimney-pot. I'm in that state now; and Ive come back -to have a week's chimney-pot and blacks and generally cabbage-stalky -street--and then I shall go away much better." - -"You keep your spirits, Algy, wherever you are." The thin faint voice -struck on Algy Barford's ear like a knell. He paused a minute and -took a short quick gulp, and then said: "O yes, still the same stock -on hand, Caterham. I could execute country orders, or supply colonial -agencies even, with promptitude and despatch, I think. And you, -Arthur--how goes it with you?" - -"Very quietly, Algy,--very, very quietly, thank God! Ive had no return -of my old pain for some time, and the headache seems to have left me." - -"Well, that's brave! We shall see you in your chair out on the lawn at -the hunt-breakfast at Homershams again this winter, Arthur. We shall--" - -"Well, I scarcely think that. I mean, not perhaps as you interpret me; -but--I scarcely think--However, there's time enough to think of that. -Let's talk of nearer subjects. I'm so glad you chanced to come to town, -Algy--so very glad. Your coming seems predestined; for it was only -yesterday I was wishing I had you here." - -"Tremendously glad I came, dear old boy! Chimney-pot attack fell in -handy this time, at all events. What did you want, Arthur, old fellow? -Not got a new leaning towards dogginess, and want me to go up to Bill -George's? Do you recollect that Irish deerhound I got for you?" - -"I recollect him well--poor old Connor. No, not a dog now. I want you -to--just raise me a bit, Algy, will you?--a little bit: I am scarcely -strong enough to--that's it. Ah, Algy, old fellow, how often in the -long years that we have been chums have you lifted this poor wretched -frame in your strong arms!" - -It was a trial for a man of Algy Barford's big heart; but he made head -against it even then, and said in a voice harder and drier than usual -from the struggle, "How often have I brought my bemuddled old brains -for you to take them out and pick them to pieces and clean them, and -put them back into my head in a state to be of some use to me!--that's -the question, dear old boy. How often have you supplied the match to -light the tow inside my head--Ive got deuced little outside now--and -sent me away with some idea of what I ought to do when I was in a deuce -of a knot! Why, I recollect once when Lionel and I--what is it, dear -old boy?" - -"You remind me--the mention of that name--I want to say something to -you Algy, which oddly enough had--just reach me that bottle, Algy; -thanks!--which--" - -"Rest a minute, dear old boy; rest. You've been exerting yourself too -much." - -"No; I'm better now--only faint for a minute. What was I saying?--O, -about Lionel. You recollect a letter which--" his voice was growing -again so faint that Algy took up the sentence. - -"Which I brought to you; a letter from Lionel, after he had, you know, -dear old boy--board ship and that kind of thing?" - -"Yes, that is the letter I mean. You--you knew its contents, Algy?" - -"Well, Arthur, I think I did--I--you know Lionel was very fond of me, -and--used to be about with him, you know, and that kind of thing--" - -"You knew his--his wife?" - -"Wife, Gad, did he say?--Jove! Knew you were--dear me!--charming -person--lady. Very beautiful--great friend of Lionel's; but not his -wife, dear old boy--somebody else's wife." - -"Somebody else's wife?" - -"Yes; wonderful story. Ive wanted to tell you, and, most extraordinary -thing, something always interrupted. Friend of yours too; tall woman -red hair, violet eyes--wife of painter-man--Good God, Arthur!" - -Well might he start; for Lord Caterham threw his hands wildly above -his head, then let them fall helplessly by his side. By the time Algy -Barford had sprung to his chair, and passed his arms around him, the -dying man's head had drooped on to his right shoulder, and his eyes -were glazing fast. - -"Arthur! dear Arthur! one instant! Let me call for help." - -"No, Algy; leave us so; no one else. Only one who could--and -she--better not--bless her! better not. Take my hand, Algy, old -friend--tried, trusted, dear old friend--always thoughtful, always -affectionate--God bless you--Algy! Yes, kiss my forehead again. Ah, so -happy! where the wicked cease from troubling and the--Yes, Lord, with -me abide, with me abide!--the darkness deepens: Lord, with me abide!" - -And as the last words fell faintly on Algy Barford's ears, the slight -form which was lying in Algy Barford's arms, and on which the strong -man's tears were falling like rain, slipped gradually out of his -grasp--dead. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. -THE PROTRACTED SEARCH. - - -Annie Maurice was aroused from the brooding loneliness in which she -had sought refuge, in the first bewilderment and stupefaction of her -grief, by a communication from Lord Beauport. All was over now; the -last sad ceremonial had taken place; and the place which had known -Arthur, in his patient suffering, in his little-appreciated gentleness -and goodness, should know him no more for ever. The crippled form -was gone, and the invalid-chair which had for so long supported it -had been removed, by order of the housekeeper, to a receptacle for -discarded articles of use or ornament. Lord and Lady Beauport were -not likely to notice the circumstance, or to object to it if they -did. The blinds were decorously drawn; the rooms were scrupulously -arranged; every thing in them in its place, as though never to be used -or handled any more. The books, the objects of art, the curious things -which the dead man alone of all the house had understood and valued, -had a staring lifeless look about them in the unaccustomed precision -of their distribution; the last flowers which Annie ha placed in the -Venetian glasses had withered, and been thrown away by the notable -housemaids. A ray of sunlight crept in at one side of the blind, and -streamed upon the spot where Arthur's head had fallen back upon his -friend's arm,--ah, how short a time ago!--and yet all looked strange -and changed, not only as if he had gone away for ever, but as if he had -never been there at all. Annie had not gone into the rooms since he had -left them for the last time; she had an instinctive feeling of how it -would be, and she could not bear it yet; she knew that in nothing would -there be so sharp a pang as in seeing the familiar things which had -been so like him, grown so unlike. So, when her maid told her that Lord -Beauport wished to see her immediately, she asked nervously where he -was. - -"In the library, Miss Annie," said her maid, and looked very pityingly -at the purple eyelids and white face. - -"Alone?" - -No, his lordship was not alone; one of the lawyer gentlemen and her -ladyship were with him. - -Annie went slowly and reluctantly to the library. She did not think -for a moment that Lord and Lady Beauport were indifferent to the -death of their eldest son; on the contrary, she knew that the event -had come upon them with a mighty shock, and that they had felt it, if -not deeply, at least violently and keenly. But she had the faculty -of vivid perception, and she used it intuitively; and in this case -it told her that shame, self-detection, and remorse,--the vague -uneasiness which besets all who cannot reckon with themselves to the -full in the daylight of conscience, but, like the debtor called to -an account, kept something back,--mingled largely with their grief. -It was not wholehearted, lavish, sacred, like hers; it was not the -grief which takes the spontaneous form of prayer, and chastens itself -into submission, elevating and sanctifying the mind and character of -the mourner. Annie knew, by that keen unreasoning instinct of hers, -that while her sole and earnest desire was to keep the memory of her -dead cousin green, recalling his words, his counsels, his -wishes,--dwelling on his views of life and its duties, and -preserving him in her faithful heart, for ever near her, as a living -friend,--while her chosen thoughts would be of him, and her best -consolation in memory,--his father and mother would forget him if -they could. They mourned for him, but it was with captious impatient -grief; there was a sting in every remembrance, every association, which -they could not yet escape from, but would have put away if they had had -the power. To them, sorrow for the dead was as a haunting enemy, to -be outwitted and left behind as speedily as might be; to her it was a -friend, cherished and dear, solemnly greeted, and piously entertained. - -When Annie entered the library, she found that the "lawyer gentleman," -whom her maid had mentioned, was the family solicitor, Mr. Knevitt, -who was well known to her, and for whom Caterham had had much liking -and respect. Lord Beauport and he were standing together beside a long -table, strewn with papers, and on which stood a large despatch-box -open, and, as she saw while she walked up the room, also full of -papers. At some distance from the table, and in the shade, Lady -Beauport was seated, her hands clasped together in her lap, and her -figure leaning completely back in the deep arm-chair she occupied. She -looked very pale and worn, and her deep mourning was not becoming to -her. Sharp contention of thought and feeling was going on under that -calm exterior,--bitter pangs, in which vexation had a large share, as -well as regret, and a sense that she was to be baffled in the future -as she had been defeated in the past. Ay, the future,--she had begun -to think of it already, or rather she had begun (when had she ever -ceased?) to think of _him_. Lionel was the future to her. What if there -were more trouble and opposition in store for her? What if Arthur (ah, -poor fellow! he had never understood young men different from himself, -and he was always hard on Lionel) had left any communication for his -father, had written any thing touching the particulars of Lionel's -career which he knew, and had warned her not to ask? Hitherto nothing -of the sort had been found in the examination of Lord Caterham's -papers instituted by Lord Beauport and Mr. Knevitt. There was a packet -for Annie Maurice, indeed; they had found it an hour ago, and Lord -Beauport had just sent for Annie in order to hand it over to her. Lady -Beauport had, however, no apprehensions connected with this matter; -the virtues of the dead and the vices of the living son (though she -would not have given them their true name) secured her from feeling -any. Whatever Lionel had done she felt convinced was not of a nature -to be communicated to Annie, and Caterham would have guarded her -with the utmost caution from hearing any thing unfit for her ears. -No, no; there was no danger in that quarter. Had she not felt sure, -before this "dreadful thing"--as she called Lord Caterham's death to -herself--happened, that the scrupulous delicacy of her son, where -Annie was concerned, would be her best aid and defence against his -defeat of her projects? The letter, the packet--whatever it might be -called--was probably an effusion of feeling, a moral lecture on life, -or a posthumous guide to studies, in which Arthur had desired to see -his gentle and interesting cousin proficient. - -So Lady Beauport looked at the packet as it lay on the table, close to -the despatch-box, without the least anxiety, and fixed her impatient -attention on the further investigation of the papers, continued by Lord -Beauport and Mr. Knevitt. It was not until they had concluded as much -of their melancholy task as they proposed to undertake that day, that -the Earl sent the summons which brought Annie to the library. - -He took up the packet as she drew near, and said, very sadly: - -"This is for you my dear." - -"From--from Arthur?" she asked, in a trembling voice. "Yes, Annie,--we -found it among his papers." - -She took it from him, looked at it, and sat down in a chair beside the -table, but made no attempt to break the seal. Lady Beauport did not -speak. The Earl resumed his conversation with Mr. Knevitt, and Annie -sat still and silent for a few minutes, Then she interrupted Lord -Beauport by asking him if he required her for any thing further. - -"No, my dear," he said kindly; "you may go away if you like. How weary -you look!" he added, with a deep sigh. Still Lady Beauport spoke no -word; but her keen unsympathetic eyes followed the girl's graceful -figure and drooping head as she left the library. - -Arrived at her own room, Annie opened the packet, which she felt was -a sacred thing. Her departed friend had written to her, then, words -which he intended her to read only when he should be no more; solemn -counsel, very precious affection, a priceless legacy from the dead -would no doubt be in the letter, whose folds felt so thick and heavy -in her hand. She removed the outer cover, placing it carefully by her -side, and found an enclosure directed to Geoffrey Ludlow, and merely a -few lines to herself, in which the writer simply directed her to place -the accompanying letter in Geoffrey's hands _herself_, and privately, -as soon after it came into hers as possible. - -Surprise and disappointment were Annie's first feelings. She looked -forlornly enough at the meagre scrap of writing that was her share, -and with some wonder at the letter--no doubt voluminous--which was -Geoffrey's. What could it be about? Arthur and Ludlow had been good -friends, it is true, and had entertained strong mutual respect; but she -could not account for this solemn communication, implying so strange -and absolute a confidence. She turned the letter over in her hands, she -scrutinised the address, the paper, the seal; then she rose and locked -it carefully away, together with the note to herself in which it had -been: enclosed. "Give this letter _privately_ to Ludlow," were Arthur's -words; then, if he did not wish its delivery to be known, it was plain -he wished to conceal its existence. If Lady Beauport should question -her as to the contents of the packet? Well, she must either give an -evasive answer, or refuse to answer at all; the alternative should -be decided by the terms of the question. She could venture to refuse -an answer to a question of Lady Beauport's now; her heiress-ship had -secured her many immunities, that one among the rest. - -Lord Beauport was right; Annie was weary, and looking so. The sickness -and dreariness of a great grief were upon her, and she was worn out. -The stillness of the great house was oppressive to her; and yet -she shrank from the knowledge that that stillness was soon to pass -away, that life would resume its accustomed course, and the dead be -forgotten. By all but her; to her his memory should be ever precious, -and his least wish sacred. Then she debated within herself how she -should fulfil his last request. There were difficulties in the way. -She could not tell Geoffrey to call on her yet, nor could she go to -his house. Then she remembered that he had not written to her. She had -forgotten, until then, that there had been no answer to the letter in -which she told Geoffrey Ludlow of Caterham's death. Could a letter have -come, and been overlooked? She rang for her maid and questioned her, -but she was positive no letter had been mislaid or forgotten. Several -papers lay on her writing-table; she turned them over, to satisfy -herself, though nothing could be more improbable than that she should -have overlooked a letter from her dear old friend. There was no such -thing. Puzzled and vaguely distressed, Annie stood looking at the heap -of notes, with her hands pressed on her throbbing temples; and her -maid entreated her to lie down and rest, commenting, as Lord Beauport -had done, upon her appearance. Annie complied; and the girl carefully -darkened the room and left her. For a while she lay still, thinking how -she was to convey the letter to Geoffrey, without delay, "as soon as -possible," Arthur had said; but she soon dropped into the dull heavy -sleep of grief and exhaustion. - -It was late in the evening when she awoke, and she again eagerly -inquired for letters. There were none, and Annie's surprise grew into -uneasiness. She resolved to write to Ludlow again, to tell him that -she had something of importance to communicate, without indicating -its character. "He may tell Margaret, or not, as he pleases," she -thought "that is for him to decide. I daresay, if she sees my note, -she will not feel any curiosity or interest about it. Poor Geoffrey!" -And then the girl recalled all that Arthur had said of his suspicion -and distrust of Ludlow's beautiful wife, and thought sorrowfully how -large was his share in the loss they had sustained of such a friend. -Something must be wrong, she thought, or Geoffrey would surely have -written. In her sore grief she yearned for the true and ready sympathy -which she should have from him, and him alone. Stay; she would not only -write, she would send her maid to inquire for Geoffrey, and Margaret, -and the child. She could go early next morning in a cab, and be back -before breakfast-hour. So Annie made this arrangement, wrote her note, -got through a short hour or two in the great dreary drawing-room as -best she could, and once more cried herself to the merciful sleep which -in some degree strengthened her for the intelligence which awaited her -in the morning. - -She was aroused by her maid, who came hurriedly to her bedside, holding -in her hand Annie's note to Ludlow. She started up, confused, yet -sufficiently awake to be startled at the look in the girl's face. - -"What is it?" she said faintly. - -"O Miss Annie, dreadful, dreadful news Mrs. Ludlow has gone away, -nobody knows where, and Mr. Ludlow is raving mad, in brain-fever!" - - -Lord Caterham's letter lay for many days undisturbed in the receptacle -in which Annie Maurice had placed it. Not yet was the confidence of -the dead to be imparted to the living. He was to read that letter in -time, and to learn from it much that the writer had never dreamed it -could convey. Little had the two, who had lived in so near and pleasant -an intimacy, dreamed of the fatal link which really, though unseen, -connected them. This was the letter which, in due time, Annie Maurice -deposited in Geoffrey's hands: - - -"MY DEAR LUDLOW,--I have felt for some time that for me 'the long -disease called life' is wearing toward its cure. Under this conviction -I am 'setting my house in order;' and to do so thoroughly, and enjoy -peace of mind for the brief space which will remain to me when that is -done, I must have recourse to your honest and trusty friendship. I have -to bequeath to you two services to be done for me, and one confidence -to be kept, until your discretion shall judge it expedient that it -should be divulged. These two services are distinct, but cognate; and -they concern one who is the dearest of all living creatures to me, and -for whom I know you entertain a sincere and warm affection--I allude -to Annie Maurice. The confidence concerns my unworthy brother, Lionel -Brakespere. - -"In the fortune left her by Mr. Ampthill, Annie has security against -material ills, and is safe from the position of dependence, in which -I never could bear to feel she must remain. This is an immense relief -to my mind; but it has substituted a source of uneasiness, though of -considerably less dimensions, for that which it has removed. When -I wrote to you lately, asking you to come to me, it was with the -intention of speaking to you on this subject; but as our interview has -been accidentally prevented, I made up my mind to act in the matter -myself, as long as I live, and to bequeath action after my death to -you, as I am now doing. My brother is as worthless a man as there is on -the face of the earth--heartless, depraved, unprincipled to an almost -incredible degree, considering his early association with men and women -of character. You have, I daresay, heard vaguely of certain disgraceful -circumstances which forced him to leave the country, and which brought -immeasurable distress upon us all. - -"I need not enter into these matters: they have little to do with -the thing that is pressing on my mind. If Lionel's vices had been -hidden from society ever so discreetly, I was sufficiently aware of -their existence to have shrunk with as much horror as I feel now from -the idea of his becoming Annie's husband. Let me preface what I am -about to say by assuring you that I do not entertain any such fear. -I know Annie; and I am perfectly assured that for her pure, upright, -intelligent, and remarkably clear-sighted nature such a man as -Lionel,--whose profound and cynical selfishness is not to be hidden by -external polish, and whose many vices have left upon him the _cachet_ -which every pure woman feels instinctively, even though she does not -understand theoretically,--will never have any attraction. She knows -the nature of the transaction which drove him from England; and such a -knowledge would be sufficient protection for her, without the repulsion -which I am satisfied will be the result of association with him. I -would protect her from such association if I could, and while I live -I do not doubt my power to do so. It will be painful to me to use it; -but I do not mind pain for Annie's benefit. A sad estrangement always -existed between Lionel and me; an estrangement increased on his side by -contempt and dislike--which he expressed in no measured terms--but on -my part merely passive. The power which I possess to hinder his return -to this house was put into my hands by himself--more, I believe, to -wound me, and in the wanton malice and daring of his evil nature, than -for the reason he assigned; but it is effectual, and I shall use it, -as I can, without explanation. When I am gone, it needs be, some one -must be enabled to use this power in my stead; and that person, my dear -Ludlow, is you. I choose you for Annie's sake, for yours, and for my -own. My mother designs to marry Lionel to Annie, and thus secure to him -by marriage the fortune which his misconduct lost him by inheritance. -With this purpose in view, she has summoned Lionel to England, and she -proposes that he should return to this house. She and I have had a -painful explanation, and I have positively declared that it cannot and -shall not be. In order to convince her of the necessity of yielding -the point, I have told her that I am in possession of particulars of -Lionel's conduct, unknown to her and my father, which perfectly justify -me in my declaration; and I have entreated her, for the sake of her own -peace of mind, not to force me, by an attempt which can have no issue -but failure, to communicate the disgraceful particulars. Lady Beauport -has been forced to appear satisfied for the present; and matters are in -a state of suspense. - -"But this cannot last, and with my life it will come to an end. -Lionel will return here, in my place, and bearing my name--the heir -to an earldom; and the follies and crimes of the younger son will be -forgotten. Still Annie Maurice will be no less a brilliant match, and -my mother will be no less anxious to bring about a marriage. I foresee -misery to Annie--genteel persecution and utter friendlessness--unless -you, Ludlow, come to her aid. With all its drawbacks, this is her -fitting home; and you must not propose that she should leave it without -very grave cause. But you must be in a position to preserve her from -Lionel; you must hold the secret in your hand, as I hold it, which -makes all schemes for such an accursed marriage vain--the secret which -will keep the house she will adorn free from the pollution of his -presence. When you hear that Lionel Brakespere is paying attention to -Annie under his father's roof, go to Lord Beauport, and tell him that -Lionel Brakespere is a married man. - -"And now, my dear Ludlow, you know one of the services you are to do me -when I am gone; and you are in possession of the confidence I desire to -repose in you. To explain the other, I must give you particulars. When -my brother left England, he sent me, by the hands of a common friend, a -letter which he had written at Liverpool, and which, when I have made -you acquainted with its contents, I shall destroy. I do not desire to -leave its low ribaldry, its coarse contempt, its cynical wickedness, to -shock my poor father's eyes, or to testify against my brother when I am -gone. - -"I enable you to expose him, in order to prevent unhappiness to one -dear to us both; but I have no vindictive feeling towards him, and -no eyes but mine must see the words in which he taunts me with the -physical afflictions to which he chooses to assign my 'notions of -morality' and 'superiority to temptation.' Enough--the facts which the -letter contains are these: As nearly as I can make out, four years -ago he met and tried to seduce a young lady, only eighteen years old, -at Tenby. Her virtue, I hope--he says her ambition--foiled him, and -he ran away with the girl and married her. He called himself Leonard -Brookfield; and she never knew his name or real position. He took her -abroad for a time; then brought her to London, where she passed for -his mistress among the men to whom he introduced her, and who were -aware that she had no knowledge of his identity. He had left the army -then, or of course she would have discovered it. When the crash came, -he had left her, and he coolly told me, as he had next to nothing for -himself, he had nothing for her. His purpose in writing to me was -to inform me, as especially interested in the preservation of the -family, that not only was there a wife in the case, but, to the best -of his belief, child also, to be born very soon; and as no one could -say what would become of him, it might be as well to ascertain where -the heir of the Beauports might be found, if necessary. He supposed I -would keep the matter a secret, until it should become advisable, if -ever, to reveal it. Mrs. Brakespere had no knowledge of her rights, -and could not, therefore, make herself obnoxious by claiming them. -If I chose to give her some help, I should probably be rewarded by -the consciousness of charity; but he advised me to keep the secret of -our relationship for my own sake: she was perfectly well known as his -mistress; and as they were both under a cloud at present, the whole -thing had better be kept as dark as possible. I read this letter with -the deepest disgust; the personal impertinence to myself I could afford -to disregard, and was accustomed to; but the utter baseness and villany -of it sickened me. This was the man who was to bear my father's name -and fill my father's place. I determined at once to afford assistance -to the wretched forsaken wife, and to wait and consider when and how -it would be advisable to bring about the acknowledgment of the truth -and her recognition. I thought of course only of simple justice. The -circumstances of the marriage were too much against the girl to enable -me to form any favourable opinion of her. I turned to the letter to -find her name and address; they were not given: of course this was only -an oversight; he must have intended to subjoin them. My perplexity was -extreme. How was I to discover this unhappy woman? I knew too well the -code of honour, as it is called, among men, to hope for help from any -of his dissolute friends; they would keep his evil secret--as they -believed it--faithfully. - -"Algy Barford had brought me the letter, and on that occasion had -referred to his being 'no end chums' with Lionel. But he had also -declared that he knew nothing whatever of the contents of the letter. -Still he might know something of her. I put a question or two to him, -and found he did not. He had known a woman who lived with Lionel -for a short time, he believed, but she was dead. Clearly this was -another person. Then I determined to have recourse to the professional -finders-out of secrets, and I sent for Blackett. You have often seen -him leaving me as you came in, or waiting for me as you went out. The -day Mrs. Ludlow fainted, you remember, he was in the hall as you took -her to the carriage, and he asked me so many questions about her, that -I was quite amused at the idea of a detective being so enthusiastic. -The materials he had to work on were sparing indeed, and the absence of -all clue by name was very embarrassing. He went to work skilfully, I -am sure, though he failed. He went to Tenby, and there he ascertained -the name of the girl who had deserted her widowed mother for Leonard -Brookfield. The mother had been many months dead. This was little help, -for she had doubtless discarded the Christian name; and the personal -description was probably coloured by the indignation her conduct had -excited. Blackett learned that she was handsome, with red hair and blue -eyes,--some said black. He could get no certain information on that -point. - -"But I need not linger over these details. No efforts were spared, yet -our search proved vain. When some time had elapsed, their direction -changed, and a woman and child were sought for: in every part of -London where destitution hides, in all the abodes of flaunting sin, in -hospitals, in refuges, in charitable institutions,--in vain. Sometimes -Blackett suggested that she might have taken another protector and -gone abroad; he made all possible inquiry. She had never communicated -with her home, or with any one who had formerly known her. I began to -despair of finding her; and I had almost made up my mind to relinquish -the search, when Blackett came to me one day, in great excitement for -him, and told me he was confident of finding her in a day or two at -the farthest. 'And the child?' I asked. No, he knew nothing of the -child; the woman he had traced, and whom he believed to be my brother's -deserted wife, had no child, had never had one, within the knowledge -of the people from whom he had got his information; nevertheless he -felt sure he was right this time, and the child might have died before -she came across them. She must have suffered terribly. Then he told -me his information came through a pawnbroker, of whom he had frequent -occasion to make inquiries. This man had shown him a gold locket, which -had evidently held a miniature, on the inside of which was engraved -'From Leonard to Clara,' and which had been pawned by a very poor but -respectable person, whose address, in a miserable lane at Islington, -he now gave to Blackett. He went to the place at once and questioned -the woman, who was only too anxious to give all the information in her -power in order to clear herself. She had received the locket in the -presence of two persons, from a young woman who had lodged with her, -and who had no other means of paying her. The young woman had gone away -a week before, she did not know where; she had no money, and only a -little bundle of clothes--a handkerchief full. She had no child, and -had never said any thing about one. The woman did not know her name. -She had taken a picture out of the locket She had red hair and dark -eyes. This was all. I shall never forget the wretched feeling which -came over me as I thought of the suffering this brief story implied, -and of what the wretched woman might since have undergone. I remember -so well, it was in January,--a dirty, wet, horrible day,--when Blackett -told me all this; and I was haunted with the idea of the woman dying -of cold and want in the dreadful streets. Blackett had no doubt of -finding her now; she had evidently fallen to the veriest pauperism, -and out of the lowest depths she would be drawn up, no doubt. So he -set to work at once, but all in vain. Dead or living, no trace of her -has ever been found; and the continuous search has been abandoned. -Blackett only 'bears it in mind' now. Once he suggested to me, that as -she was no doubt handsome, and not over particular, she might have got -a living by sitting to the painters, and 'I'll try that lay,' he said; -but nothing came of that either. I thought of it the day Annie and I -met you f, at the Private View, and if I had had the opportunity, would -have asked you if you knew such a face as the one we were only guessing -at, after all; but you were hurried, and the occasion passed; and when -we met again, Blackett had exhausted all sources of information in that -direction, and there was nothing to be learned. - -"This is the story I had to tell you, Ludlow, and to leave to your -discretion to use when the time comes. Within the last week Blackett -has made further attempts, and has again failed. Lionel is in London; -but while I live he does not enter this house. I shall, after a while, -when I am able, which I am not now, let him know that search has been -unsuccessfully made for his wife, and demand that he shall furnish -me with any clue in his possession, under the threat of immediate -exposure. This, and every other plan, may be at any moment rendered -impossible by my death; therefore I write this, and entreat you to -continue the search until this woman be found, dead or living. So only -can Annie's home be made happy and reputable for her when I shall have -left it for ever. You will receive this from Annie's hands; a packet -addressed to her will not be neglected or thrown aside; and if it -becomes necessary for you to act for her, she will have the knowledge -of the confidence I repose in you to support her in her acceptance of -your interference and obedience to your advice. I confide her to you, -my dear Ludlow--as I said before--as the dearest living thing in all -the world to me.--Yours ever, - -"CATERHAM." - - - - -CHAPTER V. -DISMAY. - - -Mrs. Ludlow and Til had concluded the meal which is so generally -advanced to a position of unnatural importance in a household devoid of -the masculine element _en permanence_; and, the tea-things having been -removed, the old lady, according to the established order, was provided -with a book, over which she was expected to fall comfortably asleep. -But she did not adhere to the rule of her harmless and placid life on -this particular occasion. The "cross" was there--no doubt about it; and -it was no longer indefinite in its nature, but very real, and beginning -to be very heavy. Under the pressure of its weight Geoffrey's mother -was growing indifferent to, even unobservant of, the small worries -which had formerly occupied her mind, and furnished the subject-matter -of her pardonable little querulousness and complaints--a grievance -in no way connected with the tradespeople, and uninfluenced by the -"greatest plagues in life"--which no reduction of duties involving -cheap groceries, and no sumptuary laws restraining servant-gal-ism -within limits of propriety in respect of curls and crinoline, had any -power to assuage,--had taken possession of her now, and she fidgeted -and fumed no longer, but was haunted by apprehension and sorely -troubled. - -A somewhat forced liveliness on Til's part, and a marked avoidance of -the subject of Geoffrey, of whom, as he had just left them, it would -have been natural that the mother and daughter should talk, bore -witness to the embarrassment she felt, and increased Mrs. Ludlow's -depression. She sat in her accustomed arm-chair, but her head drooped -forward and her fingers tapped the arms in an absent manner, which -showed her pre-occupation of mind. Til at length took her needle-work, -and sat down opposite her mother, in a silence which was interrupted -after a considerable interval by the arrival of Charley Potts, who -had not altogether ceased to offer clumsy and violently-improbable -explanations of his visits, though such were rapidly coming to be -unnecessary. - -On the present occasion Charley floundered through the preliminaries -with more than his usual impulsive awkwardness, and there was that in -his manner which caused Til (a quick observer, and especially so in his -case) to divine that he had something particular to say to her. If she -were right in her conjecture, it was clear that the opportunity must be -waited for,--until the nap, in which Mrs. Ludlow invariably indulged in -the evening, should have set in. The sooner the conversation settled -into sequence, the sooner this desirable event might be expected to -take place; so Til talked vigorously, and Charley seconded her efforts. -Mrs. Ludlow said little, until, just as Charley began to think the nap -was certainly coming, she asked him abruptly if he had seen Geoffrey -lately. Miss Til happened to be looking at Charley as the question was -put to him, and saw in a moment that the matter he had come to speak to -her about concerned her brother. - -"No, ma'am," said Chancy; "none of us have seen Geoff lately. Bowker -and I have planned a state visit to him; he's as hard to get at as a -swell in the Government--with things to give away--what do you call -it?--patronage; but we're not going to stand it. We can't do without -Geoff. By the bye, how's the youngster, ma'am?" - -"The child is very well, I believe," said Mrs. Ludlow, with a shake of -the head, which Charley Potts had learned to recognise in connection -with the "cross," but which he saw with regret on the present occasion. -"I'm afraid theyve heard something," he thought. "But," continued the -old lady querulously, "I see little of him, or of Geoffrey either. -Things are changed; I suppose it's all right, but it's not easy for -a mother to see it; and I don't think any mother would like to be -a mere visitor at her own son's house,--not that I am even much of -that now, Mr. Potts; for I am sure it's a month 'or more since ever I -have darkened the doors of Elm Lodge,--and I shouldn't so much mind -it, I hope, if it was for Geoffrey's good; but I can't think it's -that--" Here the old lady's voice gave way, and she left off with a -kind of sob, which went to Charley's soft heart and filled him with -inexpressible confusion. Til was also much taken aback, though she saw -at once that her mother had been glad of the opportunity of saying her -little say, under the influence of the mortification she had felt at -Geoffrey's silence on the subject of her future visits to Elm Lodge. He -had, as we have seen, made himself as delightful as possible in every -other respect; but he had been strictly reticent about Margaret, and -he had not invited his mother and sister to his house. She had been -longing to say all this to Til; and now she had got it out, in the -presence of a third party, who would "see fair" between her justifiable -annoyance and Til's unreasonable defence of her brother. Til covered -Charley's embarrassment by saying promptly, in a tone of extreme -satisfaction, - -"Geoffrey was here to-day; he paid us quite a long visit." - -"Did he?" said Charley; "and is he all right?" - -"O yes," said Til, "he is very well; and he told us all about his -pictures; and, do you know, he's going to put baby and the nurse into -a corner group, among the people on the Esplanade,--only he must wait -till baby's back is stronger, and his neck leaves off waggling, so -as to paint him properly, sitting up nice and straight in nurse's -arms." And then Miss Til ran on with a great deal of desultory talk, -concerning Geoffrey, and his description of the presents, and what he -had said about Lord Caterham and Annie Maurice. Charley listened to her -with more seriousness than he usually displayed; and Mrs. Ludlow sighed -and shook her head at intervals, until, as the conversation settled -into a dialogue, she gradually dropped asleep. Then Til's manner -changed, and she lowered her voice, and asked Charley anxiously if he -had come to tell her any bad news. - -"If you have," she said, "aid that it can be kept from mamma, tell it -at once, and let me keep it from her." - -With much true delicacy and deep sympathy, Charley then related to -Til the scene which had taken place between himself, Bowker, and -Stompff,--and told her that Bowker had talked the matter over with -him and they had agreed that it was not acting fairly by Geoffrey to -allow him to remain in ignorance of the floating rumours, injurious -to his wife's character, which were rife among their friends. How -Stompff had heard of Margaret's having fainted in Lord Caterham's -room, Charley could not tell; that he had heard it, and had heard a -mysterious cause assigned to it, he knew. That he could have known -any thing about an incident apparently so trivial proved that the -talk had become tolerably general, and was tending to the injury of -Geoffrey, not only in his self...respect and in his feelings, but in -his prospects. Charley was much more alarmed and uneasy, and much more -grieved for Geoffrey, than even Bowker; for he had reason to fear that -no supposition derogatory to Margaret's antecedents could surpass the -reality. He alone knew where and how the acquaintance between Geoffrey -and Margaret had begun, and he was therefore prepared to estimate the -calamity of such a marriage correctly. He did not exactly know what -he had intended to say to Matilda Ludlow; he had come to the house -with a vague idea that something ought to be done;--that Til ought to -speak to her sister-in-law,--a notion which in itself proved Charley -Potts to be any thing but a wise man,--ought to point out to her -that her indifference to her husband was at once ungrateful to him -and shortsighted to her own interest; and that people, notably his -employer, were talking about it. Charley Potts was not exactly an adept -in reading character, and the real Margaret was a being such as he -could neither have understood nor believed in; therefore the crudity, -wildness, and inapplicability of this scheme were to be excused. - -A very few words on his part served to open the susceptible heart -of Miss Til, especially as they had spoken on the subject, though -generally, before; and they were soon deep in the exchange of mutual -confidences. Til cried quietly, so as not to wake her mother; and it -distressed Charley very keenly to see her tears and to hear her declare -that her sister-in-law had not the slightest regard for her opinion; -that though perfectly civil to her, Margaret had met all her attempts -at sisterly intimacy with most forbidding coldness; and that she felt -sure any attempt to put their relation on a more familiar footing would -be useless. - -"She must have been very badly brought up, I am sure," said Til. "We -don't know anything about her family; but I am sure she never learned -what the duties of a wife and mother are." - -Charley looked admirably at Til as she sadly uttered this remark, and -his mind was divided between a vision of Til realising in the most -perfect manner the highest ideal of conjugal and maternal duty, and -speculating upon what might have been the polite fiction presented by -Geoffrey to his mother and sister as an authentic history of Margaret's -parentage and antecedents. - -"Did Geoffrey seem cheerful and happy to-day?" he asked, escaping off -the dangerous ground of questions which he could have answered only too -completely. - -"Well," replied Til, "I can't say he did. He talked and laughed, and -all that; but I could see that he was uneasy and unhappy. How much -happier he was when we were all together, in the days which seem so far -off now!" - -At this point the conversation became decidedly sentimental; for -Charley, while carefully maintaining that true happiness was only -to be found in the married state, was equally careful to state his -opinion that separation from Til must involve a perfectly incomparable -condition of misery; and altogether matters were evidently reaching -a climax. Matilda Ludlow was an unaffected honest girl: she knew -perfectly well that Charley loved her, and she had no particular -objection to his selecting this particular occasion on which to tell -her so. But Til and Charley were not to part that evening in the -character of affianced lovers; for in one of those significant pauses -which precede important words, cab-wheels rolled rapidly up to the -little gate, hurried footsteps ran along the flagged path, and a loud -knock and ring at the door impatiently demanded attention. - -Mrs. Ludlow awoke with a violent start: Charley and Til looked at each -other. The door was opened, and a moment later the cook from Elm Lodge -was in the room, and had replied to Charley's hurried question by the -statement that her master was very ill, and she had been sent to fetch -Miss Ludlow. - -"Very ill! has any accident happened?" they all questioned the woman, -who showed much feeling--all his dependents loved Geoffrey--and the -confusion was so great, that it was some minutes before they succeeded -in learning what actually had happened. That Geoffrey had returned home -as usual; had gone to the nursery, and played with the child and talked -to the nurse as usual; had gone to his painting-room; and had not again -been seen by the servants, until the housemaid had found him lying on -the hearth-rug an hour before, when they had sent for Dr. Brandram, and -that gentleman had despatched the cook to bring Miss Ludlow. - -"Did Mrs. Ludlow tell you to come?" asked Til. - -To this question the woman replied that her mistress was not at home. -She had been out the greater part of the day, had returned home some -time later than Mr. Ludlow, and had kept the cab waiting for an hour; -then she had gone away again, and had not returned when the cook had -been sent on her errand. Charley Potts exchanged looks of undisguised -alarm with Til at this portion of the woman's narrative, and, seeing -that reserve would now be wholly misplaced, he questioned her closely -concerning Mrs. Ludlow. She had nothing to tell, however, beyond that -the housemaid had said her master and mistress had been together in the -dining-room, and, surprised that dinner had not been ordered up, she -had gone thither; but hearing her mistress speaking "rather strangely," -she had not knocked at the door. The servants had wondered at the -delay, she said, not understanding why their master should go without -his dinner because Mrs. Ludlow was not at home, and had at length found -him as she described. - -"Did Mrs. Ludlow often go out in this way?" asked Mr. Potts. - -"No, sir, never," said the woman. "I never knew my mistress leave my -master alone before, sir; and I am afraid something has took place -between them." - -The distress and bewilderment of the little party were extreme. -Manifestly there was but one thing to be done; Til must obey the -doctor's summons, and repair immediately to her brother's house. He was -very ill indeed, the cook said, and quite "off his head;" he did not -talk much, but what he did say was all nonsense; and Dr. Brandram had -said it was the beginning of brain-fever. Charley and Til were both -surprised at the firmness and collectedness manifested by Mrs. Ludlow -under this unexpected trial. She was very pale and she trembled very -much, but she was quite calm and quiet when she told Til that she must -put up such articles of clothing as she would require for a few days, -as it was her intention to go to her son and to remain with him. - -"I am the fittest person, my dear," said the old lady. "If it be only -illness that ails him, I know more about it than you do; if it is -sorrow also, and sorrow of the kind I suspect, I am fitter to hear it -and act in it than you." - -It was finally agreed that they should both go to Geoffrey's house -and that Til should return home in the morning; for even in this -crisis Mrs. Ludlow could not quite forget her household gods, and to -contemplate them bereft at once of her own care and that of Til would -have been too grievous; so they started--the three women in the cab, -and Charley Potts on the box, very silent, very gloomy, and not even in -his inmost thoughts approaching the subject of a pipe. - -It was past ten when Geoffrey Ludlow's mother and sister reached the -house which had seen such terrible events since they had visited it -last. Already the dreary neglected air which settles over every room -in a dwelling invaded by serious illness, except the one which is the -scene of suffering, had come upon it. Four hours earlier all was bright -and cheerful, well cared for and orderly; now, though the disarray was -not material, it was most expressive. Mrs. Geoffrey Ludlow had not -returned; the doctor had gone away, but was coming back as soon as -possible, having left one of the servants by Geoffrey's bedside, with -orders to apply wet linen to his temples without intermission. Geoffrey -was quiet now--almost insensible, they thought. Mrs. Ludlow and Til -went to the sick-room at once, and Charley Potts turned disconsolately -into the dining-room, where the cloth was still laid, and the chairs -stood about in disorder--one, which Geoffrey had knocked down, lay -unheeded on the ground. Charley picked it up, sat down upon it, and -leaned his elbows disconsolately on the table. - -"It's all up, I'm afraid," said he to himself; "and she's off with the -other fellow, whoever he is. Well, well, it will either kill Geoff -outright or break his heart for the rest of his life. At all events, -there couldn't have been much good in her if she didn't like Til." - -After some time Dr. Brandram arrived, and Charley heard him ask the -servant whether Mrs. Ludlow had returned, and heard her reply that her -mistress was still absent, but Mrs. Ludlow and her daughter had come, -and were in her master's room. The doctor went upstairs immediately, -and Charley still waited in the parlour, determined to waylay him has -he came down. - -Geoffrey was dangerously ill, there was no doubt of that, though his -mother's terror magnified danger into hopelessness, and refused to be -comforted by Dr. Brandram's assurance that no living man for certain -could tell how things would be. She met the doctor's inquiry about -Margaret with quiet reserve: she did not expect her daughter-in-law's -return that evening, she said; but she and Miss Ludlow were prepared -to remain. It was very essential that they should do so, Dr. Brandram -assured her; and on the following day he would procure a professional -nurse. Then he made a final examination of his patient, gave the ladies -their instructions, observed with satisfaction the absence of fuss, and -the quiet self-subduing alacrity of Til, and went downstairs, shaking -his head and wondering, to be pounced upon in the little hall by the -impulsive Charley, who drew him into the dining-room, and poured out a -torrent of questions. Dr. Brandram was disposed to be a little reserved -at first, but unbent when Charley assured him that he and Geoffrey -were the most intimate friends--"Brothers almost," said Mr. Potts in -a conscious tone, which did not strike the doctor. Then he told his -anxious interlocutor that Geoffrey was suffering from brain-fever, -which he supposed to be the result of a violent shock, but of what kind -he could form no idea; and then he said something, in a hesitating sort -of way, about "domestic affairs." - -"It is altogether on the mind, then," said Charley. "In that case, no -one can explain any thing but himself." - -"Precisely so," said Dr. Brandram; "and it may, it most probably -will, be a considerable time before he will be able to give us any -explanation of any thing, and before it would be safe to ask him for -any. In the mean time,--but no doubt Mrs. Ludlow will return, and--" - -"I don't think she will do any thing of the kind," said Charley Potts -in a decisive tone; "and, in fact, doctor, I think it would be well to -say as little as possible about her." - -Dr. Brandram looked at Mr. Potts with an expression intended to be -knowing, but which was in reality only puzzled, and assuring him of his -inviolable discretion, departed. Charley remained at Elm Lodge until -after midnight, and then, finding that he could be of no service to the -watchers, sorrowfully wended his way back to town on foot. - -Wearily dragged on the days in the sick man's room, where he lay racked -and tormented by fever, and vaguely oppressed in mind. His mother and -sister tended him with unwearied assiduity, and Dr. Brandram called -in further medical advice. Geoffrey's life hung in the balance for -many days--days during which the terror his mother and Til experienced -are not to be told. The desolate air of he house deepened; the -sitting-rooms were quite deserted now. All the bright pretty furniture -which Geoff had bought for the delectation of his bride, all the little -articles of use and ornament peculiarly associated with Margaret, -were dust-covered, and had a ghostly seeming. Charley Potts--who -passed a great deal of his time moping about Elm Lodge, too thankful -to be permitted on the premises, and occasionally to catch a glimpse -of Til's figure, as she glided noiselessly from the sick-room to the -lower regions in search of some of the innumerable things which are -always being wanted in illness and are never near at hand--occasionally -strolled into the painting-room, and lifting the cover which had been -thrown over it, looked sadly at "The Esplanade at Brighton," and -wondered whether dear old Geoff would ever paint baby's portrait among -that group in the left-hand corner. - -The only member of the household who pursued his usual course of -existence was this same baby. Unconscious alike of the flight of his -mother and the illness, nigh unto death, of his father, the child -throve apace, and sometimes the sound of his cooing, crowing voice, -coming through the open doors into the room where his grandmother sat -and looked into the wan haunted face of her son, caused her unspeakable -pangs of sorrow and compassion. The child "took to" Til wonderfully, -and it is impossible to tell the admiration with which the soul of -Charley Potts was filled, as he saw the motherly ways of the young lady -towards the little fellow, happily unconscious that he did not possess -a mother's love. - -Of Margaret nothing was heard. Mrs. Ludlow and Til were utterly -confounded by the mystery which surrounded them. She made no sign from -the time she left the house. Their ignorance of the circumstances -of her departure was so complete, that they could not tell whether -to expect her to do so or not. Her dresses and ornaments were all -undisturbed in the drawers in the room where poor Geoffrey lay, and -they did not know whether to remove them or not. She had said to -Geoffrey, "Whatever I actually require I will send for;" but they -did not know this, and she never had sent. The centre of the little -system--the chief person in the household--the idolised wife--she had -disappeared as utterly as if her existence had been only a dream. The -only person who could throw any light on the mystery was, perhaps, -dying--at all events, incapable of recollection, thought, or speech. It -"got about" in the neighbourhood that Mr. Ludlow was dangerously ill, -and that his mother and sister were with him, but his beautiful wife -was not; whereat the neighbourhood, feeling profoundly puzzled, merely -looked unutterably wise, and had always thought there was something -odd in that quarter. Then the neighbourhood called to enquire and to -condole, and was very pointed in its hopes that Mrs. Geoffrey Ludlow -was "bearing up well," and very much astonished to receive for answer, -"Thank you ma'am; but missis is not at home." Mrs. Ludlow knew nothing -of all this, and Til, who did know, cared nothing; but it annoyed -Charley Potts, who beard and saw a good deal from his post of vantage -in the dining-room window, and who relieved his feelings by swearing -under his breath, and making depreciatory comments upon the personal -appearance of the ladies as they approached the house, with their faces -duly arranged to the sympathetic pattern. - -It chanced that, on one occasion, when Geoffrey had been about ten -days ill, Til came down to the dining-room to speak to the faithful -Charley, carrying the baby on one arm, and in her other hand a bundle -of letters. Charley took the child from her as a matter of course; and -the youthful autocrat graciously sanctioning the arrangement, the two -began to talk eagerly of Geoffrey. Til was looking very pale and weary, -and Charley was much moved by her appearance. - -"I tell you what it is," he said, "you'll kill yourself, whether -Geoffrey lives or dies." He spoke in a tone suggestive of feeling -himself personally injured, and Til was not too far gone to blush and -smile faintly as she perceived it. - -"O no, I sha'n't," she said. "I'm going to lie down all this afternoon -in the night-nursery. Mamma is asleep now, and Geoffrey is quite quiet, -though the nurse says she sees no change for the better, no real change -of any kind indeed. And so I came down to ask you what you think I -had better do about these letters." She laid them on the table as she -spoke. "I don't think they are business letters, because you have taken -care to let all Geoffrey's professional friends know, haven't you, -Charley?" - -Charley thrilled; she had dropped unconsciously, in the intimacy of a -common sorrow, into calling him by his Christian name, but the pleasure -it gave him had by no means worn off yet. - -"Yes," he said; "and you have no notion what a state they are all in -about dear old Geoff. I assure you they all envy me immensely, because -I can be of some little use to you. They don't come here, you know, -because that would be no use--only making a row with the door-bell, -and taking up the servants' time; but every day they come down to my -place, or write me notes, or scribble their names on the door, with -fat notes of interrogation after them, if I'm not at home. That means, -'How's dear old Geoff? send word at once.' Why, there's Stompff--I told -you he was a beast, didn't I? Well, he's not half a beast, I assure -you; he is in such a way about Geoff; and, upon my word, I don't think -it's all because he is worth no end of money to him,--I don't indeed. -He is mercenary, of course, but not always and not altogether; and he -really quite got over me yesterday by the way he talked of Geoffrey, -and wanted to know if there was any thing in the world he could do. Any -thing in the world, according to Stompff, meant any thing in the way of -money, I suppose; an advance upon the 'Esplanade,' or something of that -sort." - -"Yes, I suppose it did," said Til; "but we don't want money. Mamma has -plenty to go on with until--" here her lipquivered,--"until Geoffrey -can understand and explain things. It's very kind of Mr. Stompff, -however, and I'm glad he's not quite a beast," said the young lady -simply. "But, Charley, about these letters; what should I do?" - -At this point the baby objected to be any longer unnoticed, and was -transferred to Til, who walked up and down the room with the injured -innocent, while Charley turned over the letters, and looked at their -superscriptions. - -"You are sure there is no letter from his wife among these?" said -Charley. - -"O no!" replied Til; "I know Margaret's hand well; and I have examined -all the letters carefully every day. There has never been one from her." - -"Here are two with the same monogram, and the West-end district mark; I -think they must be from Miss Maurice. If these letters can be made out -to mean any thing, they are A.M. And see, one is plain, and one has a -deep black edge." - -Til hurried up to the table. "I hope Lord Caterham is not dead," she -said! "I have heard Geoffrey speak of him with great regard; and only -the day he was taken ill, he said he feared the poor fellow was going -fast." - -"I think we had better break the seal and see," said Charley; "Geoff -would not like any neglect in that quarter." - -He broke the seal as he spoke, and read the melancholy note which Annie -had written to Geoffrey when Arthur died, and which had never received -an answer. - -Charley Potts and Til were much shocked and affected at the -intelligence which the note contained. - -"I haven't cared about the papers since Geoff has been ill, or I -suppose I should have seen the announcement of Lord Caterham's death, -though I don't particularly care for reading about the swells at any -time," said Charley. "But how nicely she writes to Geoffrey, poor girl! -I am sure she will be shocked to hear of his illness, and you must -write to her,--h'm,--Til. What do you say to writing, and letting me -take your letter to-morrow myself? Then she can ask me any questions -she likes, and you need not enter into any painful explanations." - -Til was eminently grateful for this suggestion which she knew was -dictated by the sincerest and most disinterested wish to spare her; for -to Charley the idea of approaching the grandeur of St. Barnabas Square, -and the powdered pomposity of the lordly flunkeys, was, as she well -knew, wholly detestable. So it was arranged that Charley should fulfil -this mission early on the following day, before he presented himself at -Elm Lodge. The baby was sent upstairs, Til wrote her note, and Charley -departed very reluctantly, stipulating that Til should at once fulfil -her promise of lying down in the nursery. - -When, on the ensuing morning, Miss Maurice's maid reached Elm Lodge, -the servants communicated to her the startling intelligence, which she -roused Annie from her sleep to impart to her, without any reference -to Mrs. Ludlow and Til, who were not aware for some time that Miss -Maurice had sent to make inquiries. On his arrival at St. Barnabas -Square, Charley Potts was immediately admitted to Annie's presence, -and the result of the interview was that she arrived at Elm Lodge -escorted by that gentleman, whose embarrassment under the distinguished -circumstances was extreme, before noon. She knew from Charley's report -that it would be quite in vain to take Caterham's letter with her; that -it must be long ere it should meet the eyes for which it was written, -if ever it were to do so, and it remained still undisturbed in her -charge. So Annie Maurice shared the sorrow and the fear of Geoffrey's -mother and sister, and discussed the mystery that surrounded the -calamities which had befallen them, perfectly unconscious that within -reach of her own hand lay the key to the enigma. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. -A CLUE. - - -Written by a dying hand, the letter addressed by Lord Caterham -to Geoffrey Ludlow was read when the doctors would scarcely have -pronounced its recipient out of the jaws of death. Gaunt, wan, hectic; -with great bistre-rings round his big eyes, now more prominent than -ever; with his shapely white hands now almost transparent in their -thinness; with his bushy beard dashed here and there with gray patches; -and with O such a sense of weariness and weakness,--old Geoff, -stretched supine on his bed, demanded news of Margaret. They had none -to give him: told him so--at first gently, then reiterated it plainly; -but he would not believe it. They must know something of her movements; -some one must have been there to tell him where she was; something must -have been heard of her. To all these questions negative answers. Then, -as his brain cleared and his strength increased--for, except under both -of these conditions, such a question would not have occurred to him--he -asked whether, during his illness, there had been any communication -from Lord Beauport's house. A mystery then--a desire to leave it over, -until Miss Maurice's next call, which happened the next day, when -Caterham's letter, intact, was handed to him. - -That letter lay on a chair by Geoffrey's bedside the whole of that -afternoon. To clutch it, to look at it, to hold it, with its seal yet -unbroken, before his eyes, he had employed such relics of strength as -remained to him; but he dared not open it. He felt that he could give -no explanation of his feelings; but he felt that if he broke that seal, -and read what was contained in that letter, all his recent tortures -would return with tenfold virulence: the mocking demons that had sat -on his bed and sneered at him; the fiery serpents that had uncoiled -themselves between him and the easel on which stood the picture which -urgent necessity compelled him to work at; the pale fair form, misty -and uncertain generally, yet sometimes with Margaret's hair and eyes, -that so constantly floated across his vision, and as constantly eluded -his outstretched arms,--all these phantasms of his fevered brain -would return again. And yet, in it, in that sheet of paper lying so -temptingly near to his pillow, there was news of her! He had but to -stretch out his hand, and he should learn how far, at least, her story -was known to the relatives of him who---- The thought in itself was too -much; and Geoffrey swooned off. When he recovered, his first thought -was of the letter; his first look to assure himself that it had not -been removed. No, there it lay I He could resist the temptation no -longer; and, raising himself on his elbow, he opened and read it. - -The effect of the perusal of that letter on Geoffrey Ludlow none -knew but himself. The doctors found him "not quite so well" for the -succeeding day or two, and thought that his "tone" was scarcely so good -as they had been led to anticipate; certain it was that he made no -effort to rouse himself, and that, save occasionally, when spoken to -by Til, he remained silent and preoccupied. On the third day he asked -Til to write to Bowker, and beg him to come to him at once. Within -twenty-four hours that worthy presented himself at Elm Lodge. - -After a few words with Til downstairs, Mr. Bowker was shown up to -Geoffrey's room, the door of which Til opened, and, when Mr. Bowker -had entered, shut it behind him. The noise of the closing door roused -Geoffrey, and he turned in his bed, and, looking up, revealed such a -worn and haggard face, that old Bowker stopped involuntarily, and drew -a long breath, as he gazed on the miserable appearance of his friend. -There must have been something comical in the rueful expression of -Bowker's face, for old Geoff smiled feebly, as he said, - -"Come in, William; come in, old friend! Ive had a hard bout of it, old -fellow, since you saw me; but there's no danger now--no infection, I -mean, or any thing of that kind." - -Geoff spoke haphazard; but what he had said was the best thing to -restore Mr. Bowker to himself. - -"Your William's fever-proof;" he growled out in reply, "and don't fear -any nonsense of that kind; and if he did, it's not that would keep -him away from a friend's bedside. I should have been here--that is, -if you'd have let me; and, oddly enough, though I'm such a rough old -brute in general, I'm handy and quiet in times of sickness,--at least -so Ive been told;" and here Bowker stifled a great sigh. "But the first -I heard of your illness was from your sister's letter, which I only got -this morning." - -"Give me your hand, William; I know that fast enough. But I didn't -need any additional nursing. Til and the old lady--God bless -them!--have pulled me through splendidly, and--But I'm beyond nursing -now, William; what I want is--" and Geoff's voice failed him, and he -stopped. - -Old Bowker eyed him with tear-blurred vision for a moment, and then -said, "What you want is--" - -"Don't mind me just now, William; I'm horribly weak, and girlish, and -trembling, but I shall get to it in time. What I want is, some man, -some friend, to whom I can talk openly and unreservedly,--whose advice -and aid I can seek, in such wretchedness as, I trust, but few have -experienced." - -It was a good thing that Geoffrey's strength had in some degree -returned, for Bowker clutched his hand in an iron grip, as in a dull -low voice, he said, "Do you remember my telling you the story of my -life? Why did I tell you that? Not for sympathy, but for example. I saw -the rock on to which you were drifting, and hoped to keep you clear. I -exposed the sadness of my life to you when the game was played out and -there was no possibility of redemption. I can't tell what strait you -may be in; but if I can help you out of it, there is no mortal thing I -will not do to aid you." - -As well as he could Geoff returned the pressure; then, after a moment's -pause, said, "You know, of course, that my wife has left me?" - -Bowker bowed in acquiescence. - -"You know the circumstances?" - -"I know nothing, Geoff, beyond the mere fact. Whatever talk there may -be among such of the boys as I drop in upon now and then, if it turned -upon you and your affairs, save in the matter of praising your art, it -would be certain to be hushed as soon as I stepped in amongst them. -They knew our intimacy, and they are by far too good fellows to say any -thing that would pain me. So that beyond the mere fact which you have -just stated, I know nothing." - -Then in a low weak voice, occasionally growing full and powerful under -excitement, and subsiding again into its faint tone, Geoffrey Ludlow -told to William Bowker the whole history of his married life, beginning -with his finding Margaret on the doorstep, and ending by placing in -his friend's hands the posthumous letter of Lord Caterham. Throughout -old Bowker listened with rapt attention to the story, and when he came -back from the window, to which he had stepped for the perusal of the -letter, Geoffrey noticed that there were big tears rolling down his -cheeks. He was silent for a minute or two after he had laid the letter -on Geoffrey's bed; when he spoke, he said, "We're a dull lot, the -whole race of us; and that's the truth. We pore over our own twopenny -sorrows, and think that the whole army of martyrs could not show such a -specimen as ourselves. Why, Geoff, dear old man, what was my punishment -to yours! What was,--but, however, I need not talk of that. You want my -services--say how." - -"I want your advice first, William. I want to know how to--how to find -my wife--for, O, to me she is my wife; how to find Margaret. You'll -blame me probably, and tell me that I am mad--that I ought to cast her -off altogether, and to--But I cannot do that, William; I cannot do -that; for I love her--O my God, how I love her still!" And Geoffrey -Ludlow hid his face in his arms, and wept like a child. - -"I shan't blame you, Geoff, nor tell you any thing of the kind," -said old Bowker, in a deep low voice. "I should have been very much -surprised if--However, that's neither here nor there. What we want is -to find her now. You say there's not been the slightest clue to her -since she left this house?" - -"Not the slightest." - -"She has not sent for any thing--clothes, or any thing?" - -"For nothing, as I understand." - -"She has not sent,--you see, one must understand these things, Geoff; -all our actions will be guided by them,--she has not sent to ask about -the child?" - -Geoff shuddered for an instant, then said, "She has not." - -"That simplifies our plans," said Bowker. "It is plain now that we have -only one chance of discovering her whereabouts." - -"And that is--" - -"Through Blackett the detective, the man mentioned in Lord Caterham's -letter. He must be a sharp fellow; for through the sheer pursuance of -his trade, and without the smallest help, he must have been close upon -her trail, even up to the night when you met her and withdrew her from -the range of his search. If he could learn so much unaided, he will -doubtless be able to strike again upon her track with the information -we can give him." - -"There's no chance of this man--this Captain Brakespere, having--I -mean--now he's back, you know--having taken means to hide her -somewhere--where--one couldn't find her, you know?" said Geoffrey, -hesitatingly. - -"If your William knows any thing of the world," replied Bowker, -"there's no chance of Captain Thingummy having taken the least trouble -about her. However, I'll go down to Scotland Yard and see what is to be -made of our friend Inspector Blackett. God bless you, old boy! You know -if she is to be found, I'll do it." - -They are accustomed to odd visitors in Scotland Yard; but the -police-constables congregated in the little stone hall stared the next -day when Mr. Bowker pushed open the swing-door, and calmly planting -himself among them, ejaculated "Blackett." Looking at his beard, his -singular garb, and listening to his deep voice, the sergeant to whom he -was referred at first thought he was a member of some foreign branch -of the force; then glancing at the general wildness of his demeanour, -had a notion that he was one of the self-accused criminals who are so -constantly forcing themselves into the grasp of justice, and who are -so impatient of release; and finally, comprehending what he wanted, -sent him, under convoy of a constable, through various long corridors, -into a cocoa-nut-matted room furnished with a long green-baize-covered -table, on which were spread a few sheets of blotting-paper, and a -leaden inkstand, and the walls of which were adorned with a printed -tablet detailing the disposition of the various divisions of the -police-force, and the situation of the fire-escapes in the metropolis, -and a fly-blown Stationers' Almanac. Left to himself, Mr. Bowker had -scarcely taken stock of these various articles, when the door opened, -and Mr. Inspector Blackett, edging his portly person through the very -small aperture which he had allowed himself for ingress, entered the -room, and closed the door stealthily behind him. - -"Servant, sir," said he, with a respectful bow, and a glance at -Bowker, which took in the baldness of his head, the thickness of his -beard, the slovenliness of his apparel, and the very shape of his -boots,--"servant, sir. You asked for me?" - -"I did, Mr. Blackett. Ive come to ask your advice and assistance in -a rather delicate manner, in which you've already been engaged--Lord -Caterham's inquiry." - -"O, beg pardon, sir. Quite right. Friend of his lordship's, may I ask, -sir?" - -"Lord Caterham is dead, Mr.--" - -"Quite right, sir; all right, sir. Right to be cautious in these -matters; don't know who you are, sir. If you had not known that fact, -must have ordered you out, sir. Imposter, of course. All on the square, -Mr.--beg pardon; didn't mention your name, sir." - -"My name is Bowker. To a friend of mine, too ill now to follow the -matter himself; Lord Caterham on his deathbed wrote a letter, detailing -the circumstances under which he had employed you in tracing a young -woman. That friend has himself been very ill, or he would have pursued -this matter sooner. He now sends me to ask whether you have any news?" - -"Beg pardon, sir; can't be too cautious in this matter. What may be the -name of that friend?" - -"Ludlow--Mr. Geoffrey Ludlow." - -"Right you are, sir! Know the name well; have seen Mr. Ludlow at his -lordship's; a pleasant gentleman too, sir, though not given me the -idea of one to take much interest in such a business as this. However, -I see we're all square on that point, sir; and I'll report to you as -exactly as I would to my lord, if he'd been alive--feeling, of course, -that a gentleman's a gentleman, and that an officer's trouble will be -remunerated--" - -"You need not doubt that, Mr. Blackett." - -"I don't doubt it, sir; more especially when you hear what I have got -to tell. It's been a wearing business, Mr. Bowker, and that I don't -deny; there have been many cases which I have tumbled-to quicker, and -have been able to lay my finger upon parties quicker but this has been -a long chase; and though other members of the force has chaffed me, as -it were, wanting to know when I shall be free for any thing else, and -that sort of thing, there's been that excitement in it that Ive never -regretted the time bestowed, and felt sure I should hit at it last. My -ideas has not been wrong in that partic'ler, Mr. Bowker; I _have_ hit -it at last!" - -"The devil you have!" - -"I have indeed, sir; and hit it, as has cur'ously happened in my best -cases, by a fluke. It was by the merest fluke that I was at Radley's -Hotel in Southampton and nobbled Mr. Sampson Hepworth, the absconding -banker of Lombard Street, after Daniel Forester and all the city-men -had been after him for six weeks. It was all a fluke that I was -eatin' a Bath-bun at Swindon when the clerk that did them Post-office -robberies tried to pass one of the notes to the refreshment gal. It was -all a fluke that I was turning out of Grafton Street, after a chat with -the porter of the Westminster Club,--which is an old officer of the G's -and a pal of mine,--into Bond Street, when I saw a lady that I'd swear -to, if description's any use, though I never see her before, comin' out -of Long's Hotel." - -"A lady!--Long's Hotel!" - -"A lady a-comin' out of Long's Hotel. A lady with--not to put too -fine a point upon it--red hair and fine eyes and a good figure; the -very moral of the description I got at Tenby and them other places. I -twigged all this before she got her veil down and I said to myself, -Blackett, that's your bird, for a hundred pound." - -"And were you right? Was it--" - -"Wait a minute, sir: let's take the things in the order in which they -naturally present themselves. She hailed a cab and jumped in, all of -a tremble like, as I could see. I hailed another--hansom mine was; -and I give the driver the office, which he tumbled-to at once--most -of the West-enders knows me; and we follows the other until he turned -up a little street in Nottin' 'Ill, and I, marking where she got out, -stopped at the end of it. When she'd got inside, I walked up and took -stock of the house, which was a litle milliner's and stay-shop. It was -cur'ous, wasn't, it, sir," said Mr. Blackett, with a grave professional -smile, "that my good lady should want a little job in the millinery -line done for her just then, and that she should look round into that -very shop that evening, and get friendly with the missis, which was a -communicative kind of woman, and should pay her a trifle in advance, -and should get altogether so thick as to be asked in to take a cup -of tea in the back-parlour, and get a-talking about the lodger? Once -in, I'll back my old lady against any ferret that was ever showed at -Jemmy Welsh's. She hadn't had one cup of tea before she know'd all -about the lodger; how she was the real lady, but dull and lonesome -like; how she'd sit cryin' and mopin' all day; how she'd no visitors -and no letters; and how her name was Lambert, and her linen all marked -M. L. She'd only been there a day ortwo then, and as she'd scarcely -any luggage, the milliner was doubtful about her money. My good lady -came back that night, and told me all this, and I was certain our bird -was caged. So I put one of our men regular to sweep a crossin' during -the daytime, and I communicated with the sergeant of the division to -keep the house looked after at night. But, Lor' bless you, she's no -intention of goin' away. Couldn't manage it, I think, if she had; for -my missis, who's been up several times since, says the milliner says -her lodger's in a queer way, she thinks." - -"How do you mean in a queer way?" interrupted Bowker; "ill?" - -"Well, not exactly ill, I think, sir. I can't say exactly how, for -the milliner's rather a stupid woman; and it wouldn't do for my -missis--though she'd find it out in a minute--to see the lady. As far -as I can make out, it's a kind of fits, and she seems to have had 'em -pretty bad--off her head for hours at a time, you know. It's rather -cornered me, that has, as I don't exactly know how to act in the case; -and I went round to the Square to tell his lordship, and then found out -what had happened. I was thinking of asking to see the Hearl--" - -"The what, Mr. Blackett?" - -"The Hearl--Hearl Beauport, his lordship's father. But now you've come, -sir, you'll know what to do, and what orders to give me." - -"Yes, quite right," said Bowker, after a moment's consideration. -"You must not see Lord Beauport; he's in a sad state of mind still, -and any further worry might be dangerous. You've done admirably, Mr. -Blackett,--admirably indeed; and your reward shall be proportionate, -you may take my word for that; but I think it will be best to leave -matters as they are until--at all events, until I have spoken to my -friend. The name was Lambert, I think you said; and what was the -address?" - -"No. 102, Thompson Street, just beyond Nottin'-'Ill Gate; milliner's -shop, name of Chapman. Beg your pardon, sir, but this is a pretty case, -and one as has been neatly worked up; you won't let it be spoilt by any -amatoors?" - -"Eh?--by what? I don't think I understand you." - -"You won't let any one go makin' inquiries on their own hook? So many -of our best cases is spoilt by amatoors shovin' their oars in." - -"You may depend on that, Mr. Blackett; the whole credit of the -discovery is justly due to you, and you shall have it. Now good day to -you; I shall find you here, I suppose, when next I want you?" - -Mr. Blackett bowed, and conducted his visitor through the -hollow-sounding corridors, and bade him a respectful farewell at the -door. Then, when William Bowker was alone, he stopped, and shook his -head sorrowfully, muttering, "A bad job, a bad job! God help you, -Geoff, my poor fellow! there's more trouble in store for you--more -trouble in store!" - - - - -CHAPTER VII. -TRACKED. - - -The news which Mr. William Bowker had heard from Inspector Blackett -troubled its recipient considerably, and it was not until he had -thought it over deeply and consumed a large quantity of tobacco in -the process, that he arrived at any settled determination as to what -was the right course to be pursued by him. His first idea was to make -Geoffrey Ludlow acquainted with the whole story, and let him act as he -thought best; but a little subsequent reflection changed his opinion on -this point. Geoff was very weak in health, certainly in no fit state to -leave his bed; and yet if he heard that Margaret was found, that her -address was known, above all that she was ill, Bowker knew him well -enough to be aware that nothing would prevent him at once setting out -to see her, and probably to use every effort to induce her to return -with him. Such a course would be bad in every way, but in the last -respect it would be fatal. For one certain reason Bowker had almost -hoped that nothing more might ever be heard of the wretched woman who -had fallen like a curse upon his friend's life. He knew Geoffrey Ludlow -root and branch, knew how thoroughly weak he was, and felt certain -that, no matter how grievous the injury which Margaret had done him, he -had but to see her again--to see her more especially in sickness and -misfortune--to take her back to his heart and to his hearth, and defy -the counsel of his friends and the opinion of the world. That would -never do. Geoff had been sufficiently dragged down by this unfortunate -infatuation; but he had a future which should be independent of her, -undimmed by any tarnish accruing to him from those wondrous misspent -days. So old Bowker firmly believed; and to accomplish that end he -determined that none of Inspector Blackett's news should find its way -to Geoffrey's ears, at all events until he, Bowker, had personally made -himself acquainted with the state of affairs. - -It must have been an impulse of the strongest friendship and love for -Geoff that induced William Bowker to undertake this duty; for it was -one which inspired him with aversion, not to say horror. At first -he had some thoughts of asking Charley Potts to do it; but then he -bethought him that Charley, headstrong, earnest, and impulsive as he -was, was scarcely the man to be intrusted with such a delicate mission. -And he remembered, moreover, that Charley was now to a great extent -_lie_ with Geoff's family, that he had been present at Geoff's first -meeting with Margaret, that he had always spoken against her, and that -now, imbued as he was likely to be with some of the strong feelings of -old Mrs. Ludlow, he would be certain to make a mess of the mission, -and, without the least intention of being offensive, would hurt some -one's feelings in an unmistakable and unpardonable manner. No; he must -go himself, horribly painful as it would be to him. His had been a set -gray life for who should say how many years; he had not been mixed up -with any woman's follies or griefs in ever so slight a degree, he had -heard no woman's voice in plaintive appeal or earnest confession, he -had seen no woman's tears or hung upon no woman's smile, since--since -when? Since the days spent with _her_. Ah, how the remembrance shut -out the present and opened up the long, long vistas of the past! He -was no longer the bald-headed, grizzle-bearded, stout elderly man; -he was young Bowker, from whom so much was expected; and the common -tavern-parlour in which he was seated, with its beer-stained tables and -its tobacco-reek faded away, and the long dusty roads of Andalusia, -the tinkling bells of the mules, the cheery shouts of the sunburnt -_arrieros_, the hard-earned pull at the _bota_, and the loved presence, -now vanished for ever, rose in his memory. - -When his musings were put to flight by the entrance of the waiter, -he paid his score, and summoning up his resolution he went out into -the noisy street, and mounting the first omnibus was borne away to -his destination. He found the place indicated to him by Blackett--a -small but clean and decent street--and soon arrived at Mrs. Chapman's -house. There, at the door, he stopped, undecided what to do. He had not -thought of any excuse for demanding an interview with Mrs. Chapman's -lodger, and, on turning the subject over in his mind, he could not -imagine any at all likely to be readily received. See Margaret he must; -and to do that, he thought he must take her unprepared and on a sudden: -if he sent up his name, he would certainly be refused admittance. His -personal appearance was far too Bohemian in its character to enable -him to pass himself off as her lawyer, or any friend of her family; -his only hope was to put a bold front on it, to mention her name, and -to walk straight on to her room, leaving it to chance to favour his -efforts. - -He entered the shop--a dull dismal little place, with a pair of stays -lying helplessly in the window, and a staring black-eyed torso of a -female doll, for cap-making purposes, insanely smiling on the counter. -Such a heavy footfall as Mr. Bowker's was seldom heard in those vestal -halls; such a grizzly-bearded face as Mr. Bowker's was seldom seen in -such close proximity to the cap-making dummy; and little Mrs. Chapman -the milliner came out "all in a tremble," as she afterwards expressed -it, from her inner sanctum, which was about as big and as tepid as a -warm-bath, and in a quavering voice demanded the intruder's business. -She was a mild-eyed, flaxen-haired, quiet, frightened little woman, and -old Bowker's heart softened towards her, as he said, "You have a friend -of mine lodging with you, ma'am, I think--Mrs. Lambert?" - -"O, dear; then, if you're a friend of Mrs. Lambert's, you're welcome -here, I can assure you, sir!" and the little woman looked more -frightened than ever, and held up her hands half in fear, half in -relief. - -"Ah, she's been ill, I hear," said Bowker, wishing to have it -understood that he was thoroughly _en rapport_ with the lodger. - -"Ill!--I'm thankful you've come, sir!--no one, unless they saw her, -would credit how ill she is--I mean to be up and about, and all that. -She's better to-day, and clearer; but what she have been these few -days past, mortal tongue cannot tell--all delirium-like, and full of -fancies, and talking of things which set Hannah--the girl who does -for me--and me nearly out of our wits with fright. So much so, that -six-and-sixpence a-week is--well, never mind, poor thing; it's worse -for her than for us; but I'm glad, at any rate, some friend has come to -see her." - -"I'll go and do so at once, Mrs. Chapman," said Bowker. "I know my way; -the door straight opposite to the front of the stairs, isn't it? Thank -you; I'll find it;" and with the last words yet on his tongue, Mr. -Bowker had passed round the little counter, by the little milliner, and -was making the narrow staircase creak again with his weight. - -He opened the door opposite to him, after having knocked and received -no answer, and peered cautiously in. The daylight was fading, and the -blind of the window was half down, and Bowker's eyesight was none of -the best now, so that he took some little time before he perceived the -outline of a figure stretched in the white dimity-covered easy-chair -by the little Pembroke table in the middle of the room. Although some -noise had been made by the opening of the door, the figure had not -moved; it never stirred when Bowker gave a little premonitory cough to -notify his advent; it remained in exactly The same position, without -stirring hand or foot, when Bowker said, "A friend has come to see you, -Mrs.--Lambert." Then a dim undefined sense of terror came upon William -Bowker, and he closed the door silently behind him, and advanced into -the room. Immediately he became aware of a faint sickly smell, a -cloying, percolating odour, which seemed to fill the place; but he had -little time to think of this, for immediately before him lay the form -of Margaret, her eyes closed, her features rigid, her long red hair -falling in all its wild luxuriance over her shoulders. At first William -thought she was dead; but, stooping close over her, he marked her slow -laboured breathing, and noticed that from time to time her hands were -unclenched, and then closed again as tightly as ever. He took a little -water from a tumbler on the table and sprinkled it on her face, and -laid his finger on her pulse; after a minute or two she opened her -eyes, closing them again immediately, but after a time opening them -again, and fixing them on Bowker's face with a long wistful gaze. - -"Are you one of them also?" she asked, in a deep hushed voice. "How -many more to come and gibber and point at me; or, worse than all, to -sit mutely staring at me with pitiless unforgiving eyes! How many more? -You are the latest. I have never seen you before." - -"O yes you have," said Bowker quietly, with her hand in his, and his -eyes steadfastly fixed on hers--"O yes you have: you recollect me, my -dear Mrs. Ludlow." - -He laid special stress on the name, and as he uttered the words, -Margaret started, a new light flashed into her beautiful eyes, and she -regarded him attentively. - -"What was that you said?" she asked; "what name did you call me?" - -"What name? Why, your own, of course; what else should I call you, my -dear Mrs. Ludlow?" - -She started again at the repetition, then her eyes fell, and she said -dreamily, - -"But that is not my name--that is not my name." Bowker waited for a -moment, and then said, - -"You might as well pretend to have forgotten me and our talk at Elm -Lodge that day that I came up to see Geoffrey." - -"Elm Lodge! Geoffrey!--ah, good God, now I remember all!" said -Margaret, in a kind of scream, raising herself in the chair, and -wringing Bowker's hand. - -"Hush, my dear Madam; don't excite yourself; I thought you would -remember all; you--" - -"You are Mr. Bowker!" said Margaret, pressing her hand to her head; -"Mr. Bowker, whose story Geoff told me: Geoff! ah, poor, good Geoff! -ah, dear, good Geoff! But why are you here? he hasn't sent you? -Geoffrey has not sent you?" - -"Geoffrey does not know I am here. He has been very ill; too ill to be -told of all that has been going on; too ill to understand it, if he had -been told. I heard by accident that you were living here, and that you -had been ill; and I came to see if I could be of any service to you." - -While he had been speaking, Margaret had sat with her head tightly -clasped between her hands. When he finished, she looked up with a -slightly dazed expression, and said, with an evident attempt at -controlling her voice, "I see all now; you must pardon me, Mr. Bowker, -for any incoherence or strangeness you may have noticed in my manner; -but I have been very ill, and I feel sure that at times my mind wanders -a little. I am better now. I was quite myself when you mentioned about -your having heard of my illness, and offering me service; and I thank -you very sincerely for your kindness." - -Old William looked at her for a minute, and then said, - -"I am a plain-spoken man, Mrs. Ludlow--for you are Mrs. Ludlow to -me--as I daresay you may have heard, if you have not noticed it -yourself; and I tell you plainly that it is out of no kindness to you -that I am here now, but only out of love for my dear old friend." - -"I can understand that," said Margaret; "and only respect you the more -for it; and now you are here, Mr. Bowker, I shall be very glad to say -a few words to you,--the last I shall ever say regarding that portion -of my life which was passed in--at--You know what I would say; you have -heard the story of the commencement of my acquaintance with Geoffrey -Ludlow?" - -Bowker bowed in acquiescence. - -"You know how I left him--why I am here?" - -Then William Bowker--the memory of all his friend's trouble and misery -and crushed hopes and wasted life rising up strongly within him--set -his face hard, and said, between his clenched teeth, "I know your -history from two sources. Yesterday, Geoffrey Ludlow, scarce able to -raise himself in his bed, so weak was he from the illness which your -conduct brought upon him, told me, as well as he could, of his first -meeting with you, his strange courtship, his marriage,--at which I -was present,--of his hopes and fears, and all the intricacies of his -married life; of the manner in which, finally, you revealed the history -of your previous life, and parted from him. Supplementing this story, -he gave me to read a letter from Lord Caterham, the brother of the -man you call your husband. This man, Captain Brakespere, flying from -the country, had written to his brother, informing him that he had -left behind him a woman who was called his mistress, but who was in -reality his wife. To find this woman Lord Caterham made his care. He -set the detectives to work, and had her tracked from place to place; -continually getting news of, but never finding her. While he lived, -Lord Caterham never slackened from the pursuit; finding his end -approaching--" - -"His end approaching!--the end of his life do you mean?" - -"He is dead. But before he died, he delegated the duty of pursuit, of -all men in the world, to Geoffrey Ludlow,--to Geoffrey Ludlow, who, in -his blind ignorance, had stumbled upon the very woman a year before, -had saved her from a miserable death, and, all unknowingly, had fondly -imagined he had made her his loving wife." - -"Ah, my God, this is too much! And Geoffrey Ludlow knows all this?" - -"From Geoffrey Ludlow's lips I heard it not twenty-four hours since." - -Margaret uttered a deep groan and buried her face in her hands. When -she raised her head her eyes were tear-blurred, and her voice faltered -as she said, "I acknowledge my sin, and--so far as Geoffrey Ludlow is -concerned--I deeply, earnestly repent my conduct. It was prompted by -despair; it ended in desperation. Have those who condemned me--and I -know naturally enough I am condemned by all his friends--have those -who condemned me ever known the pangs of starvation, the grim tortures -of houselessness in the streets? Have they ever known what it is to -have the iron of want and penury eating into their souls, and then to -be offered a comfortable home and an honest man's love? If they have, -I doubt very much whether they would have refused it. I do not say -this to excuse myself. I have done Geoffrey Ludlow deadly wrong; but -when I listened to his proffered protestations, I gave him time for -reflection; when I said 'Yes' to his repeated vows, I thought that the -dead past had buried its dead, and that no ghost from it would arise -to trouble the future. I vowed to myself that I would be true to that -man who had so befriended me; and I was true to him. The life I led -was inexpressibly irksome and painful to me; the dead solemn monotony -of it goaded me almost to madness at times; but I bore it--bore it -all out of gratitude to him--would have borne it till now if _he_ had -not come back to lure me to destruction. I do not say I did my duty; -I am naturally undomestic and unfitted for household management; but -I brought no slur on Geoffrey Ludlow's name in thought or deed until -that man returned. I have seen him, Mr. Bowker; I have spoken to him, -and he spurned me from him; and yet I love him as I loved him years -ago. He need only raise his finger, and I would fly to him and fawn -upon him, and be grateful if he but smiled upon me in return. They -cannot understand this--they cannot understand my disregard of the -respectabilities by flinging away the position and the name and the -repute, and all that which they had fitted to me, and which clung -to me, ah, so irritatingly; but if all I have heard be true you can -understand it, Mr. Bowker,--you can.--Is Geoffrey out of danger?" - -The sudden change in the tone of her voice, as she uttered the last -sentence, struck on Bowker's ear, and looking up, he noticed a strange -light in her eyes. - -"Geoffrey is out of danger," he replied; "but he is still very weak, -and requires the greatest care." - -"And requires the greatest care!" she repeated. "Well, he'll get it, -I suppose; but not from me. And to think that I shall never see him -again! Poor Geoffrey! poor, good Geoffrey! How good he was, and how -grave!--with those large earnest eyes of his, and his great head, and -rough curling brown hair, and--the cruel cold, the pitiless rain, the -cruel, cruel cold!" As she said these words, she crept back shivering -into her chair, and wrapped her dress round her. William Bowker bent -down and gazed at her steadily; but after an instant she averted her -face, and hid it in the chair. Bowker took her hand, and it fell -passively into his own; he noticed that it was burning. - -"This will not do, Mrs. Ludlow!" he exclaimed; "you have over-excited -yourself lately. You want rest and looking after--you must--" he -stopped; for she had turned her head to him again and was rocking -herself backwards and forwards in her chair, weeping meanwhile as -though her heart would break. The sight was too much for William to -bear unaided, and he opened the door and called Mrs. Chapman. - -"Ah, sir," said the good little woman when she entered the room, "she's -off again, I see. I knew she was, for I heard that awful sobbing as I -was coming up the stairs. O, that awful sobbing that Ive laid awake -night after night listening to, and that never seemed to stop till -daylight, when she was fairly wore out. But that's nothing, sir, -compared to the talk when she's beside herself. Then she'd go on and -say--" - -"Yes, yes, no doubt, Mrs. Chapman," interrupted Bowker, who did -not particularly wish to be further distressed by the narration of -Margaret's sadness; "but this faintness, these weeping fits, are quite -enough to demand the instant attention of a medical man. If you'll -kindly look to her now, I'll go off and fetch a doctor; and if there's -a nurse required--as Ive little doubt there will be--you won't mind me -intruding further upon you? No; I knew you'd say so. Mrs. Lambert's -friends will ever be grateful to you; and here's something just to -carry you on, you know, Mrs. Chapman--rent and money paid on her -account, and that sort of thing." The something was two sovereigns, -which had lain in a lucifer-match box used by Mr. Bowker as his bank, -and kept by him in his only locked drawer for six weeks past, and which -had been put aside for the purchase of a "tweed wrapper" for winter -wear. - -Deliberating within himself to what physician of eminence he should -apply, and grievously hampered by the fact that he was unable to pay -any fee in advance, Bowker suddenly bethought him of Dr. Rollit, whose -great love of art and its professors led him, "in the fallow leisure -of his life," to constitute himself a kind of honorary physician to -the brotherhood of the brush. To him Bowker hastened, and, without -divulging Margaret's identity, explained the case, and implored the -doctor to see her at once. The doctor hesitated for a moment, for he -was at his easel and in a knot. He had "got something that would not -come right," and he scarcely seemed inclined to move until he had -conquered his difficulty; but after explaining the urgency of the case, -old Bowker took the palette and sheaf of brushes from the physician's -hand and said, "I think we can help each other at this moment, doctor: -go you and see the patient, and leave me to deal with this difficulty. -You'll find me here when you come back, and you shall then look at your -canvas." - -But when Dr. Rollit, after a couple of hours' absence, returned, he -did not look at his picture--at least on his first entry. He looked so -grave and earnest that William Bowker, moving towards him to ask the -result of his visit, was frightened, and stopped. - -"What is the matter?" he asked; "you seem--" - -"I'm a little taken aback--that's all, old friend," said the doctor; -"you did not prepare me to find in my patient an old acquaintance--you -did not know it, perhaps?" - -"By Jove! I remember now: Charley Potts said--What an old ass I am!" - -"I was called in by Potts and Ludlow, or rather called out of -a gathering of the Titians, to attend Mrs. Lambert, as the -landlady called her, nearly two years ago. She is not much -altered--outwardly--since I left her convalescent." - -"You lay a stress on 'outwardly'--what is the inner difference?" - -"Simply that her health is gone, my good fellow; her whole constitution -utterly shattered; her life not worth a week's purchase." - -"Surely you're wrong, doctor. Up to within the last few weeks her -health has been excellent." - -"My dear William Bowker, I, as an amateur, meddle with your -professional work; but what I do is on the surface, and the mistakes -I make are so glaring, that they are recognisable instantly. You -might meddle, as an amateur, with mine, and go pottering on until -you'd killed half a parish, without any body suspecting you. The -disease I attended Mrs.----- there! it's absurd our beating about the -bush any longer--Mrs. Ludlow for was rheumatic fever, caught from -exposure to cold and damp. The attack I now find left behind it, as it -generally does, a strong predisposition to heart-disease, which, from -what I learn from her, seems to have displayed itself in spasms and -palpitations very shortly afterwards." - -"From what you learn from her? She was sensible, then, when you saw -her?" - -"She was sensible before I left her; ay, and that's the deuce of it. -Partly to deaden the pain of these attacks, partly, as she said herself -just now, to escape from thought, she has had recourse to a sedative, -morphia, which she has taken in large quantities. I smelt it the -instant I entered her room, and found the bottle by her side. Under -this influence she is deadened and comatose; but when the reaction -comes--Poor creature! poor creature!" and the kind-hearted doctor shook -his head sadly. - -"Do you consider her in absolute danger?" asked Bowker, after a pause. - -"My dear fellow it is impossible to say how long she may last; -but--though I suppose that's out of the question now, eh?--people will -talk, you know, and Ive heard rumours;--but if her husband wished to -see her, I should say fetch him at once." - - -"If her husband wished to see her!" said old Bowker to himself, as -he walked away towards his lodgings,--"if her husband wished to see -her! He don't--at least the real one don't, I imagine; and Geoff -mustn't; though, if he knew it, nothing would keep him away. But that -other--Captain Brakespere--he ought to know the danger she's in; he -ought to have the chance of saying a kind word to her before--He must -be a damned villain!" said old William, stopping for an instant, and -pondering over the heads of the story; "but he deserves that chance, -and he shall have it." - -Pursuant to his determination, Mr. Bowker presented himself the next -day at Long's Hotel, where he recollected Mr. Blackett had informed him -that Captain Brakespere was stopping. The porter, immediately divining -from Mr. Bowker's outward appearance that he meditated a raid upon -coats, hats, or any thing that might be lying about the coffee-room, -barricaded the entrance with his waistcoat, and parleyed with the -visitor in the hall. Inquiring for Captain Brakespere, Mr. Bowker -was corrected by the porter, who opined "he meant Lord Catrum." The -correction allowed and the inquiry repeated, the porter replied that -his "lordship had leff," and referred the inquirer to St. Barnabas -Square. - -To St. Barnabas Square Mr. Bowker adjourned, but there learned that -Lord Caterham had left town with Mr. Barford, and would not be back for -some days. - -And meanwhile the time was wearing by, and Margaret's hold on life was -loosening day by day. Would it fail altogether before she saw the man -who had deceived her so cruelly? would it fail altogether before she -saw the man whom she had so cruelly deceived? - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. -IN THE DEEP SHADOW. - - -In the presence of the double sorrow which had fallen upon her, Annie -Maurice's girlhood died out. Arthur was gone, and Geoffrey in so -suffering a condition of body and mind that it would have been easier -to the tender-hearted girl to know that he was at rest, even though -she had to face all the loneliness which would then have been her lot. -Her position was very trying in all its aspects at this time; for -there was little sympathy with her new sorrow at the great house which -she still called home, and where she was regarded as decidedly "odd." -Lady Beauport considered that Caterham had infected her with some of -his strange notions, and that her fancy for associating with "queer" -people, removed from her own sphere not more by her heiress-ship than -by her residence in an earl's house and her recognition as a member of -a noble family, was chargeable to the eccentric notions of her son. -Annie came and went as she pleased, free from comment, though not from -observation; but she was of a sensitive nature; she could not assert -herself; and she suffered from the consciousness that her grief, her -anxiety, and her constant visits to Lowbar were regarded with mingled -censure and contempt. Her pre-occupation of mind prevented her noticing -many things which otherwise could not have escaped her attention; -but when Geoffrey's illness ceased to be actively dangerous, and the -bulletin brought her each morning from Til by the hands of the faithful -Charley contained more tranquillising but still sad accounts of the -patient, she began to observe an air of mystery and preparation in -the household. The few hours which she forced herself to pass daily -in the society of Lady Beauport had been very irksome to her since -Arthur died, and she had been glad when they were curtailed by Lady -Beauport's frequent plea of "business" in the evenings, and her leaving -the drawing-room for her own apartments. Every afternoon she went to -Elm Lodge, and her presence was eagerly hailed by Mrs. Ludlow and Til. -She had seen Geoffrey frequently during the height of the fever; but -since the letter she had kept in such faithful custody had reached his -hands she had not seen him. Though far from even the vaguest conjecture -of the nature of its contents, she had dreaded the effect of receiving -a communication from his dead friend on Geoffrey Ludlow, and had been -much relieved when his mother told her, on the following day, that he -was very calm and quiet, but did not wish to see any one for a few -days. Bowker and he had fully felt the embarrassment of the position -in which Lord Caterham's revelation had placed Geoffrey with regard to -Annie Maurice, and the difficulties which the complications produced -by Margaret's identity with Lionel Brakespere's wife added to Ludlow's -fulfilment of Caterham's trust. They had agreed--or rather Bowker had -suggested, and Geoffrey had acquiesced, with the languid assent of a -mind too much enfeebled by illness and sorrow to be capable of facing -any difficulty but the inevitable, immediate, and pressing--that Annie -need know nothing for the present. - -"She could hardly come here from the Beauports, Geoff," Bowker had -said; "it's all nonsense, of course, to men like you and me, who look -at the real, and know how its bitterness takes all the meaning out of -the rubbish they call rules of society; but the strongest woman is no -freer than Gulliver in his fetters of packthread, in the conventional -world she lives in. We need not fret her sooner than it must be done, -and you had better not see her for the present." - -So Annie came and went for two or three days and did not see Geoffrey. -Mrs. Ludlow, having recovered from the sudden shock of her son's -illness and the protracted terror of his danger, had leisure to feel a -little affronted at his desire for seclusion, and to wonder audibly why -_she_ should be supposed to do him more harm than Mr. Bowker. - -"A big blundering fellow like that, Til," she said; "and I do assure -you, Miss Maurice, he quite forgot the time for the draught when he was -shut up there with him the other day--and talk of _he's_ doing Geoffrey -no harm! All I can say is, if Geoffrey had not been crying when I went -into his room, and wasn't trembling all over in his bed, I never was so -mistaken before." - -Then Til and Annie looked blankly at each other, in mute wonder at this -incomprehensible sorrow--for the women knew nothing but that Margaret -had fled with a former lover--so much had been necessarily told them, -under Bowker's instructions, by Charley Potts; and Annie, after a -little, went sorrowfully away. - -That day at dinner Lord Beauport was more than usually kind in his -manner to her; and Annie considered it due to him, and a fitting return -for some inquiries he had made for "her friend," which had more of -warmth and less of condescension than usual in their tone, to rouse -herself into greater cheerfulness than she had yet been able to assume. -Lady Beauport rose sooner than usual; and the two ladies had hardly -seated themselves in the dreary drawing-room when the Earl joined them. -There was an air of preparation in Lord Beauport's manner, and Annie -felt that something had happened. - -The thing which had happened was this--Lady Beauport had not -miscalculated her experienced power of managing her husband. She -had skilfully availed herself of an admission made by him that -Lionel's absence, at so great a distance just then was an unfortunate -complication; that the necessary communications were rendered difficult -and tedious; and that he wished his "rustication" had been nearer home. -The Countess caught at the word 'rustication:' then not expulsion, -not banishment, was in her husband's mind. Here was a commutation -of her darling's sentence; a free pardon would follow, if she only -set about procuring it in the right way. So she resorted to several -little expedients by which the inconvenience of the heir's absence -was made more and more apparent: having once mentioned his name, Lord -Beauport continued to do so;--perhaps he was in his secret heart as -much relieved by the breaking of the ban as the mother herself;--and -at length, on the same day which witnessed William Bowker's visit -to Lionel Brakespere's deserted wife, Lady Beauport acknowledged to -her husband that their son was then in London, and that she had seen -him. The Earl received her communication in frowning silence; but she -affected not to observe his manner, and expatiated, with volubility -very unusual to her, upon the fortunate concurrence of circumstances -which had brought Lionel to England just as his improved position made -it more than ever probable he would be perfectly well received. - -"That dear Mr. Barford," she said--and her face never changed at -the name of the man in whose arms her son had died so short a time -before--"assures me that every one is delighted to see him. And really, -George, he mustn't stay at Long's, you know--it looks so bad--for every -one knows he's in town; and if we don't receive him properly, that will -be just the way to rake up old stories. I'm sure they're old enough to -be forgotten; and many a young man has done worse than Lionel, and--" - -"Stop, Gertrude," said Lord Beauport sternly; "stick to the truth, -if you please. I hope very few young men in our son's position have -disgraced it and themselves as he has done. The truth is, that we -have to make the best of a misfortune. He has returned; and by -so doing has added to the rest a fresh rascality by breaking his -pledged word. Circumstances oblige me to acquiesce,--luck is on his -side,--his brother's death--" Lord Beauport paused for a moment, and -an expression, hitherto unfamiliar, but which his wife frequently saw -in the future, flitted over his face--"his brother's death leaves me -no choice. Let us say as little as possible on this subject. He had -better come here, for every reason. For appearances' sake it is well; -and he will probably be under some restraint in this house." Here the -Earl turned to leave the room, and said slowly as he walked towards -the door, "Something tells me, Gertrude, that in Arthur's death, which -we dreaded too little and mourn too lightly, we have seen only the -beginning of evils." - -Lady Beauport sat very still and felt very cold after he left her. -Conscience smote her dumbly,--in days to come it would find a voice in -which to speak,--and fear fell upon her. "I will never say any thing to -him about Annie Maurice," she said to herself, as the first effect of -her husband's words began to pass away; "I do believe he would be as -hard on Lionel as poor Arthur himself, and warn the girl against him." - -How relieved she felt as she despatched a note to Lionel Brakespere, -telling him she had fulfilled her task, and inviting him to return to -his father's house when he pleased! - -Assuredly the star of the new heir was in the ascendant; his brother -was dead, his place restored to him, and society ready to condone all -his "follies,"--which is the fashionable synonym for the crimes of the -rich and the great. If Lionel Brakespere could have seen "that cursed -woman"--as in his brutal anger he called his wife a hundred times over, -as he fretted and fumed over the remembrance of their interview--as -William Bowker saw her that day,--he would have esteemed himself a -luckier fellow still than he did when he lighted his cigar with his -mother's note, and thought how soon he would change that "infernal dull -old hole" from what it was in Caterham's time, and how he would have -every thing his own way now. - -Such, as far as his knowledge of them extended, and without any comment -or expression of opinion of his own, were the circumstances which -Lord Beauport narrated to Annie. She received his information with an -indescribable pang, compounded of a thousand loving remembrances of -Arthur and a keen resuscitation by her memory of the scene of Lionel's -disgrace, to which she and her lost friend had been witnesses. She -could hardly believe, hardly understand it all; and the clearest -thought which arose above the surging troubled sea within her breast -was, that the place which knew Arthur no more would be doubly empty and -desolate when Lionel should fill it. - -The tone in which Lord Beauport had spoken was grave and sad, and he -had confined himself to the barest announcement. Annie had listened in -respectful silence; but though she had not looked directly at her, she -was conscious of Lady Beauport's reproachful glances, addressed to her -husband, as he concluded by saying coldly, - -"You were present, Annie, by my desire, when I declared that that which -is now about to happen should never be, and I have thought it necessary -to explain to you a course of conduct on my part which without -explanation would have appeared very weak and inconsistent. As a member -of _my_ family you are entitled to such an explanation; and indeed, as -an inmate of this house, you are entitled to an apology." - -"Thank you, my lord," said Annie, in a voice which, though lower than -usual, was very firm. - -This was more than Lady Beauport's pride could bear. She began, -fiercely enough, - -"Really, Lord Beauport, I cannot see--" - -But at that moment a servant opened the door and announced - -"Lord Caterham." - -The group by the fireside stood motionless for a moment, as Lionel, -dressed in deep mourning, advanced towards them with well-bred ease and -perfect unconcern. Then Lady Beauport threw herself into his arms; and -Annie, hardly noticing that Lord Beauport had by an almost involuntary -movement stretched out his hand to the handsome prodigal, glided past -the three, hurried to her own room, and, having locked the door, sank -down on her knees beside her bed in an agony of grief. - -Three days elapsed, during which events marched with a steady pace at -Elm Lodge and at the lodging were the woman who had brought such wreck -and ruin within that tranquil-looking abode was lying contending with -grief and disease, dying the death of despair and exhaustion. When -Bowker returned from his unsuccessful quest for Lionel Brakespere, he -found that she had passed into another phase of her malady,--was quiet, -dreamy, and apparently forgetful of the excitement she had undergone. -She was lying quite still on her bed, her eyes half closed, and a faint -unmeaning smile was on her lips. - -"I have seen her so for hours and hours, sir," said the gentle little -landlady; "and it's my belief it's what she takes as does it." - -So Bowker concluded that Margaret had found means to avail herself -of the fatal drug from which she had sought relief so often and so -long, in the interval of depression which had succeeded the delirium -he had witnessed. He was much embarrassed now to know how to proceed. -She required better accommodation and careful nursing, and he was -determined she should have both,--but how that was to be managed was -the question; and Bowker, the most helpless man in the world in such -matters, was powerless to answer it. He had never imagined, as he -had turned the probabilities over and over in his mind, that such a -complication as severe physical illness would arise; and it routed all -his plans, besides engaging all his most active sympathies. William -Bowker had an extreme dread, indeed a positive terror, of witnessing -bodily suffering in women and children; and had his anger and repulsion -towards Margaret been far greater than they were, they would have -yielded to pain and pity as he gazed upon the rigid lines of the pale -weary face, from which the beauty was beginning to fade and drop away -in some mysterious manner of vanishing, terrible to see and feel, but -impossible to describe. He made the best provisional arrangements -within his power, and went away, promising Mrs. Chapman that he would -return on the following day to meet the doctor, and turned his steps in -much mental bewilderment towards the abode of Charley Potts, purposing -to consult him in the emergency, previous to their proceeding together -to Lowbar. - -"I can't help it now," he thought; "the women cannot possibly be kept -out of the business any longer. If she were let to want any thing, and -had not every care taken of her, dear old Geoff would never forgive -any of us; and it could not be hidden from him. I am sure she's dying; -and--I'm glad of it: glad for her sake, poor wretched creature; and -O so glad for his! He will recover her death--he _must_; but I doubt -whether he would recover her life. He would be for ever hankering after -her, for ever remembering the past, and throwing away the remainder of -his life, as he has thrown away too much of it already. No, no, dear -old Geoff, this shall not be, if your William can save you. I know what -a wasted life means; and you shall put yours out at good interest, -Geoff, please God." - -Charley was at home; and he received Mr. Bowker's communication with -uncommon gravity, and immediately bestowed his best attention upon -considering what was to be done. He was not in the least offended by -discovering that it had not been his William's intention to tell him -any thing about it. "Quite right too," he observed. "I should have -been of no use, if every thing had not been capsized by her illness; -and I don't like to know any thing I'm not to tell to Til. Not that -she's in the least inquisitive, you know,--don't make any mistake about -that,--but things are in such an infernally mysterious mess; and then -they only know enough to make them want to know more; and I shouldn't -like, under these circumstances--it would seem hypocritical, don't you -see--and every thing must come out sometime, eh?" - -"O yes, I see," said Bowker drily; "but I have to tell you _now_, -Charley; for what the devil's to be done? You can't bring her here and -nurse her; and I can't bring her to my place and nurse her,--yet she -must be taken somewhere and nursed; and we must be prepared with a -satisfactory account of every thing we have done, when Geoff gets well; -and what are we to do?" - -Mr. Potts did not answer for a few moments, but handed over the beer -in an absent manner to Mr. Bowker; then, starting up from the table on -which he had been sitting, he exclaimed, - -"I have it, William. Let's tell the women--Til, I mean, and Miss -Maurice. They'll know all about it, bless you," said Charley, whose -confidence in female resources was unbounded. "It's all nonsense trying -to keep things dark, when theyve got to such a pass as this. If Mrs. -Ludlow's in the state you say, she will not live long; and then Geoff's -difficulty, if not his trouble, will be over. Her illness alters every -thing. Come on, Bowker; let's get on to Elm Lodge; tell Til, and Miss -Maurice, if she's there; and let them make proper arrangements." - -"But, Charley," said Bowker, much relieved, in spite of his misgivings, -by the suggestion, "you forget one important point. Miss Maurice is -Brakespere's cousin, and she lives in his father's house. It won't do -to bring her in." - -"Never you mind that, William," replied the impetuous Charley. "Til -can't act alone; and old Mrs. Ludlow is nervous, and would not know -what to do, and must not be told; and I am sure Miss Maurice doesn't -care a rap about her cousin--the ruffian--why should she? And I know -she would do any thing in the world, no matter how painful to herself, -and no matter whether he ever came to know it or not, that would serve -or please Geoff." - -"Indeed!" said Bowker, in a tone half of inquiry, half of surprise, and -looking very hard at Charley; "and how do you know that, eh, Charley?" - -"O, bother," answered that gentleman, "I don't know how I know it; -but I do know it; and I am sure the sooner we act on my knowledge the -better. So come along." - -So saying, Mr. Potts made his simple outdoor toilet; and the two -gentlemen went out, and took their way towards the resort of omnibuses, -eagerly discussing the matter in hand as they went, and Mr. Bowker -finding himself unexpectedly transformed from the active into the -passive party. - -It was agreed between them that Geoffrey should not be informed of -Bowker's presence in the house, as he would naturally be impatient to -learn the result of the mission with which he had intrusted him; and -that result it was their present object to conceal. - -Fortune favoured the wishes of Bowker and Charley. Mrs. Ludlow was -with her son; and in the drawing-room, which was resuming somewhat of -its former orderly and pleasant appearance, they found Miss Maurice -and Til. The two girls were looking sad and weary, and Til was hardly -brightened up by Charley's entrance, for he looked so much more grave -than usual, that she guessed at once he had heard something new and -important. The little party were too vitally interested in Geoffrey -and his fortunes, and the occasion was too solemn for any thing of -ceremony; and when Charley Potts had briefly introduced Bowker to Annie -Maurice, he took Til's hand in his, and said, - -"Til, Geoffrey's wife has been found--alone, and very ill--dying, as we -believe!" - - -"You are quite sure, William?" - -"I am quite sure, Geoffrey. Do you think I would deceive you, or take -any thing for granted myself, without seeing and hearing what is so -important to you? She is well cared for in every respect. Your own -care, when she needed it before, was not more tender or more effective. -Be satisfied, dear old Geoff; be content." - -"You saw her--you really saw her; and she spoke kindly of me?" asked -Geoffrey with a pitiable eagerness which pained Bowker to witness. - -"I did. Yes, have I not told you again and again--" Then there was -a moment's silence and Bowker thought, if she were not dying, how -terrible this tenderness towards her would be, how inexplicable to all -the world but him, how ruinous to Geoffrey; but as it was, it did not -matter: it would soon be only the tenderness of memory, the pardon of -the grave. - -Geoffrey was sitting in an arm-chair by the bedroom window which -overlooked the pretty flower-garden and the lawn. He was very weak -still, but health was returning, and with it the power of acute mental -suffering, which severe bodily illness mercifully deadens. This had -been a dreadful day to him. When he was able to sit up and look around -the room from which all the graceful suggestive traces of a woman's -presence had been carefully removed; when he saw the old home look -upon every thing before his eyes (for whom the idea of home was for -ever desecrated and destroyed), the truth presented itself to him as -it had never before done, in equal horror and intensity, since the day -the woman he loved had struck him a blow by her words which had nearly -proved mortal. Would it had been so! he thought, as his large brown -eyes gazed wearily out upon the lawn and the flower-beds, and then -were turned upon the familiar objects in the chamber, and closed with -a shudder. His large frame look gaunt and worn, and his hands rested -listlessly upon the sides of his chair. He had requested them to leave -him alone for a little, that he might rest previous to seeing Bowker. - -From the window at which Geoffrey sat he could see the nurse walking -monotonously up and down the gravel-walk which bounded his little -demesne with the child in her arms. Sometimes she stopped to pluck a -flower and give it to the baby, who would laugh with delight and then -throw it from him. Geoffrey watched the pair for a little, and then -turned his head wearily away and put his question to Bowker, who was -seated beside him, and who looked at him furtively with glances of the -deepest concern. - -"You shall hear how she is, Geoff,--how circumstanced, how cared for, -and by whom, from one who can tell you the story better than I can. -Your confidence has not been misplaced." Geoffrey turned upon him the -nervous anxious gaze which is so touching to see in the eyes of one who -has lately neared the grave, and still seems to hover about its brink. -William Bowker proceeded: "You have not asked for Miss Maurice lately. -I daresay you felt too much oppressed by the information in Lord -Caterham's letter, too uncertain of the future, too completely unable -to make up your mind what was to be done about her, to care or wish -to see her. She has been here as usual, making herself as useful as -possible, and helping your mother and sister in every conceivable way. -But she has done more for you than that, Geoff; and if you are able to -see her now, I think you had better hear it all from herself." - -With these words Bowker hurried out of the room; and in a few minutes -Annie Maurice, pale, quiet, and self-possessed, came in, and took her -seat beside Geoffrey. - -What had she come to tell him? What had she been doing for the help -and service of her early friend,--she, this young girl so unskilled in -the world's ways, so lonely, so dependent hitherto,--who now looked so -womanly and sedate,--in whose brown eyes he saw such serious thought, -such infinite sweetness and pity,--whose deep mourning dress clothed -her slender figure with a sombre dignity new to it, and on whom a -nameless change had passed, which Geoffrey had eyes to see now, and -recognised even in that moment of painful emotion with wonder. - -Calmly, carefully subduing every trace of embarrassment for his sake, -and in a business-like tone which precluded the necessity for any -preliminary explanation, Annie told Geoffrey Ludlow that she had been -made aware of the circumstances which had preceded and caused his -illness. She touched lightly upon her sorrow and her sympathy, but -passed on to the subject of Caterham's letter. Geoffrey listened to her -in silence, his head turned away and his eyes covered with his hand. -Annie went on: - -"I little thought, Geoffrey, when I was so glad to find that you -were well enough to read Arthur's letter, and when I only thought -of fulfilling so urgent a request as soon as I could, and perhaps -diverting your mind into thoughts of our dear dead friend, that I was -to be the means of making all this misery plain and intelligible. -But it was so, Geoffrey; and I now see that it was well. Why Arthur -should have selected you to take up the search after his death I -cannot tell,--I suppose he knew instinctively your fidelity and -trueheartedness; but the accident was very fortunate, for it identified -your interests and mine, it made the fulfilment of his trust a sacred -duty to me, and enabled me to do with propriety what no one else could -have done, and what she--what Margaret--would not have accepted from -another." - -Geoffrey started, let his hand fall from his face, and caught hers. "Is -it you, then, Annie?" - -"Yes, yes," she said, "it is I, Geoffrey; do not agitate yourself, but -listen to me. When Mr. Bowker found Margaret, as you know he did, she -was very ill, and--she had no protector and no money. What could he do? -He did the best thing; he told me, to whom Arthur's wishes were sacred, -who would have done the same had you never existed--you know I am rich -and free; and I made all the needful arrangements for her at once. When -all was ready for her reception--it is a pretty house at Sydenham, -Geoffrey, and she is as well cared for as any one can be--I went to -her, and told her I was come to take her home." - -"And she--Margaret--did she consent? Did she think it was I who--" - -"Who sent me?" interrupted Annie. "No,--she would not have consented; -for her feeling is that she has so wronged you that she must owe -nothing to you any more. In this I know she is quite wrong; for to -know that she was in any want or suffering would be still worse grief -to you,--but that can never be,--and I did not need to contradict -her. I told her I came to her in a double character that of her own -friend--though she had not had much friendship for me, Geoffrey; but -that is beside the question--and--and--" here she hesitated for a -moment, but then took courage and went on, "that of her husband's -cousin." Geoffrey ground his teeth, but said never a word. She -continued, with deepening light in her eyes and growing tenderness -in her voice, "I told her how Arthur, whom I loved, had sought for -her,--how a strange fatality had brought them in contact, neither -knowing how near an interest each had in the other. She knew it the day -she fainted in his room, but he died without knowing it, and so dying -left her, as I told her I felt she was, a legacy to me. She softened -then, Geoffrey, and she came with me." - -Here Annie paused, as if expecting he would speak, but he did not. She -glanced at him, but his face was set and rigid, and his eyes were fixed -upon the walk, where the nurse and child still were. - -"She is very ill, Geoffrey," Annie went on; "very weak and worn, and -weary of life. I am constantly with her, but sometimes she is unable or -unwilling to speak to me. She is gloomy and reserved, and suffers as -much in mind as in body, I am sure." - -Geoffrey said slowly, "Does she ever speak to you of me?" - -Annie replied, "Not often. When she does, it is always with the -greatest sorrow for your sorrow, and the deepest sense of the injury -she has done you. I am going to her to-day, Geoffrey, and I should like -to take to her an assurance of your forgiveness. May I tell Margaret -that you forgive her?" - -He turned hastily, and said with a great gasp, "O Annie, tell her that -I love her!" - -"I will tell her that," the girl said gently and sadly, and an -expression of pain crossed her face. She thought of the love that had -been wasted, and the life that had been blighted. - -"What is she going to do?" asked Geoffrey; "how is it to be in the -future?" This was a difficult question for Annie to answer: she knew -well what lay in the future; but she dreaded to tell Geoffrey, even -while she felt that the wisest, the easiest, the best, and the most -merciful solution of the terrible dilemma in which a woman's ungoverned -passion had placed so many innocent persons was surely and not slowly -approaching. - -"I don't know, Geoffrey," she said; "I cannot tell you. Nothing can be -decided upon until she is better, and you are well enough to advise and -direct us. Try and rest satisfied for the present. She is safe, no harm -can come to her; and I am able and willing to befriend her now as you -did before. Take comfort, Geoffrey; it is all dreadful; but if we had -not found her, how much worse it would have been!" - -At this moment the nurse carried her charge out of their sight, as she -came towards the house, and Annie, thinking of the more than motherless -child, wondered at the no-meaning of her own words, and how any thing -could have been worse than what had occurred. - -She and Geoffrey had spoken very calmly to each other, and there had -been no demonstration of gratitude to her on his part; but it would be -impossible to tell the thankfulness which filled his heart. It was a -feeling of respite which possessed him. The dreadful misfortune which -had fallen upon him was as real and as great as ever; but he could -rest from the thought of it, from its constant torture, now that he -knew that she was safe from actual physical harm; now that no awful -vision of a repetition of the destitution and misery from which he had -once rescued her, could come to appal him. Like a man who, knowing -that the morrow will bring him a laborious task to do, straining his -powers to the utmost, inexorable and inevitable in its claims, covets -the deep rest of the hours which intervene between the present and the -hour which must summon him to his toil, Geoffrey, in the lassitude of -recent illness, in the weakness of early convalescence, rested from -the contemplation of his misery. He had taken Annie's communication -very quietly; he had a sort of feeling that it ought to surprise him -very much, that the circumstances were extraordinary, that the chain -of events was a strangely-wrought one--but he felt little surprise; it -was lurking somewhere in his mind, he would feel it all by and by, no -doubt; but nothing beyond relief was very evident to him in his present -state. He wondered, indeed, how it was with Annie herself; how the -brave, devoted, and unselfish girl had been able, trammelled as she -was by the rules and restrictions of a great house, to carry out her -benevolent designs, and dispose of her own time after her own fashion. -There was another part of the subject which Geoffrey did not approach -even in his thoughts. Bowker had not told him of Margaret's entreaties -that she might see Lionel Brakespere; he had not told him that the -young man had returned to his father's house; and he made no reference -to him in his consideration of Annie's position. He had no notion that -the circumstances in which Lord Caterham had entreated his protection -for Annie had already arisen. - -"How is it that you can do all this unquestioned, Annie?" he asked; -"how can you be so much away from home?" - -She answered him with some embarrassment. "It was difficult--a -little--but I knew I was right, and I did not suffer interference. When -you are quite well, Geoffrey, I want your advice for myself. I have -none else, you know, since Arthur died." - -"He knew that, Annie; and the purport of the letter which told me such -a terrible story was to ask me in all things to protect and guide you. -He little knew that he had the most effectual safeguard in his own -hands; for, Annie, the danger he most dreaded for you was association -with his brother." - -"That can never be," she said vehemently. "No matter what your future -course of action may be, Geoffrey, whether you expose him or not--in -which, of course, you will consider Margaret only--I will never live -under the same roof with him. I must find another home, Geoffrey, let -what will come of it, and let them say what they will." - -"Caterham would have been much easier in his mind, Annie," said -Geoffrey, with a sad smile, "if he had known how baseless were his -fears that his brother would one day win your heart." - -"There never could have been any danger of that, Geoffrey," said Annie, -with a crimson blush, which had not subsided when she took her leave of -him. - - - - -CHAPTER IX. -CLOSING IN. - - -The porter at Lord Beauport's mansion in St. Barnabas Square became -so familiarised with Mr. Bowker's frequent visits as at length to -express no surprise at the sight of the "hold cove," who daily arrived -to inquire whether any tidings of Lord Caterham had been received. -Although the porter's experience of life had been confined to London, -his knowledge of the ways of men was great; and he was perfectly -certain that this pertinacious inquirer was no dun, no tradesman with -an overdue account, no begging letter-writer or imposter of any kind. -What he was the porter could not tell; mentioned, in casual chat with -the footman waiting for the carriage to come round, that he could not -"put a name" to him, but thought from his "rum get-up" that he was -either in the picture-selling or the money-lending line. - -Undeterred by, because ignorant of, the curiosity which his presence -excited--and indeed it may be assumed that, had he been aware of it, -his actions would have been very little influenced thereby--old William -Bowker attended regularly every day at the St. Barnabas-Square mansion, -and having asked his question and received his answer, adjourned to -the nearest tavern for his lunch of bread-and-cheese and beer, and -then puffing a big meerschaum pipe, scaled the omnibus which conveyed -him to London Bridge, whence he took the train for the little house -at Sydenham. They were always glad to see him there, even though he -brought no news; and old Mrs. Ludlow especially found the greatest -comfort in pouring into his open ears the details of the latest -experience of her "cross." William Bowker to such recitals was a -splendid listener; that is to say, he could nod his head and throw in -an "Indeed!" or a "Really!" exactly at the proper moment, while all the -time his thoughts were far away, occupied with some important matter. -He saw Til occasionally, and sometimes had flying snatches of talk with -Annie Maurice in the intervals of her attendance on the invalid. Bowker -did not meet Charley Potts very frequently, although that gentleman -was a regular visitor at Sydenham whenever Mrs. Ludlow and Til were -there; but it was not until the evening that Mr. Potts came, for he -was diligently working away at his commissions and growing into great -favour with Mr. Caniche; and besides, he had no particular interest -in Miss Maurice; and so long as he arrived in time to escort Miss Til -and her mother back to London Bridge and to put them into the Lowbar -omnibus, he was content, and was especially grateful for the refreshing -sleep which always came upon old Mrs. Ludlow in the train. - -At length, when many weary days had worn themselves away, and Geoffrey -was beginning to feel his old strength returning to him, and with it -the aching void which he had experienced on regaining consciousness -daily increasing in intensity, and when Margaret's hold on life had -grown very weak indeed, old William Bowker, making his daily inquiry of -Lord Beauport's porter, was informed that Lord Caterham had returned -the previous afternoon, and was at that moment at breakfast. Then, with -great deliberation, Mr. Bowker unbuttoned his coat and from an inner -breast-pocket produced an old leather pocket-book, from which, among -bits of sketches and old envelopes, he took a card, and pencilling his -name thereon, requested the porter to give it to Lord Caterham. - -The porter looked at the card, and then said jocosely, "You ain't wrote -your business on it, then? 'Spose you couldn't do that, eh? Well, you -are a plucked 'un, you are, and I like you for it, never givin' in -and comin' so reg'lar; and I'll let him have your card just for that -reason." He disappeared as he said these words, but came back speedily, -remarking, "He'll see you, he says, though he don't know the name. Do -you know the way? Same rooms which his brother used to have,--straight -afore you. Here, I'll show you." - -The friendly porter, preceding Mr. Bowker down the passage, opened the -door of what had been poor Arthur's sitting-room, and ushered in the -visitor. The bookcases, the desk, the pictures and nicnacks, were all -as they had been in the old days; but there was a table in the middle -of the room, at which was seated the new Lord Caterham finishing late -breakfast. Bowker had never seen the Lionel Brakespere of former days; -if he had, he would have noticed the change in the man before him,--the -boldness of bearing, the calm unflinching regard, the steadiness of -voice, the assurance of manner,--all of which, though characteristic -of Lionel Brakespere in his earliest days, had deserted him, only to -reappear with his title. - -"You wished to see me, Mr. ----. I don't know your name," said Lionel, -stiffly returning the stiff bow which Bowker gave him on entering. - -"You have my card, my lord," said old Bowker quietly. - -"Ah, yes, by the way, I have your card," said Lionel, taking it up. -"Mr. Bowker--Mr.--Bowker! Now that does not convey to me any idea -whatever?" - -"I daresay not. You never heard it before--you never saw me before; and -you would not see me now, if I did not come on business of the greatest -importance." - -"Business of the greatest importance! Dear me, that's what they all -come on. Of the greatest importance to yourself, of course?" - -"Of the greatest importance to you. Except in a very minor degree, Ive -nothing to do in the matter." - -"Of the greatest importance to me! O, of course--else it would not have -been worth while your coming, would it? Now, as my time is valuable, be -good enough to let me know what this business is." - -"You shall know in as few words as I can tell you. I come to you from a -woman--" - -Lionel interrupted him with a cynical laugh. - -"The deuce you do!" he said. "From a woman? Well, I thought it was -cigars, or a blue diamond, or a portrait of some old swell whom you had -made out to be an ancestor of mine, or--" - -"I would advise you not to be funny on the subject until you've heard it -explained, Lord Caterham," said Mr. Bowker grimly. "I scarcely imagine -you'll find it so humorous before I'm done." - -"Sha'n't I? Well, at all events, give me the chance of hearing," said -Lionel. He was in a splendid temper. He had come back, after a pleasant -run with Algy Barford, to enjoy all the advantages of his new position. -On the previous night he and his mother had had a long talk about Miss -Maurice--this heiress whom he was to captivate so easily. The world lay -straight and bright before him, and he could spare a few minutes to -this old fellow--who was either a lunatic or a swindler--for his own -amusement. - -"I come to you Lord Caterham, from a woman who claims to be your wife." - -In an instant the colour died out of Lionel's face; his brows were -knit, and his mouth set and rigid. "O, ho!" said he through his -clenched teeth, after a moment's pause; "you do, do you? You come to me -from _that_ woman? That's your line of country, is it? O yes--I guessed -wrong about you, certainly--you don't look a bit like a bully!" - -"A bully!" echoed William Bowker, looking very white. - -"A bully!" repeated Lionel--"the woman's father, brother, former -husband--any thing that will give you a claim to put in an appearance -for her. And now look here. This game won't do with me--I'm up to it; -so you had better drop it at once, and get out." - -Old Bowker waited for a minute with set teeth and clenched fists, all -the gray hair round his mouth bristling with fury. Only for a minute. -Then he resumed the seat which he had quitted, and said, - -"I'm not quite so certain of myself nowadays, as Ive been a long time -out of practice; but it strikes me that during your long career of -gentlemanly vice, my Lord Caterham, you never were nearer getting -a sound drubbing than you have been within the last five minutes. -However, let that pass. You have been good enough to accuse me of -being a bully, by which term I imagine you mean a man sent here by the -unfortunate lady of whom we have spoken to assert her rights. I may as -well start by telling you that she is utterly ignorant of my intention -to call on you." - -"Of course--O yes, of course. Didn't give you my address, did she?" - -"She did not." - -"She didn't? O, then you've come on your own hook, being some relation -or friend of hers, to see what you could bounce me out of." - -"I am no relation of hers. I have not seen her half a dozen times in -the course of my life." - -"Then what the deuce brings you here?" - -"I'll tell you as shortly as I can. When you deserted this woman--not -caring what became of her; leaving her to sink or swim as best she -might--she slipped from one point of wretchedness to another, until, at -the bottom of her descent, she was discovered by a very old friend of -mime perishing of cold and hunger--dying in the streets!" - -Lionel, whose face when Bowker commenced speaking had been averted, -turned here, and gave a short sharp shudder, fixing his eyes on Bowker -as he proceeded. - -"Dying in the streets! My friend rescued her from this fate, had -her nursed and attended, and finally--ignorant of the chief fact of -her life, though she had confided to him a certain portion of her -story--fell so desperately in love with her as to ask her to become his -wife." - -"To become his wife!" cried Lionel; "and she consented?" - -"She did." - -"And they were married?" - -"They were. I was present." - -"_Bravissimo!_" said Lionel in a low voice. "you've done me a greater -service than you think for, Mr.--what's-your-name. She'll never trouble -me again." - -"Only once more, my lord," said old Bowker solemnly. - -"What the devil do you mean, sir?" - -"Simply this, my lord. I understand your exclamation of delight at -seeing your way legally to rid yourself of this woman, who is now -nothing to you but an incumbrance. But you need not fear; you will not -even have the trouble of consulting your lawyer in the matter. There is -one who breaks up marriage-ties more effectually even than the Divorce -Court, and that one is--Death!" - -"Death!" - -"Death. The woman of whom we have been speaking lies in the jaws of -death. Her recovery, according to all human experience, is impossible. -Dying,--and knowing herself to be dying,--she wishes to see you." - -"To see me!" said Lionel scornfully; "O no, thank you; I won't -interfere in the family party. The gentleman who has married her might -object to my coming." - -"The gentleman who married her in all noble trust and honour, she -deserted directly she heard of your return. Overwhelmed by her cruelty, -and by the full details of her story, which he heard from your brother, -the then Lord Caterham, at the same time, he fell, smitten with an -illness from which he is barely recovering. She is in another house far -away from his, and on her deathbed she calls for you." - -"She may call," said Lionel, after a moment's pause, frowning, -thrusting his hands into his pockets, and settling himself back into -his chair; "she may call; I shall not go." - -"You will not?" - -"I will not--why should I?" - -"If you can't answer that question for yourself, Lord Caterham, upon -my soul I can't for you," said Bowker gruffly. "If you think you owe -no reparation to the woman, your wife, whom you left to be rescued by -strangers' charity from starvation, I cannot convince you of it: if you -decline to accede to her dying request, I cannot enforce it." - -"Why does not the--the gentleman who was so desperately in love with -her, and whom she--she accepted--why does not he go to her?" said -Lionel. He did not care for Margaret himself, but the thought that she -had been something to any one else grated upon his pride. - -"Ah, my God," said old Bowker, "how willingly would he; but it is not -for him she asks--it is for you. You boast of your experience of women, -and yet you know so little of them as to expect gratitude of them. -Gratitude from a woman--gratitude--and yet, God knows, I ought not to -say that--I ought not to say that." - -"You seem to have had a singular experience, Mr. Bowker," said Lionel, -"and one on which you can scarcely make up your mind. Where is this -lady whom you wish me to see?" - -"At Sydenham--within an hour's drive." - -Lionel rang the bell. "Tell them to get the brougham round," said he to -the servant who answered it. "Now, look here, Mr. Bowker; I am going -with you thoroughly depending on your having told me the exact truth." - -"You may depend on it," said old Bowker simply. And they started -together. - -That was a strange ride. At starting Lionel lit a cigar, and puffed -fiercely out of the window; idly looking at the Parliament-houses -and other familiar objects which met his gaze as they drove over -Westminster Bridge, the passing populace, the hoardings blazing with -placards, the ordinary bustle and turmoil of every-day life. He was -angry and savage; savage with Margaret for the annoyance she had -brought upon him, savage with Bowker for having found him out, savage -with himself for having allowed himself, in the impulse of a moment, -to be betrayed into this expedition. Then, as the houses became fewer, -and the open spaces more frequent; as they left behind them the solid -blocks of streets and rows and terraces, dull wretched habitations for -ninth-rate clerks, solemn old two-storied edifices where the shipping -agents and Baltic merchants of a past generation yet lingered in their -retirement, frowsy dirty little shops with a plentiful sprinkling of -dirtier and frowsier taverns, imbued as was the whole neighbourhood -with a not-to-be explained maritime flavour,--as they slipped by these -and came into the broad road fringed by pretty gardens, in which -stood trim villas stuccoed and plate-glassed, with the "coach-house -of gentility" and every other sign of ease and wealth; then leaving -these behind, emerged into country lanes with wide-spreading meadows -on either side, green uplands, swelling valleys, brown shorn fields -whence the harvest had been carried,--as they passed through all these -the cruel thoughts in Lionel's mind softened, and he began to think -of the scene to which he was being hastened, and of his own share in -bringing about that scene. As he flung away the butt-end of his cigar, -there rose in his mind a vision of Margaret as he had first seen her, -walking on the Castle Hill at Tenby with some of her young companions, -and looking over the low parapet at the boiling sea raging round -Catherine's Rock. How lovely she looked, glowing with youth and health! -What a perfectly aristocratic air and _tournure_ she had, visible in -the careless grace of her hat, the sweeping elegance of her shawl, the -fit of her boots and gloves! How completely he had been taken aback by -the apparition! how he had raved about her! had never rested until he -had obtained an introduction, and--ah, he remembered at that moment -distinctly the quivering of her eyelids, the fluttering of her young -bosom under its simple gauze, her half hesitating timid speech. That -was comparatively a short time ago--and now in what condition was he to -find her? He was not all bad, this man--who is?--and the best part of -him was awakened now. He crossed his arms, leaned back in the carriage, -and was nearer repentance than he had been since his childhood. - -And old William Bowker, what was he thinking of? Indeed, he had fallen -into his usual day-dream. The comparison between Margaret and his own -lost love, made when he first saw her, had always haunted him; and he -was then turning in his mind how, if such a complication as they were -experiencing at that moment had been possible, it would have affected -her and him. From this his thoughts glided to the impending interview, -and he wondered whether he had done right in bringing it about. He -doubted whether Margaret would have the physical strength to endure -it; and even if she had, whether any good--even so far as the arousing -even a transient good in his companion--would result from it. As he was -pondering upon these things, Lionel turned quietly upon him and said in -a hoarse voice, - -"You said she was very ill?" - -"Very ill; could hardly be worse--to be alive." - -"It's--" and here he seemed to pull himself together, and nerve himself -to hear the worst--"it's consumption, I suppose, caught from--damn it -all, how my lip trembles!--brought on by--want, and that." - -"It originated in rheumatic fever, produced by cold and exposure, -resulting in heart-disease and a complication of disorders." - -"Has she had proper advice?--the best, I mean, that can be procured?" - -"Yes; she has been seen twice by ---- and ----" said Bowker, naming two -celebrated physicians, "and her own doctor sees her every day." - -"And their opinions agree?" - -"They all agree in saying that--" - -"Hush," said Lionel, seizing him by the arm; "your face is quite -enough. I'd rather not hear it again, please." And he plunged his hands -into his pockets, and sunk back shuddering into the corner of the -brougham. - -Bowker was silent; and they drove on without interchanging a word until -William stopped the coachman at a small gate in a high garden-wall. -Then Lionel looked up with a strange frightened glance, and asked, "Is -this the place?" - -"It is," said Bowker; "she has been here for some little time now. You -had better let me go in first, I think, and prepare for your coming." - -And all Lionel answered was, "As you please," as he shrunk back into -his corner again. He was under a totally new experience. For the first -time in his life he found himself suffering under a conscience-pang; -felt disposed to allow that he had acted badly towards this woman now -lying so stricken and so helpless; had a kind of dim hope that she -would recover, in order that he might--vaguely, he knew not how--make -her atonement. He felt uncomfortable and fidgetty. Bowker had gone, and -the sun-blistered damp-stained garden-door had been closed behind him, -and Lionel sat gazing at the door, and wondering what was on the other -side of it, and what kind of a house it was, and where she was, and -who was with her. He never thought he should have felt like this. He -had thought of her--half a dozen times--when he was out there; but he -knew she was a clever girl, and he always had a notion that she would -fall upon her legs, and outgrow that first girlish smite, and settle -down comfortably, and all that kind of thing. And so she would now. -They were probably a pack of nervous old women about her--like this -fellow who had brought him here--and they exaggerated danger, and made -mountains of mole-hills. She was ill--he had little doubt of that; but -she would get better, and then he'd see what could be done. Gad! it was -a wonderful thing to find any woman caring for a fellow so; he might go -through life without meeting another; and after all, what the deuce did -it matter? He was his own master, wasn't he? and as for money--well, -he should be sure to have plenty some day: things were all altered -now, since poor old Arthur's death; and-- And at that moment the door -opened; and behind William Bowker, who was pale and very grave, Lionel -saw the house with all its blinds drawn down. And then he knew that his -better resolutions had come too late, and that Margaret was dead. - - -Yes, she was dead; had died early that morning. On the previous day -she had been more than usually restless and uncomfortable, and towards -evening had alarmed the nurse who thought she was asleep, and who -herself was dozing--by breaking out into a shrill cry, followed by a -deep long-drawn lamentation. Annie Maurice at the sound rushed hastily -into the room, and never left it again until all was over. She found -Margaret dreadfully excited. She had had a horrible dream, she said--a -dream in which she went through all the miseries of her days of penury -and starvation, with the added horror of feeling that they were a just -punishment on her for her ingratitude to Geoffrey Ludlow. When she was -a little quieted, she motioned Annie to sit by her; and holding her -hand, asked her news of Geoffrey. Annie started, for this was the first -time that, in her calm senses, Margaret had mentioned him. In her long -ravings of delirium his name was constantly on her lips, always coupled -with some terms of pity and self-scornful compassion; but hitherto, -during her brief intervals of reason, she had talked only of Lionel, -and of her earnest desire to see and speak to him once again. So Annie, -pleased and astonished, said, - -"He is getting better, Margaret; much better, we trust." - -"Getting better! Has he been ill, then?" - -"He has been very ill--so ill that we at one time feared for his life. -But he is out of danger now, thank God." - -"Thank God!" repeated Margaret. "I am grateful indeed that his death -is not to be charged to my account; that would have been but a bad -return for his preservation of my life; and if he had died, I know -his death would have been occasioned by my wickedness. Tell me, Miss -Maurice--Annie--tell me, has he ever mentioned my name?" - -"Ah, Margaret," said Annie, her eyes filling with tears, "his talk is -only of you." - -"Is it?" said Margaret, with flushing cheeks and brightening eyes; "is -it? That's good to hear---O how good! And tell me, Annie--he knows I -shall not trouble him long--has he, has he forgiven me?" - -"Not that alone," said Annie quietly. "Only yesterday he said, with -tears in his eyes, how he loved you still." - -There was silence for a moment, as Margaret covered her eyes with her -hands. Then, raising her head, in a voice choked with sobs she said, -with a blinding rush of tears, "O Annie, Annie, I can't be _all_ bad, -or I should never have won the love of that brave, true-hearted man." - -She spoke but little after this; and Lionel's name never passed her -lips--she seemed to have forgotten all about him and her desire to -see him. From time to time she mentioned Geoffrey--no longer, as in -her delirium, with pity, but with a kind of reverential fondness, as -one speaks of the dead. As the night deepened, she became restless -again, tossing to and fro, and muttering to herself; and bending down, -Annie heard her, as she had often heard her before, engaged in deep -and fervent prayer. Then she slept; and, worn out with watching, Annie -slept also. - -It was about four o'clock in the morning when Annie felt her arm -touched; and at once unclosing her eyes, saw Margaret striving to raise -herself on her elbow. There was a bright weird look in her face that -was unmistakable. - -"It's coming, Annie," she said, in short thick gasps; "it's coming, -dear--the rest, the peace, the home! I don't fear it, Annie. Ive--Ive -had that one line running in my brain, 'What though my lamp was lighted -late, there's One will let me in.' I trust in His mercy, Annie, who -pardoned Magdalen; and--God bless you, dear; God in His goodness -reward you for all your love and care of me; and say to Geoffrey that -I blessed him too, and that I thanked him for all his--your hand, -Annie--so bless you both!--lighted late, there's One will--" - -And the wanderer was at rest. - - - - -CHAPTER X. -AFTER THE WRECK. - - -They looked to Bowker to break the news to Geoffrey; at least so -Charley Potts said, after a hurried conference with Til and her mother, -at which Annie Maurice, overwhelmed by the reaction from excessive -excitement, had not been present. They looked to Bowker to perform this -sad duty--to tell Geoffrey Ludlow that the prize which had been so long -in coming, and which he had held in his arms for so short a time, was -snatched from him for ever. "For ever," said old William: "that's it. -He bore up wonderfully, so long as he thought there was any chance of -seeing her again. He hoped against hope, and strove against what he -knew to be right and just, and would have made any sacrifice--ay, to -the extent of bowing his head to his own shame, and taking her back to -his home and his heart. If she had recovered; and even if she would -have shown herself willing to come back--which she never would--I could -have faced Geoff, and told him what his duty was, and fought it out -with him to the last. It would have rather done me good, such a turn as -that; but I can't bear this job;--I can't bear to see my old friend, -to have to tell him that it's all over, that the light of his life has -died out, that-- Upon my soul," said old William energetically, "I -think they might have got some one else to do this. And yet I don't -know," said he, after a moment's pause: "the women couldn't be expected -to do it. As for Charley, he'd have bungled it, safe. No, I'll go and -do it myself; but I'll wait till to-morrow, I think: there's no good -adding another day's anguish to the dear fellow's life." - -This was on the second day after Margaret's death, and Bowker yet -postponed the execution of his task. On the third day, however, he set -out for Elm Lodge and found Geoffrey in the dining-room. The servant -who admitted Mr. Bowker said, in reply to his inquiry, that "master -was better certainly, but poor and peaky; did not take much notice of -what went on, and were quite off his food." Geoffrey's looks certainly -bore out the handmaiden's account. His cheeks were thin and hollow; -there were great circles round his eyes; his flesh was tight and -yellow; his hands so fallen away that they looked like mere anatomical -preparations. He looked up as Bowker entered, and the ghost of his old -smile hovered round his lips. - -"So you've come at last, William, after failing in your troth these -three days, eh?" said he. "What kept you, old friend?" - -Bowker was not prepared for any questions. He had gone through all this -scene in his mind more than once; but in his rehearsal it was always he -who commenced the subject; and this order not being followed, he was -rather taken aback. - -"I have been particularly engaged," he said. "You know, Geoff, that I -should not have missed coming to you otherwise; but--it was impossible." - -"Was it?" said Geoffrey, raising his head quietly, and stedfastly -regarding him with his bright eyes; "was it on my business that you -were engaged?" - -"It was," said Bowker. He knew at that moment that his friend had -guessed the truth. - -"Then," said Geoffrey, "Margaret is dead!" He said it without altering -the inflection of his voice, without removing his eyes from his -friend's face. Scarcely inquiringly he said it, apparently convinced of -the fact; and he took Bowker's silence for an affirmative, and rose and -walked towards the window, supporting himself by the wall as he went. -Bowker left him there by himself for a few minutes, and then, going -up to him and laying his hand affectionately on his shoulder, said, -"Geoff!" - -Geoff's head was averted, but his hand sought Bowker's, and pressed it -warmly. - -"Geoff, dear old Geoff,--my old friend of many happy years,--you must -bear up in this hour of trial. Think of it, dear old fellow. God knows, -I'm one of the worst in the world to preach content and submission, and -all that; but think of it: it is the--you know I wouldn't hurt your -feelings Geoff--the best thing that, under all the circumstances, could -have occurred." - -"Ive lost her, William--lost her whom I loved better than my heart's -blood, whom I so prized and cherished and worshipped--lost her for -ever--ah, my God, for ever!" And the strong man writhed in his agony, -and burying his head in his arms, burst into tears. - -"But, Geoff," said old Bowker, with a great gulp, "you could never have -been any thing to her again you have nothing to reproach yourself with -in your conduct to her. It was her misfortune, poor soul, that she did -not value you as she should have done; and yet before she died she -spoke very, very affectionately of you, and your name was the last on -her lips." - -"Tell me about that, William," said Geoffrey, raising his head; "tell -me what she said about me." He was comparatively calm even then, and -sat quite quietly to listen to the details which Bowker had heard from -Annie Maurice, and which he now poured into Geoff's eager ears. When he -had finished, Geoff thanked him, and said he felt much easier and more -relieved than he had been for some days past, but that he was tired -out, and would ask Bowker to excuse him then, and by all means to come -the next day. Honest William, glad to have accomplished his mission -under such apparently favourable circumstances, and with so little of a -"scene," took his leave. - -But the next day, when he arrived at Elm Lodge, he found Dr. Brandram's -gig at the gate, and on entering the house was met by Dr. Brandram -himself in the hall. "And a very fortunate man I esteem myself in -meeting you, my dear Mr. Boucher--beg pardon, Bowker! Boucher--name -of old friend of mine in Norfolk--very fortunate indeed. Let's step -into the dining-room, eh?--no need to stand in the draught, eh? You -see I speak without the least professional feeling--ha, ha." And the -little doctor laughed, but very softly. "Now look here, my dear sir," -he continued; "our friend upstairs--I advised his remaining upstairs -to-day--this _won't do_, my dear sir--this _won't_ do." - -"I know it, doctor, almost as well as you," said old William gruffly; -"but what I don't know, and what I suppose you do, is--what will?" - -"Change, my dear sir--thorough and entire change; not merely of air -and scene, but of thought, life, habits, surroundings. He has a -splendid constitution, our friend; but if he remains much longer in -this cage, from which all the--all the joys have flown--he'll beat -himself to death against the bars." This was a favourite simile with -Dr. Brandram; and after he had uttered it he leant back, as was his -wont, and balanced himself on his heels, and looked up into the eyes of -his interlocutor to see its effect. On this occasion he was not much -gratified, for old Bowker had not troubled himself about the poetical -setting, but was thinking over the sense of the doctor's remark. - -"Change," he repeated, "thorough change; have you told him that -yourself, doctor?" - -"Fifty times, my dear sir; repeated it with all the weight of medical -authority." - -"And what does he say?" - -"Always the same thing--that his duty keeps him here. He's an -extraordinary man, our friend, a most estimable man; but it would be -an excellent thing for him,--in fact, make all the difference in the -length of his life,--if his duty would take him abroad for six months." - -"It shall," said old Bowker, putting on his hat, and driving it down -hard down on his head. "Leave that to me. I'll take care of that." And -with these words he nodded at the doctor and departed, leaving the -little medico more astonished at the "odd ways" of artists than ever. - -When Mr. Bowker had once made up his mind to carry any thing out, he -never rested until it was achieved; so that on quitting Elm Lodge he at -once made his way to Mr. Stompff's "gallery of modern masters," which -he entered, greatly to the surprise of the proprietor, who was hovering -about the room like a great spider on the watch for flies. There had -never been any thing like cordiality between the great _entrepreneur_ -and the rough old artist; and the former opened his eyes to their -widest extent, and pulled his whisker through his teeth, as he bowed -somewhat sarcastically and said, "This is an honour and no flies?" -But before his visitor left, Mr. Stompff had occasion to rub his eyes -very hard with a bright silk pocket-handkerchief, and to resort to -a cupboard under the desk on which the catalogues stood, whence he -produced a tapering flask, from which he and Mr. Bowker refreshed -themselves--his last words being, as Mr. Bowker took his departure, -"You leave it to me, old fellow--you leave it to me." - -Carrying out apparently the arrangement herein entered upon, the next -day the great Mr. Stompff's brougham stopped at Elm Lodge, and the -great Mr. Stompff himself descended therefrom, exhibiting far less than -his usual self-sufficiency, swagger, and noise. To the servant who -opened the door in answer to his modest ring he gave a note which he -had prepared; and Geoffrey coming down into the dining-room found him -waiting there, apparently deep in a photographic album. He rose, as the -door opened, and caught Geoffrey warmly by the hand. - -"How are you, Ludlow? How are you, my dear fellow? It must have -been pressing business that brought me here just now, worrying you -when you're only just recovered from your illness, my boy; pressing -business, you may take your oath of that." And all the time Mr. Stompff -held Geoffrey's hand between his own, and looked into his eyes with a -wavering unsettled glance. - -"I'm better, thank you, Mr. Stompff, much better; so much better that I -hope soon to be at work again," said Geoff nervously. - -"That's right; that's the best hearing possible. Nothing like getting -back to work to set a man straight and bring him to his bearings." - -"You were getting nervous about the 'Esplanade,'" said Geoff with a -sickly smile--"as well indeed you might, for it's been a long time -about. But you need not be frightened about that; Ive managed to finish -it." - -"Have you?" said Stompff, very dry and husky in the throat. - -"Yes; if you'll step into the studio, I'll show it you." They went down -the little steps which Margaret had traversed so oft; and Geoffrey, as -he pulled the big easel round into the light, said, "It's not quite -what I wished. I--circumstances, you know, were against me--and but--it -can be altered, you know; altered in any manner you wish." - -"Altered be--hanged!" cried Stompff, very nearly relapsing into the -vernacular; "altered!" he repeated, gazing at it with delight; now -approaching closely to the canvas, now stepping away and looking at it -under the shade of his hand; "why, that's first chop, that is. You've -done it up brown! you've made reg'ler ten-strike, as the Yankees say. -Altered! I wouldn't have a brush laid upon that for a fifty-pun' note -By George, Ludlow, well or ill, you lick the lot in your own line. -There's none of 'em can touch you, d'ye hear? Altered!--damme it's -splendid." - -"I'm very glad you like it," said Geoff wearily, "ye glad; more -especially as it may be a long time before paint again." - -"What's that you say?" said Mr. Stompff, turning upon him sharply. -"What's that you say?" he repeated in a gentler tone, laying his hand -softly upon Geoffrey Ludlow's shoulder--"a long time before you paint -again? Why, nonsense my good fellow; you don't know what nonsense -you're talking." - -"No nonsense, Mr. Stompff, but plain, honest, simple fact. I seem to -have lost all zest for my art; my spirit is broken, and--" - -"Of course, my good fellow; I understand all that well enough; too much -England,--that's what it is. Home of the free, and ruling the waves and -all that. Pickles! Capital place to sell pictures; deuced bad place to -paint 'em. Now look here. You've been good enough to say more than once -that Ive been your friend, eh? Not that Ive ever done more than give a -good price for good work, though that's more than some people do--some -people, eh? we know who--never mind. Now, I want you to do _me_ a turn, -and I am sure you will." - -Geoffrey bowed his head and said, "So long as you don't require a -picture from me--" - -"Picture! O no; of course not. A steam engine, or a hansom cab, or a -stilton cheese--that's what I look for from you naturally, isn't it? -Ludlow, my dear fellow, how can you talk such stuff? Now listen. The -British public, sir, has had a sickener of British subjects. Little -Dab and his crew have pretty nearly used up all the sentimental -domesticity; and we've had such a lot of fancy fairs, and Hyde Parks, -and noble volunteers, and archery fetes, and gals playing at croky, -that the B.P. won't stand it any longer. There'll be a reaction, you'll -see; and the 'Cademy will be choke full of Charles the Seconds, and -Nell Gwynns, and coves in wigs, and women in powder and patches, and -all that business, just because the modern every-day gaff has been -done to death. I shall have to give in to this; and I shall give in of -course. There's lots of coves can do that trick for me well enough to -sell. But I look for more from you;--and this is what I propose. You go -straight away out of this; where, I don't care--so long as you remain -away a year or so, and keep your eyes about you. You'll work hard -enough,--I don't fear that; and whatever you do, send it home to me and -I'll take it. Lor' bless you, there's rigs that the B.P. knows nothing -about, and that would make stunnin' objects for you--a _table-d'hote_ -on the Rhine, a students' _kneipe_ at Heidelberg, a _schuetzenfest_ in -Switzerland; and then you've never been to Italy yet, and though that -game's been worked pretty often, yet any thing Italian from you would -sell like mad." He paused for a moment and looked up at Geoffrey, whose -eyes were fixed intently on him, and who seemed eager and excited. - -"It's all one to me," said he; "I scarcely know what to say; it's very -kind of you. I know you mean it well; but do you think I can do it? Do -you really think so?" - -"Think so! I know so," said Mr. Stompff. "See here! I never take up a -thing of this sort without carrying it through. We said five hundred -for the 'Esplanade,' didn't we? you've had three on account--that's -right! Now here's the other two; and if you're as well pleased with the -bargain as me, no knife shall cut our love in two, as the song says. -Now you must leave this money behind for the old lady and the little -'un, and that nice sister of yours---O yes, by the way, what makes -Charley Potts paint her head in all his pictures, and why don't he sell -to me instead of Caniche?--and here's a hundred in circular notes. I -went round to my bank and got 'em this morning on purpose for you to go -abroad with. When they're done, you know where to send for some more." - -"You are very kind, Mr. Stompff, but--" - -"No, I ain't. I'm a man of business, I am; and there ain't many as is -very fond of me. But I know what the B.P. wants, and I know a good -fellow when I see one; and when I do see one, I don't often laacklet him -slide. I ain't a polished sort of cove," said Mr. Stompff reflectively; -"I leave that to Caniche, with his paw-paw bowins and scrapins; but I -ain't quite so black as some of the artists paint me. However, this is -a matter of business that I'm rather eager about; and I should be glad to -know if I may look upon it as settled." - -"Look here, Mr. Stompff," said Geoffrey Ludlow, turning to his -companion, and speaking in an earnest voice; "you have behaved -generously to me, and you deserve that I should speak frankly with -you. I should immensely like to get away from this place for a while, -to shake off the memory of all that has passed within the last few -months--so far as it is possible for me to shake it off--to get into -new scenes, and to receive fresh impressions. But I very much doubt -whether I shall be able to undertake what you wish. I feel as if all -the little power I ever had were gone; as if my brain were as barren to -conceive as I know my hand is impotent to execute; I feel--" - -"I know," interrupted Mr. Stompff; "regularly sewed up; feel as if -you'd like somebody to unscrew your head, take your brains out and -clean 'em, and then put 'em back; feel as if you didn't care for the -world, and would like to try the hermit dodge and eat roots and drink -water, and cut society, eh? Ah, Ive felt like that sometimes; and then -Ive heard of some pictures that was comin' to the hammer, and Ive just -looked in at Christie's, and, Lord, as soon as I heard the lots a-goin' -up, and felt myself reg'ler in the swing of competition, Ive given up -all them foolish notions, and gone home and enjoyed a roast fowl and a -glass of sham and Mrs. S.'s comp'ny, like a Christian! And so will you, -Ludlow, my boy; you'll pull through, I'll pound it. You work just when -you feel inclined, and draw upon me when you want the ready; I'll stand -the racket, never fear." - -The conspiracy between Mr. Stompff and old William Bowker had been -carried out minutely in detail; one of the points insisted on being -that, the position once carried, Geoff should have no time for retreat. -Accordingly, while Mr. Stompff was proceeding to Elm Lodge, Mr. Bowker -was indoctrinating the ladies (whom he knew he should find at Sydenham) -as to the tenour of their advice; and scarcely had Mr. Stompff quitted -Geoffrey when Mr. Bowker was announced. To his old friend, Geoffrey, -now in a very excited state, told the whole story of Stompff's visit -and of the proposition which he had made; and old William--whom no one -would have given credit for possessing such control over his face--sat -looking on with the greatest apparent interest. When Geoffrey came to -an end of his narration, and asked his friend whether he had done right -in partially acceding to what had been offered him, or whether--it -was not too late--he should retract, Mr. Bowker was extremely -vehement--more so than he had ever known himself to be--in insisting -that it was the very best thing that could possibly have happened. When -Mrs. Ludlow and Til returned, they unhesitatingly pronounced the same -opinion; and so Geoff's departure was decided on. - -He had a great deal to attend to before he could leave; and the mere -bustle and activity of business seemed to do him good at once. Mrs. -Ludlow was thoroughly happy in preparing his clothes for his journey; -Mr. Bowker and Charley Potts were constantly at Elm Lodge, the latter -gentleman finding his assistance usually required by Miss Til; and -on the day before that fixed for Geoffrey's departure, Annie Maurice -called to take farewell. It was an interview which had been dreaded -by both of them, and was as brief as possible. Annie expressed her -satisfaction at his having been persuaded to seek change, by which she -was sure he would benefit, and extended her hand in "goodbye." - -Geoff took her hand, and holding it tenderly in his, said: - -"Annie, some day I may be able--I am very far from being able now--to -tell you how the knowledge of your kindness to--to one whom I have -lost--has sustained me under my bitter sorrow. God bless you, my more -than sister! God bless you, my good angel!" And Geoffrey touched her -forehead with his lips, and hurried from the room. - - -The authorities at the South-Eastern terminus at London Bridge thought -that some distinguished exile must be about returning to France that -night, there were so many curiously-hatted and bearded gentlemen -gathered round the mail-train. But they were only some of our old -friends of the Titians come to say "God speed" to Geoffrey Ludlow, -whose departure had been made known to them by Mr. Stompff. That worthy -was there in great force, and old Bowker, and Charley Potts, and little -Dabb, and old Tom Wrigley, and many others; and as the train wound out -of the station, bearing Geoff along with it, there were rising tears -and swelling knots in eyes and throats that were very unused to such -manifestations of weakness. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. -LAND AT LAST. - - -The calm had come after the storm; the great, hurrying, thundering -waves had stilled into silence, and lay quiet over the shattered wreck -of home, and happiness, and hope. The winter rain had beaten upon the -pretty house, and the light snow had fallen and lain a while, and had -then melted away upon the garden ground and the smooth green turf, -within the walls which had made a prison to the restless spirit of -Margaret, even as the rain had beaten and the snow had fallen upon her -grave in Norwood Cemetery. Now the spring odours were abroad in the -air, and the trees were breaking into leaf, and Elm Lodge was looking -the very perfection of tranquillity, of well-ordered, tasteful comfort -and domesticity; an appearance in which there was all the sadness of a -great contrast, a terrible retrospect, and an irremediable loss. Yet -this appearance was not altogether deceptive; for within the house -which had witnessed so much misery, peace and resignation now reigned. -Mrs. Ludlow's unacknowledged desire was now realised; she was the -mistress of her son's house, of all the modest splendour which had come -with poor Geoff's improved fortunes; she ruled now where she had been -subordinate before, and in the nursery, where at best she had only -enjoyed toleration, she found herself supreme. To be sure, the great -element of enjoyment, her son's presence, was wanting; but she knew -that Geoffrey was doing the best thing in his power to do, was taking -the most effectual means for the establishment of his health and the -alleviation of his sorrow; and the old lady--on whom the supineness -which comes with years, and which takes the edge off the sword of -grief and the bitterness out of its cup, was beginning to steal--was -satisfied. Much that had occurred was only imperfectly known to her; -and indeed she would have been unfitted, by the safe routine and -happy inexperience of evil passions which had marked her own life, to -understand the storm and conflict which had raged around her. That her -son's beautiful wife had been utterly unworthy of him, and that she had -deceived and left him, Mrs. Ludlow knew; but Margaret's death had come -so soon to terminate the terrible and mysterious dilemma in which her -conduct had placed them all, that it had imposed upon them the silence -of compassion, and filled them with the sense of merciful relief; so -that by mutual consent her name had snot been mentioned in the house -where she had been mistress for so long. Her son's illness, and the -danger of losing him, had impressed Mrs. Ludlow much more vividly than -his domestic calamity; and she had settled down with surprising ease -and readiness to the routine of life at Elm Lodge. - -That routine included a good deal of the society of Mr. Charley Potts; -and as Mrs. Ludlow was almost as much attached to that warm-hearted and -hot-headed gentleman as Miss Til herself, she acquiesced with perfect -willingness in the state of affairs which brought him to Elm Lodge -with regularity equalled only by that of the postman. The household -was a quiet one; and the simple and unpretending women who walked -along the shady paths at Lowbar in their deep-mourning dresses, or -played with the little child upon the lawn, furnished but scanty food -for the curiosity of the neighbourhood. Popular feeling was indeed -somewhat excited on the subject of Charley Potts; but Dr. Brandram--a -gallant gentleman in his way--set that matter at rest very quickly -by announcing that Charley and Miss Ludlow were engaged, and were -shortly to be married--information which was graciously received; as -indeed the most distant tidings of a prospective wedding always are -received by small communities in which the female element predominates. -Dr. Brandram had done Geoffrey good service too, by his half-made, -half-withheld communications respecting the beautiful mistress of Elm -Lodge, whose disappearance had been so sudden. She had not recovered -her confinement so well as he had hoped: the nervous system had been -greatly shaken. He had ordered change: a temporary removal from home -was frequently of great benefit. Yes, there had been a terrible scene -with Mr. Ludlow--that was quite true: the non-medical mind was hard -to convince in these matters sometimes; and Mr. Ludlow had been hard -to manage. But a quarrel between _them!_--O dear no: quite a mistake. -Mrs. Ludlow left home by herself?--O dear no: by her own consent, -certainly. She perfectly comprehended the necessity of the change, and -was ready to submit; while Ludlow could not be brought to see it--that -was all. "I assure you, my dear madam," the doctor would say to each -of his female catechists, "I never had a more interesting patient; and -I never pitied a man more than Ludlow when she sank so rapidly and -unexpectedly. I really feared for _his_ reason then, and of course -I sent _him_ away immediately. A little change, my dear madam,--a -littlechange in these cases produces a wonderful effect--quite -wonderful!" - -"But, doctor," the anxious inquirer would probably say, "Mr. Ludlow -never saw her again after she was removed, did he?" - -"Well, indeed, my dear madam,--you see I am telling professional -secrets; but you are not like other women: you are so far above any -vulgar curiosity, and I know I may rely so entirely on your discretion, -that I make an exception in your case,--they never did meet. You see -these cases are so uncertain; and cerebral disease developes itself -so rapidly, that before any favourable change took place, the patient -sunk." - -"Dear me, how very sad! It was at an asylum, I suppose?" - -"Well, my dear madam, it was under private care--under the very best -circumstances, I assure you; but--you'll excuse me; this is entirely -confidential. And now to return to your dear little boy." - -So did kind-hearted Dr. Brandram lend his aid to the laying of the -ghost of scandal at Elm Lodge; and gradually it became accepted that -Mrs. Ludlow had died under the circumstances hinted at by Dr. Brandram. - -"It is rather a disadvantage to the dear child, Charley, I fear," -sapiently remarked Miss Til to the docile Mr. Potts as he was attending -her on a gardening expedition, holding a basket while she snipped and -weeded, and looking as if pipes and beer had never crossed the path of -his knowledge or the disc of his imagination; "people will talk about -his mother having died in a lunatic-asylum." - -"Suppose they do?" asked Charley in reply. "That sort of thing does -not harm a man; and"--here the honest fellow's face darkened and his -voice fell--"it is better they should say that than the truth. I think -that can always be hidden, Til. The poor woman's death has saved us -all much; but it has been the greatest boon to her child; for now no -one need ever know, and least of all the child himself, that he has no -right to bear his father's name." - -"It is well Geoff is not a rich man, with a great estate to leave to -an eldest son," said Til, pulling at an obstinate tuft of groundsel, -and very anxious to prevent any suspicion that her lover's words had -brought tears to her eyes. - -"Well," said Charley, with rather a gloomy smile, "I'm not so certain -of that, Til: it's a matter of opinion; but I'm clear that it's a good -thing he's not a great man--in the 'nob' sense of the word I mean--and -that the world can afford to let him alone. Here comes the young -shaver--let's go and talk to him." And Charley, secretly pining to get -rid of the basket, laid down that obnoxious burden, and went across the -grass-plat towards the nurse, just then making her appearance from the -house. - -"Charley is always right," said Til to herself as she eradicated -the last obstinate weed in the flower-bed under inspection and -rejoined Mr. Potts; from which observation it is to be hoped that -the fitness of Miss Til for undertaking that most solemn of human -engagements--matrimony--will be fully recognised. There are women who -practically apply to their husbands the injunctions of the Church -Catechism, in which duty to God is defined; who "believe in, fear, -trust, and love" them "with all their hearts, with all their minds, -with all their souls, and with all their strength;" and Matilda Ludlow, -though a remarkably sensible girl, and likely enough to estimate other -people at their precise value, was rapidly being reduced to this state -of mind about Charley, who was at all events much less unworthy than -most male objects of female devoteeism. - -Mrs. Ludlow and her daughter heard pretty regularly from Geoff. -Of course his letters were unsatisfactory; men's letters always -are, except they be love-letters when their meaning is tempered -by their exclusiveness. He was eager for news of the child; but -he never referred to the past in any other respect, and he said -little in anticipation of the future. He described his travels, -reported the state of his health, and expressed his anxiety for his -mother's comfort; and that was about the sum-total of these literary -productions, which no doubt were highly penitential performances to -poor Geoffrey. - -Spring was well advanced when Charley and Til began to discuss the -propriety of naming a time for their marriage. The house at Brompton -was still "on their hands," as Mrs. Ludlow was fond of saying, while -in her secret heart she would have deeply regretted the turning-up of -an eligible tenant; for who could answer for the habits and manners -of strangers, or tell what damage her sacred furniture might receive? -Charley proposed to Til that they should become her mother's tenants, -and urged that young lady to consent to a speedy marriage, from the -most laudable economic principles, on the ground that under present -circumstances he was idling dreadfully, but that he confidently -expected that marriage would "settle his mind." The recent date of the -family calamity Charley could not be brought to regard as a reasonable -obstacle to his wishes. - -"Look here, Til," he said; "it isn't as if we were swells, you -know, with our names, ages, and weights in the _Morning Post_, and -our addresses in the _Red Book_. What need we care, if Geoff don't -mind?--and he won't, God bless him!--the happier we are, the sooner -he'll cease to be miserable; and who's to know or to care whether it's -so many months sooner or later after that poor woman's death? Besides, -consider this, Til; if we wait until Geoff comes home, a wedding and -all that won't be pleasant for him: will it, now? Painful associations -you know, and all that. I really think, for Geoff's sake, we had better -get it over." - -"Do you indeed, Master Charley?" said Til, with a smile full of pert -drollery, which rendered her exasperatingly pretty. "How wonderfully -considerate you are of Geoff; and how marvellously polite to describe -marrying me as 'getting it over' No, no, Charley," she continued, -seriously; "it cannot be. I could not leave mamma to the responsibility -of the house and the child--at least not yet. Don't ask me; it would -not be right towards Geoff, or fair to my mother. You must wait, sir." - -And the crestfallen Charley knew that he must wait, and acquiesced with -a very bad grace; not but that Miss Til would have been horribly vexed -had it been better. - -An unexpected auxiliary was about this time being driven by fate -towards Charley Potts in the person of Annie Maurice. She had been -constant and regular in her visits to Elm Lodge, affectionate and -respectful in her demeanour to Mrs. Ludlow, and sisterly in her -confidence towards Til. The hour that had united the two girls in a -tie of common responsibility towards Geoff and Margaret had witnessed -the formation of a strong and lasting friendship; and though Annie's -superior refinement and higher education raised her above the level of -Matilda Ludlow, she was not more than her equal in true womanly worth. -They passed many happy hours together in converse which had now become -cheerful, and their companionship was strengthened by the bond of their -common interest in Til's absent brother. Miss Ludlow, perhaps, did an -unfair proportion of the talking on these occasions; for she was of -the gushing order of girls, though she did not border even remotely -on silliness. By common consent they did not speak of Margaret, and -Til had never known Arthur; so that Annie rarely talked of him, always -sacredly loved and remembered in her faithful heart, preserved as her -friend and monitor--dead, yet speaking. Annie had been more silent than -usual lately, and had looked sad and troubled; and it chanced that on -the day following that which witnessed Charley's luckless proposition, -Miss Maurice arrived at Elm Lodge at an earlier hour than usual; -and having gained a private audience of Til, made to her a somewhat -startling revelation. - -The conference between the girls lasted long, and its object took Til -completely by surprise. Annie Maurice had resolved upon leaving Lord -Beauport's house, and she had come to ask Mrs. Ludlow to receive her. -She told Til her reasons, simply, honestly, and plainly. - -"I cannot live in the house with Lionel Brakespere," she said; "and I -have no friends but you. Geoffrey and I were always friends, and my -dear Arthur trusted him, and knew he would befriend me. I am sure if -he were living now, he would counsel me to do what I am doing. I have -often thought if he had had any idea that the end was so near, he would -have told me, if any difficulty came in my way, to apply for aid to -Geoffrey, and I am clear that I am doing right now. I have no friends, -Til, though I am rich," Annie repeated, with a more bitter smile than -had ever flitted over her bright face in former days; "and I have no -'position' to keep up. I cannot go and live in a big house by myself, -or in a small one either, for that matter, and I want your mother to -let me come and live with her while Geoffrey is away." - -Til hesitated before she replied. She saw difficulties in the way of -such an arrangement which Annie did not; difficulties arising from the -difference in the social position of the friends Annie wished to leave, -and those she wished to come to. - -"I am sure, as far as we are concerned, every thing might be as you -wish," she said; "but--Lady Beauport might not think it quite the -thing." - -"Lady Beauport knows I will not remain in her house, Til; and she will -soon see as plainly as I do that it is well I should not. The choice -is between me and her son, and the selection is not difficult. Lionel -Brakespere (I cannot call him by Arthur's familiar name) and I are not -on speaking terms. He knows that I am acquainted with his crimes; not -only those known to his family, but those which he thought death had -assisted him to hide. I might have concealed my knowledge from him had -he not dared to insult me by an odious pretence of admiration, which I -resented with all my heart and soul. A few words made him understand -that the safest course he could pursue was to abandon such a pretence, -and the revelation filled him with such wrath and hatred as only such -a nature could feel. Why he has adopted a line of behaviour which can -only be described as down-right savage rudeness--so evidently intended -to drive me out of the house, that Lord and Lady Beauport themselves -see it in that light--I am unable to comprehend. I have sometimes -fancied that he and his mother have quarrelled on the matter; but if -so, he has had the best of it. However, there is no use in discussing -it, Til; my home is broken up and gone from me; and if your mother will -not take me under her charge until Geoffrey comes home, and advises me -for the future, I must only set up somewhere with a companion and a -cat." - -Annie smiled, but very sadly; then she continued: - -"And now, Til, I'll tell you how we will manage. First, we will get the -mother's leave, and I will invite myself on a visit here, to act as -your bridesmaid, you see, and--" - -"Charley has been talking to you, Annie!" exclaimed Miss Til, starting -up in mingled indignation and amusement: "I see it all now--you have -been playing into each other's hands." - -"No, indeed, Charley never said a word to me about it," replied Annie -seriously; "though I am sure if he had, I should have done any thing he -asked; but, Til, do let us be earnest,--I am serious in this. I don't -want to make a scandal and a misery of this business of my removal from -Lord Beauport's; and if I can come here to be your bridesmaid, in a -quiet way, and remain with your mother when you have left her, it will -seem a natural sort of arrangement, and I shall very soon, heiress -though I am, drop out of the memory of the set in which I have lately -moved. I am sure Geoffrey will be pleased; and you know that dear -little Arthur is quite fond of me already." - -It is unnecessary to report the conversation between the two girls in -fuller detail. Mrs. Maurice carried her point; the consent of Mrs. -Ludlow to the proposed arrangement was easily gained; and one day the -fine carriage with the fine coronets, which had excited the admiration -of the neighbourhood when Miss Maurice paid her first visit to Geoffrey -Ludlow's bride, deposited that young lady and her maid at Elm Lodge. A -few days later a more modest equipage bore away Mr. and Mrs. Potts on -the first stage of their journey of life. - -"And so, my dear Annie," wrote Geoffrey to his ex-pupil, "you are -established in the quiet house in which I dreamed dreams once on a -time. I continue the children's phrase, and say 'a long time ago.' I -am glad to think of you there with my mother and my poor little child. -If you were any one but Annie Maurice, I might fear that you would -weary of the confined sphere to which you have gone; but, then, it is -because you _are_ Annie Maurice that you are there. Sometimes I wonder -whether I shall ever see the place again which, if ever I do see it, -I must look upon with such altered eyes. God knows: it will be long -first--for I am wofully weak still. But enough of me. My picture goes -on splendidly. When it is finished and sent home to Stompff, I shall -start for Egypt. I suppose many a one before me has tried to find the -waters of Lethe between the banks of Nile." - - -Charley Potts and Til were comfortably settled in the house at -Brompton, where Til guarded the household gods with pious care, and -made Charley uncommonly comfortable and abnormally orderly. Mrs. -Ludlow and her young guest led a tranquil life at Elm Lodge. Annie -devoted herself to the old lady and the child with a skilful tenderness -partly natural to her and partly acquired by the experiences of her -life in her rural home, and within the scene of Caterham's lengthened -and patient suffering. The child loved her and throve under her -charge; and the old lady seemed to find her "cross" considerably less -troublesome within the influence of Annie's tranquil cheerfulness, -strong sense, and accommodating disposition. The neighbourhood had -taken to calling vigorously and pertinaciously on Mrs. Ludlow and -Miss Maurice. It approved highly of those ladies; for the younger was -very pleasant, not alarmingly beautiful, reputed to be very rich, and -acknowledged not to "give herself airs;" while the elder was intensely -respectable--after the fashion dear to the heart of Lowbar; and both -went to church with scrupulous regularity. Dr. Brandram was even more -cordial in his appreciation of Annie than he had been in his admiration -of Margaret; and the star of Elm Lodge was quite in the ascendant. A -few of the members of the great world whom she had met in the celestial -sphere of St. Barnabas Square found Annie out even at Elm Lodge, and -the apparition of other coronets than that of the Beauports was not -unknown in the salubrious suburb. Lady Beauport visited Miss Maurice -but rarely, and her advent seldom gave Annie pleasure. The girl's -affectionate and generous heart was pained by the alteration which she -marked more and more distinctly each time that she saw the cold and -haughty Countess, on whose face care was fast making marks which time -had failed to impress. - -Sometimes she would be almost silent during her short visits, on which -occasions Mrs. Ludlow was wont to disappear as soon as possible; -sometimes she would find querulous fault with Annie--with her -appearance and her dress, and her "throwing herself away." Sometimes -Annie felt that she was endeavouring to turn the conversation in the -direction of Lionel; but that she invariably resisted. It chanced one -day, however, that she could not succeed in preventing Lady Beauport -from talking of him. Time had travelled on since Annie had taken up her -abode at Elm Lodge, and the summer was waning; the legislative labours -of the Houses had come to an end, and Lord and Lady Beauport were -about to leave town. This time the Countess had come to say goodbye to -Annie, whom she found engaged in preparations for a general flitting -of the Elm-Lodge household to the seaside for the autumn. Annie was in -blooming health, and her usual agreeable spirits--a strong contrast to -the faded, jaded, cross-looking woman who said to her complainingly, - -"Really, Annie, I think you might have come with us, and left your -friends here to find their autumnal amusements for themselves; you know -how much Lord Beauport and I wished it." - -"Yes," said Annie gently, "I know you are both very kind; but it cannot -be. You saw that yourself, dear Lady Beauport, and consented to my -entering on so different a life. You see I could not combine the two; -and I have new duties now--" - -"Nonsense, Annie!" said Lady Beauport angrily. "You will not come -because of Lionel,--that is the truth. Well, he is not to be at home at -all; he is going away to a number of places: he likes any place better -than home, I think. I cannot understand why you and he should disagree -so much; but if it must be so, I suppose it must. However, you will not -meet him now." And Lady Beauport actually condescended to reiterate -her request; but she had no success. Annie had resolutely broken with -the old life, which had never suited her fresh, genial, simple tastes; -and she was determined not to renew the tie. She knew that she was -not in any true sense necessary to Lady Beauport's happiness; she was -not ungrateful for such kindness as she had received; but she was a -sensible girl, and she made no mistake about her own value, and the -true direction in which her duty, her vocation lay. So she steadily -declined; but so gently that no offence was taken; and made inquiry -for Lord Beauport. The worried expression which had gradually marred -the high-bred repose of Lady Beauport's face increased as she replied, -and there was a kind of involuntary confidence in her manner which -struck Annie with a new and painful surprise. Lord Beauport was well, -she said; but he was not in good spirits. Things seemed to be wrong -with them somehow and out of joint. Then the elder lady, seeing in -the face of her young listener such true sympathy, thawed suddenly -from her habitual proud reserve, and poured out the bitterness of her -disappointment and vain regret. There was a tone of reproach against -Annie mingled with her compliant, which the girl pityingly passed -over. If Annie had but liked Lionel; if she would but have tried to -attract him, and keep him at home, all might have been well: but -Annie had imbibed poor Arthur's prejudices; and surely never were -parents so unfortunate as she and the Earl in the mutual dislike which -existed between their children. Lady Beauport did not want to justify -Lionel entirely--of course not: but she thought he might have had a -better chance given him in the first instance. Now he had greatly -deteriorated--she saw that: she could not deny it; and her "granted -prayer" for his return had not brought her happiness. - -Annie listened to all this with a swelling heart. A vision floated -before her tearful eyes of the lost son, who had been so little -loved, so lightly prized; whose place the brother preferred before -him had taken and disgraced; and a terrible sense of retribution -came into her mind. Too late the father and mother were learning how -true his judgment had been, and how valuable his silent influence. -Time could only engrave that lesson more and more deeply on their -hearts; experience could only embitter it--its sting was never to be -withdrawn. They had chosen between the two, and their choice, like -Esau's, was "profane." Lady Beauport spoke more and more bitterly as -she proceeded. The softening touch of grief was not upon her--only -the rankling of disappointment and mortification; only the sting of a -son's ingratitude, of discovering that in return for the sacrifice of -principle, self-respect, and dignity to which she had consented for -Lionel's sake, she had not received even the poor return of a semblance -of affection or consideration. - -The hardness of Lionel's nature was shown in every thing his mother -said of him--the utter want of feeling, the deadness of soul. Annie -felt very sad as she listened to Lady Beauport's melancholy account of -the life they had fallen into at the great house. She was oppressed by -the sense of the strangeness of the events which had befallen, and in -which the Countess had, all unconsciously, so deep an interest. It was -very sad and strange to remember that she was detailing the conduct -of the man whose baseness had enabled Margaret to lay Geoffrey's -life in ruins under Geoffrey's own roof. It was terrible to Annie to -feel that in her knowledge there was a secret which might so easily -have been divulged at any moment, and which would have afflicted the -vexed and mortified woman before her more deeply than any thing that -had occurred. Lady Beauport was not tender-hearted; but she was a -high-minded gentlewoman, and would have been shamed and stricken to -the soul had she discovered the baseness of her son in this particular -instance. She had fondly flattered herself into a belief that the crime -which had been so inadequately punished was only a folly; but there -was no possibility of such a reading of this one, and Annie was glad -to think that at least the pang of this knowledge was spared to Lady -Beauport. She could say nothing to comfort her. In her inmost heart she -had an uneasy, unexplained sense that it was all the just retribution -for the conduct of Arthur's parents towards him, and hopelessness for -the future of a family of which Lionel formed a member took possession -of her. - -"He is so disagreeable, so selfish, Annie," continued Lady Beauport, -"and O so slangy; and you know how his father hates that sort of thing." - -"It is better that he should be away, then, for a little," said Annie, -trying to be soothing, and failing lamentably. - -"Well, perhaps it is," said Lady Beauport; "and yet that seems hard -too, when I longed so much for his return, and when now he has every -thing he wants. Of course, when he was only a second son, he had -excuses for discontent; but now he has none, and yet he is never -satisfied. I sometimes think he is ill at ease, and fancies people are -thinking about the past, who don't even know any thing about it, and -would not trouble themselves to resent it if they did. But his father -does not agree with me, Annie: he will not give Lionel credit for any -thing good. I cannot make out Lord Beauport: he is much more cold and -stern towards Lionel than he need be, for he is not so careless and -inconsiderate towards his father as he is towards me. He seems to have -taken up poor Arthur's notions now, and to judge Lionel as severely -as he did. He does not say much; but things are uncomfortable between -them, and Lord Beauport is altered in every way. He is silent and -dispirited; and do you know, Annie, I think he grieves for Arthur more -than he did at first?" - -Distress and perplexity were in Lady Beauport's face and voice, and -they went to Annie's gentle heart. - -"Try not to think so much of it," she said; "circumstances may alter -considerably when Lionel gets more settled at home, and Lord Beauport -has had time to get over the irritation which his return occasioned -him." - -"He resents your having left us more bitterly than any thing, Annie. He -constantly speaks of you in the highest terms of praise, and wishes you -back with us. And so do I, my dear, so do I." - -Annie was amazed. Tears were in Lady Beauport's eyes, and a tremble in -her voice. During all the period of Annie's residence in her house, -the Countess had never shown so much feeling towards her, had never -suffered her to feel herself of so much importance. The sterling merit -of the girl, her self-denial, her companionable qualities, had never -before met with so much recognition; and a thrill of gratification -passed through her as she felt that she was missed and valued in the -home whence Lionel's conduct had driven her. - -"I am very glad," she said, "that Lord Beauport thinks and speaks so -kindly of me--indeed, he was always kind to me, and I am very grateful -to him and you." - -"Then why will you not come to us, Annie? Why do you prefer these new -friends to us?" - -"I do not," she answered; "but as things have been, as they are, it is -better I should not be in a position possibly to estrange the father -and son still more. If I were in the house, it would only furnish him -with an excuse to remain away, and cause Lord Beauport additional -anxiety." - -Annie knew that she must appear strangely obstinate to Lady Beauport; -but it could not be helped; it was impossible that she could explain. -The visit of the Countess was a long one; and Annie gathered from -her further confidences that her dissatisfaction with Lionel was not -her only trouble. The future was not bright before Lady Beauport. -The charms of the world were fading in her estimation; society was -losing its allurements, not under the chastening of a wholesome grief; -but under the corroding, disenchanting influence of bitterness and -disappointment. She looked aged and wearied; and before she and Annie -parted that day, she had acknowledged to the girl that she dreaded the -prospect before her, and had no confidence in her only son, or in his -line of conduct towards her in the event of Lord Beauport's death. The -Earl's words to his wife had been prophetic,--in Caterham's death there -had been but the beginning of sorrow. - -Annie stood sadly at the house-door, and watched the carriage as it -rolled away and bore Lady Beauport out of her sight, as it bears her -out of this history. - -"This is the man," she thought, "whom she would have remorselessly -made me marry, and been insensible to the cruel wrong she would have -done to me. What a wonderful thing is that boundless, blind egotism of -mothers! In one breath she confesses that he makes her miserable, and -admits his contemptible, wretched nature, though she knows little of -its real evil; in the next she complains that I did not tie myself to -the miserable destiny of being his wife!" - -Then Annie turned into the drawing-room, and went over to the window, -through whose panes Margaret's wistful, weary gaze had been so often -and so long directed. She leaned one round fair arm against the glass, -and laid her sleek brown head upon it, musingly: - -"I wonder when _home_ will really come for me," she thought. "I wonder -where I shall go to, and what I shall do, when I must leave this. I -wonder if little Arthur will miss me very much when I go away, after -Geoffrey comes back." - -Geoffrey Ludlow's letters to his mother and sister were neither -numerous nor voluminous, but they were explicit; and the anxious hearts -at home gradually began to feel more at rest about the absent one so -dear to them all. He had written with much kindness and sympathy on the -occasion of Til's marriage, and they had all felt what a testimony to -his unselfish nature and his generous heart his letter was. With what -pangs of memory,--what keen revivals of vain longing love and cruel -grief for the beautiful woman who had gone down into her grave with the -full ardour of his passionate devotion still clinging around her,--what -desperate struggles against the weariness of spirit which made every -thing a burden to him,--Geoffrey had written the warm frank letter -over which Til had cried, and Charley had glowed with pleasure, the -recipients never knew. There was one who guessed them,--one who seemed -to herself intuitively to realise them all, to weigh and measure every -movement of the strong heart which had so much ado to keep itself from -breaking, far away in the distant countries, until time should have -had sufficient space in which to work its inevitable cure. Mrs. Potts -showed her brother's letter to Annie Maurice with infinite delight, on -that memorable day when she made her first visit, as a married woman, -to Elm Lodge. The flutter and excitement of so special an occasion -makes itself felt amid all the other flutters and excitements of that -period which is the great epoch in a woman's life. The delights of -"a home of one's own" are never so truly realised as when the bride -returns, as a guest, to the home she has left for ever as an inmate. It -may be much more luxurious, much more important, much more wealthy; but -it is not hers, and, above all, it is not "his;" and the little sense -of strangeness is felt to be an exquisite and a new pleasure. Til was -just the sort of girl to feel this to the fullest, though her "own" -house was actually her "old" home, and she had never been a resident at -Elm Lodge: but the house at Brompton had a thousand charms now which -Til had never found in it before, and on which she expatiated eagerly -to Mrs. Ludlow, while Annie Maurice was reading Geoffrey's letter. She -was very pale when she handed it back to Til, and there were large -tears standing in her full brown eyes. - -"Isn't it a delightful letter, Annie?" asked Mrs. Potts; "so kind and -genial; so exactly like dear old Geoff." - -"Yes," Annie replied, very softly; "it is indeed, Til; it is very like -Geoffrey." - -Then Annie went to look after little Arthur, and left the mother and -daughter to their delightful confidential talk. - -When the party from Elm Lodge were at the seaside, after Til's -marriage, Annie began to write pretty regularly to Geoffrey, who was -then in Egypt. She was always thinking of him, and of how his mind was -to be roused from its grief; and once more interested in life. She felt -that he was labouring at his art for money, and because he desired -to secure the future of those dear to him, in the sense of duty, but -that for him the fame which he was rapidly winning was very little -worth, and the glory was quite gone out of life,--gone down, with the -golden hair and the violet eyes, into the dust which was lying upon -them. Annie, who had never known a similar grief; understood his in -all its intricacies of suffering, with the intuitive comprehension of -the heart, which happily stands many a woman instead of intellectual -gifts and the learning of experience; and knowing this, the girl, -whose unselfish spirit read the heart of her early friend, but never -questioned her own, sought with all her simple and earnest zeal how to -"cure him of his cruel wound." His picture had been one of the gems -of the Academy, one of the great successes of the year, and Annie had -written to him enthusiastically about it, as his mother had also done; -but she counted nothing upon this. Geoffrey was wearily pleased that -they were pleased and gratified, but that was all. His hand did its -work, but the soul was not there; and as he was now working amid the -ruins of a dead world, and a nation passed away in the early youth of -time, his mood was congenial to it, and he grew to like the select -lapse of the sultry desert life, and to rebel less and less against -his fate, in the distant land where every thing was strange, and there -was no fear of a touch upon the torturing nerves of association. All -this Annie Maurice divined, and turned constantly in her mind; and -amidst the numerous duties to which she devoted herself with the quiet -steadiness which was one of her strongest characteristics, she thought -incessantly of Geoffrey, and of how the cloud was to be lifted from -him. Her life was a busy one, for all the real cares of the household -rested upon her. Mrs. Ludlow had been an admirable manager of her own -house, and in her own sphere, but she did not understand the scale on -which Elm Lodge had been maintained even in Margaret's time, and that -which Miss Maurice established was altogether beyond her reach. The -old lady was very happy; that was quite evident. She and Annie agreed -admirably. The younger lady studied her peculiarities with the utmost -care and forbearance, and the "cross" sat lightly now. She was growing -old; and what she did not see she had lost the faculty of grieving for; -and Geoffrey was well, and winning fame and money. It seemed a long -time ago now since she had regarded her daughter-in-law's furniture and -dress with envy, and speculated upon the remote possibility of some day -driving in her son's carriage. - -Mrs. Ludlow had a carriage always at her service now, and the most -cheerful of companions in her daily drive; for she, Annie, and the -child made country excursions every afternoon, and the only time -the girl kept for her exclusive enjoyment was that devoted to her -early-morning rides. Some of the earliest among the loungers by the -sad sea-waves grew accustomed to observe, with a sense of admiration -and pleasure, the fresh fair face of Annie Maurice, as, flushed with -exercise and blooming like a rose in the morning air, she would -dismount at the door of her "marine villa," where a wee toddling child -always awaited her coming, who was immediately lifted to her saddle, -and indulged with a few gentle pacings up and down before the windows, -whence an old lady would watch the group with grave delight. Mrs. -Ludlow wrote all these and many more particulars of her happy life to -her absent son; and sometimes Annie wondered whether those cheerful -garrulous letters, in which the unconscious mother showed Geoffrey -so plainly how little she realised his state of mind, increased his -sense of loneliness. Then she bethought her of writing to Geoffrey -constantly about the child. She knew how he had loved the baby in -happier times, and she never wronged the heart she knew so well by a -suspicion that the disgrace and calamity which had befallen him had -changed this deep-dwelling sentiment, or included the motherless child -in its fatal gloom. She had not spoken of little Arthur in her earlier -letters more than cursorily, assuring his father that the child was -well and thriving; but now that time was going over, and the little -boy's intellect was unfolding, she caught at the legitimate source of -interest for Geoffrey, and consulted him eagerly and continuously about -her little _protege_ and pupil. - -The autumn passed and the winter came; and Mrs. Ludlow, her grandchild, -and Annie Maurice were settled at Elm Lodge. Annie had taken anew to -her painting, and Geoffrey's deserted studio had again an inmate. -Hither would come Charley Potts--a genial gentleman still, but with -much added steadiness and scrupulously-neat attire. The wholesome -subjugation of a happy marriage was agreeing wonderfully with -Charley, and his faith in Til was perfectly unbounded. He was a -model of punctuality now; and when he "did a turn" for Annie in the -painting-room, he brushed his coat before encountering the unartistic -world outside with a careful scrupulousness, at which, in the days of -Caroline and the beer-signals, he would have derisively mocked. Another -visitor was not infrequent there, though he had needed much coaxing to -induce him to come, and had winced from the sight of Geoff's ghostly -easel on his first visit with keen and perceptible pain. - -A strong mutual liking existed between William Bowker and Annie -Maurice. Each had recognised the sterling value of the other on the -memorable occasion of their first meeting; and the rough exterior of -Bowker being less perceptible then than under ordinary circumstances, -it had never jarred with Annie's taste or offended against her -sensibilities. So it came to pass that these two incongruous persons -became great friends; and William Bowker--always a gentleman in the -presence of any woman in whom he recognised the soul of a lady--passed -many hours such as he had never thought life could again give him in -his dear old friend's deserted home. Miss Maurice had no inadequate -idea of the social duties which her wealth imposed upon her, and she -discharged them with the conscientiousness which lent her character -its combined firmness and sweetness. But all her delight was in her -adopted home, and in the child, for whom she thought and planned with -almost maternal foresight and quite maternal affection. William Bowker -also delighted in the boy, and would have expended an altogether -unreasonable portion of his slender substance upon indigestible -eatables and curiously-ingenious and destructible toys but for Annie's -prohibition, to which he yielded loyal obedience. Many a talk had the -strangely-assorted pair of friends as they watched the child's play; -and they generally ran on Geoffrey or if they rambled off from him for -a while, returned to him through strange and tortuous ways. Not one -of Geoff's friends forgot him, or ceased to miss him, and to wish him -back among them. Not one of "the boys" but had grieved in his simple -uncultivated way over the only half-understood domestic calamity which -had fallen upon "old Geoff;" but time has passed, and they had begun -to talk more of his pictures and less of himself. It was otherwise -with Bowker, whose actual associates were few, though his spirit of -_camaraderie_ was unbounded. He had always loved Geoffrey Ludlow with a -peculiar affection, in which there had been an unexplained foreboding; -and its full and terrible realisation had been a great epoch in the -life of William Bowker. It had broken up the sealed fountains of -feeling; it had driven him away from the grave of the past; it had -brought his strong sympathies and strong sense into action, and had -effected a moral revolution in the lonely man, who had been soured by -trouble only in appearance, but in whom the pure sweet springs of the -life of the heart still existed. Now he began to weary for Geoffrey. He -dreaded to see his friend sinking into the listlessness and dreariness -which had wasted his own life; and Geoffrey's material prosperity, -strongly as it contrasted with the poverty and neglect which had -been his own lot, did not enter into Bowker's calculations with any -reassuring effect. - -"Does Geoffrey never fix any time for his return?" asked William -Bowker of Miss Maurice one summer evening when they were slowly pacing -about the lawn at Elm Lodge, after the important ceremonial of little -Arthur's _coucher_ had been performed. - -"No," said Annie, with a quick and painful blush. - -"I wish he would, then," said Bowker. "He has been away quite long -enough now; and he ought to come home and face his duties like a man, -and thank God that he has a home, and duties which don't all centre -in himself. If they did, the less he observed them the better." This -with a touch of the old bitterness, rarely apparent now. Annie did not -answer, and Bowker went on: - -"His mother wants him, his child wants him, and for that matter Mrs. -Potts's child wants him too. Charley talks some nonsense about waiting -to baptize the little girl until Geoff comes home 'with water from the -Jordan,' said Master Charley, being uncertain in his geography, and -having some confused notion about some sacred river. However, if we -could only get him home, he might bottle a little of the Nile for us -instead. I really wish he'd come. I want to know how far he has really -lived down his trouble; I can't bear to think that it may conquer and -spoil him." - -"It has not done that; it won't do that--no fear of it," said Annie -eagerly; "I can tell from his letters that Geoffrey is a strong man -again,--stronger than he has ever been before." - -"He needs to be, Miss Maurice," said William, with a short, kind, -sounding laugh, "for Geoffrey's nature is not strong. I don't think I -ever knew a weaker man but one--" - -He paused, but Annie made no remark. Presently he fell to talking of -the child and his likeness to Geoffrey, which was very strong and very -striking. - -"There is not a trace of the poor mother in him," said Bowker; "I am -glad of it. The less there is before Geoffrey's eyes when he returns to -remind him of the past the better." - -"And yet," said Annie in a low voice, and with something troubled in -her manner, "I have often thought if he returned, and I saw his meeting -with the child, how dreadful it would be to watch him looking for a -trace of the dead in little Arthur's face, and not finding it, to know -that he felt the world doubly empty." - -Her face was half averted from Bowker as she spoke, and he looked at -her curiously and long. He marked the sudden flush and pallor of her -cheek, and the hurry in her words; and a bright unusual light came into -William Bowker's eyes. He only said, - -"Ay--that would indeed be a pang the more." And a few minutes later he -took his leave. - -"Charley," said Mr. Bowker to Mr. Potts, three or four Gays afterwards, -as he stood before that gentleman's easel, criticising the performance -upon it with his accustomed science and freedom, "why don't you get -your wife to write to Geoffrey, and make him come home? He ought to -come, you know, and it's not for you or me to remonstrate with him. -Women do these things better than men; they can handle sores without -hurting them, and pull at heartstrings without making them crack. -There's his mother, growing old, you know, and wanting to see him; -and the child's a fine young shaver now, and his father ought to know -something of him, eh, Charley, what do you think?" - -"You're about right, old fellow, that's what I think. Til often talks -about it, particularly since the baby was born, and wonders how -Geoffrey can stay away; but I suppose if his own child won't bring him -home, ours can't be expected to do it; eh, William? Til doesn't think -of that, you see." - -"I see," said Mr. Bowker, with a smile. "But, Charley, do you just get -Til to write to Geoffrey, and tell him his mother is not as strong as -she used to be, and that the care of her and the child is rather too -much of a responsibility to rest upon Miss Maurice's shoulders, and I -think Geoffrey will see the matter in the true light, and come home at -once." - -Charley promised to obey Mr. Bowker's injunction, premising that he -must first "talk it over with Til." William made no objection to -this perfectly proper arrangement, and felt no uneasiness respecting -the result of the conjugal discussion. He walked away smiling, -congratulating himself on having done "rather a deep thing," and -full of visions in which Geoffrey played a part which would have -considerably astonished him, had its nature been revealed to him. - -Six weeks after the conversation between Mr. Bowker and Mr. Potts, -a foreign letter in Geoffrey's hand reached Mrs. Ludlow. She hardly -gave herself time to read it through, before she sought to impart its -tidings to Annie. The young 114 was not in the painting-room, not in -the drawing-room, not in the house. The footman thought he had seen -her on the lawn with the child, going towards the swing. Thither Mrs. -Ludlow proceeded, and there she found Annie; her hat flung off; her -brown hair falling about her shoulders, and her graceful arms extended -to their full length as she swung the delighted child, who shouted -"higher, higher!" after the fashion of children. - -"Geoffrey's coming home, Annie!" said Mrs. Ludlow, as soon as she -reached the side of the almost breathless girl. "He's coming home -immediately,--by the next mail. Is not that good news?" - -The rope had dropped from Annie's hand at the first sentence. Now she -stooped, picked up her hat, and put it on; and turning to lift the -child from his seat, she said, - -"Yes, indeed, Mrs. Ludlow, it is; but very sudden. Has any thing -happened?" - -"Nothing whatever, my dear. Geoffrey only says--stay, here's his -letter; read for yourself. He merely says he feels it is time to come -home; he has got all the good out of his captivity in Egypt in every -way that he is likely to get--though why he should call it captivit -when he went there of his own accord, and could have come away at any -moment he liked, is more than I can understand. Well, well, Geoffrey -always had queer sayings; but what matter, now that he is coming -home!--Papa is coming home, Arty;--we shall see him soon." - -"Shall we?" said the child. "Let me go, Annie; you are making my hand -cold with yours;" and he slipped his little hand from her grasp, and -ran on to the house, where he imparted the news to the household with -an air of vast importance. - - -"Annie," said Geoffrey Ludlow one day when he had been about three -weeks at home, and after he had passed some time in examining Miss -Maurice's art-performances, "what has become of the drawing I once made -of you, long ago, when you were a little girl? Don't you remember you -laughed at it, and said, 'Grandmamma, grandmamma, what big eyes you've -got!' to it? and the dear old Rector was so dreadfully frightened lest -I should be offended." - -"Yes, I remember," answered Annie; "and I have the picture. Why?" - -"Because I want it, Annie. If you will let me have it, I will paint a -full-length portrait of you for the next Academy, in which every one -shall recognise a striking likeness of the beautiful and accomplished -Miss Maurice." - -"Don't, Geoffrey," said Annie gravely. "I am not in the least more -beautiful now than I was when you took my likeness long ago; but you -shall have the drawing, and you shall paint the picture, and it shall -belong to Arthur, to remind him of me when I am gone abroad." - -"Gone abroad!" said Geoffrey, starting up from his chair and -approaching her. "You--gone abroad!" - -"Yes," she said, with a very faint smile. "Is no one to see men and -cities, and sand and sphinxes, and mummies and Nile boatmen, except -yourself? Don't you remember how Caterham always wished me to travel -and improve my mind?" - -"I remember," said Geoff moodily; "but I don't think your mind wants -improving, Annie. How selfish I am! I really had a kind of fancy that -this was your home; different as it is from such as you might, as you -may command, it was your own choice once. You see what creatures we -men are. A woman like you sacrifices herself for one of us, to do him -good in his adversity, and he takes it as a matter of course that the -sacrifice is to continue--" Geoffrey turned to the window, and looked -wearily out. From the dim corner in which she sat, Annie looked timidly -at his tall figure--a true image of manliness and vigour. She could see -the bronzed cheek, the full rich brown eye, the bushy beard with its -mingled lines of brown and gray. There was far more strength in the -face than in former days, and far more refinement, a deeper tenderness, -and a loftier meaning. She thought so as she looked at him, and her -heart beat hard and fast. - -"It was no sacrifice to me, Geoffrey," she said in a very low tone. -"You know I could not bear the life I was leading. I have been very -happy here. Every one has been very good to me, and I have been very -happy; but--" - -Geoffrey turned abruptly, and looked at her--looked at the graceful -head, the blushing cheek, the faltering lips--and went straight up to -her. She shrunk just a little at his approach; but when he laid his -hand upon her shoulder, and bent his head down towards hers, she raised -her sweet candid face and looked at him. - -"Annie," he said eagerly, with the quick earnestness of a man whose -soul is in his words, "will you forgive all my mistakes,--I have found -them out now,--and take the truest love that ever a man offered to the -most perfect of women? Annie, can you love me?--will you stay with me? -My darling, say yes!" - -His strong arms were round her now, and her sleek brown head lay upon -his breast. She raised it to look at him; then folded her hands and -laid them upon his shoulder, and with her crystal-clear eyes uplifted, -said, "I will stay with you, Geoffrey. I have always loved you." - - -The storm had blown itself out now--its last mutterings had died away; -and through all its fury and despair, through all its rude buffets and -threatening of doom, Geoffrey Ludlow had reached LAND AT LAST! - - - - -THE END. - - - - - --------------------------------------------------- Printed by W. 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